banks of newfoundland // open, joining

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    [fancypost bordercolor=transparent; wdith: 425px; text-align: justify]At the border resided a very peculiar creature -- a monstrous behemoth of a cat. Beneath tangles of thick, orange fur lay rippling muscles, scars digging deep into the surface. The big feline's emerald eyes always peered down a wine-colored scar on his nose, and in his huge, callused paws lay a deck of cards. Now, coming from a world where dragons and unicorns ran rampant, his appearance wasn't all that strange. What was strange was his personality. Of course, he'd delve into that a little later.


    For now, he was sitting at the border, shuffling a worn deck of cards, clacking into his hands before vanishing beneath that big paw of his, only to be rediscovered when they whispered out of his one paw and landed in the other. "Oh, your horses are hungry, go feed them some hay," he sang, his voice gruff and deep. "Then sit down here by me as long as you may," he continued on, husky voice lilting through the air as he kept on shuffling. "My horses ain't hungry, they won't eat your hay," he sucked in one last deep breath before finished his song. "So fare thee well darlin I'll be on my waaay." He held onto the last note before he couldn't hold it any longer. He sat there, grinning at himself, as if he was the best damn singer he'd ever heard.

    [justify][color=black][font=book antique]This was all very concerning for Saint and the screaming feline almost shouted for the aid of someone else before she realized that she was pretty qualified to do The Thing herself.


    "Business and also your name. That's. Needed. Yeah you don't need to sing. But if. You wanna you can totes. Yeah."


    She warbled her 'yeah's like verbal security hankies before promptly waddling closer to the border, unbandaged wing stiffly flapping as she reached out a paw and attempted to press it against the newcomer's nose.


    "Ye."

    [fancypost bordercolor=transparent; wdith: 425px; text-align: justify]Ah, there was his audience! The tom finished shuffling his cards and now pressed them against the ground, pinned under his scarred paw. He listened in on her insight, smile unfaltering. Didn't have to sing? Sure he did! He was damn good at it, so why not show off his lovely talents? But he didn't say that, no, as there were more pertinent questions as hand, yes siree.


    He watched as Saint's paw neared his nose, still puffy from the not-yet healed score running down it. Before she could mash her paw against it, he aimed to grab it and give it a firm shake in greeting. That's what he always did when he met people, anyway. Still smiling that toothy smile, he spoke. "Pleasure to meetcha! The name's Randle Patrick McMurphy, yes'm. R. P. McMurphy." He said. "And I reckon I'd like to join your little group." There, that addressed the business part, didn't it? "Say, what's this place called again?" He asked, rubbing the scar running down his nose with the corner of a card.

    [justify][color=black][font=book antique]As the physical gesture was altered at the last minute, Saint squeaked and pulled back. A nose boop was far les dangerous and icky than a pawshake. Plus she maybe sort of was curious about the texture of the wound there, but she wouldn't be trying a second time.


    "This is Darkclan and its great and there is room to be loud and it is nice."


    She liked the calm here because it meant she didn't have to try and scream as loud but there was a singing man now. It didn't matter, though. Saint could always scream louder.


    "Will you be fighting or healing or. Both medic or officer or both."


    She chattered, easing back and offering a friendly grin.

    Marchingband made her way over to greet R. P. McMurphy and stood next to Saint."Welcome to DC, R. P. McMurphy! I'm Marchingband by the way. If you don't mind me asking, what do your first two initials stand for?"She noticed his nose and, being a medic, quickly added,"Are you okay?"

    [align=center][fancypost borderwidth=0; width:350px;][justify][size=10px]Cadice padded up, hearing the commotion a mile away, it seemed. "Welcome to DarkClan," she drawled as she stood on the other side of Saint. She had never welcomed someone into the clan before, so this was her first time. Not really that exciting, but she was interested in this character standing in front of her. He seemed... unique. "The name's Cadice."

    [fancypost bordercolor=transparent; wdith: 425px; text-align: justify]McMurphy watched as the loud femme squealed and yanked her paw back before he had a chance to shake it. He blinked once before holding his paw up to his face, turning it over and inspecting it front to back. "Say, paw," he began, "What do you suppose this little lass thinks you been through?" He said before winking at the winged Saint. He wouldn't take it as an insult, no. She seemed to be rather... odd; maybe she had a thing with germs?


    Fighting or healing. The choice for him was rather obvious -- he was littered with scars and his tail was crooked in a few spots where it had broken and hadn't healed properly. "I 'spose I'll be a fighter," he said, releasing a booming laugh. If you had to know one thing about Mac, was he never did anything half-assedly. Even when he laughed, he had to be the best at that. Even if there wasn't anything funny happening, he'd laugh just to show he was good at that, too. It was sort of his thing, laughing -- that and gambling, of course.


    His attention was diverted towards the vixen as she approached. Marchingband, as she said her name was. He gave her that smile and held out his paw, hoping she'd take the invitation. "Randle Patrick, yes ma'am." He said, bobbing his head up and down. He stopped when she questioned his health -- rather, the wound on his nose. He looked at her funny before laughing that loud laugh. "Shi-eet, if I saw a Doc for every cut I had..." He trailed off, still laughing as he shook his head. "Thanks for the concern, though."


    As the other two appeared out of the branches, he shoved his paw out to them, expecting them to shake. "Name's Randle Patrick McMurphy, but you can call me Mac if ya please." He grinned, inspecting them curiously.