WHY ARE WE LAUGHING [♧] O, TORTURE

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    MOTHER NATURE IS A SERIAL KILLER / fathertime / tba / he&they / tags

    [fancypost=border-width:0px; width: 450px; text-align: justify; font-size: 8pt; line-height: 125%]like with percocet, this child they stumbled upon hadnt been much of a challenge, either. oh, father wont deny that standpaw had put up a struggle, quite a good one too for such a youthful being, but in the end fathertime still managed to push him into a state of unconsciousness, via harsh blows to his head. now, they sway back into camp, the little child, already terribly bruised, dangling from their jaws. the feline casually tries to THROW THE "SLEEPING" BOY DOWN ONTO THE GROUND, MAKING NO EFFORT TO CUSHION THE BLOW OF THE CONCRETE THAT HIS FACE WILL SURELY SMASH INTO-- CONSIDER THIS STANDPAWS WAKE UP CALL. fathertime remains mute throughout the entirey of the grueling process, their lip merely curling skyward in disdain and their quadrupled gaze critically assessing the other.
    / @STANDPAW

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    HIS SOLITUDE WAS A KNIFE — standpaw — the rift — he/him — tags

    [fancypost=border-width:0px; width: 450px; text-align: justify; font-size: 8pt; line-height: 125%]Standpaw knew fully well he would end up in this position sooner or later- he knew his time was limited when he first witnessed the odd brutality of this new world. He had sought help with learning new moves and battle techniques at first, which he had, but nothing had really stuck with him. At least not enough to beat Fathertime. He hardly had enough skill to take down an evenly matched opponent- sure, he was resilient as hell, not enjoying the feel of loss or weakness like most, but that was not enough when up against a larger, stronger attacker. The apprentice had been practically defenseless when up against the brute. Try with all his might he did, but no matter that, in the end he was still dangling from the other's jaws in a pitiful display.


    The thin tom-cat was awoken by a crushing, crackling blow to the face as he landed face-first on something rock solid and grainy. He slides, the right side of his face becoming horribly scraped and his nose beginning to bleed profusely, tumbling into a heap after a moment. His cream fur has already been soiled with traces of dirt and blood smeared about, but the Rifter doesn't care about that as he tries to gather his senses. His head raises weakly, and his eyes blink sluggishly, mind so hazy he is unable to register the pain at first. At first.


    With a startled exclaim the young tom stands, skinny limbs threatening to buckle underneath him. In wild pain and shock he turns to face his capture slowly, eyes holding a wild flare as he challenges, "Is that all?" His voice is rife with flames of wrath, but he is too weak to push himself forward- too weak to attack the other physically. He just stands and stares with vivid blue eyes, aggression clear behind his stormy optics.

    A LITTLE REINVENTION — Destrian — The Sanctuary — He/him

    Destrian could tell something was amiss, and his thoughts were confirmed as he arrived on the scene. Fathertime was... Throwing a kid around? What for? Was he crazy? Des was barely older than a kid himself, maybe even the same age as this stranger. Why was Fathertime hurting him? "What are you doing?" The temporary deputy demanded, eyes narrowed.


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