o, visitor with political update // on butterfly wings

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    She usually didn't travel distances this far; her butterfly wings clearly hated the stamina test, and the red tabby couldn't glide down to land on the Renegades' border quick enough. Breathing heavily for a few moments, the ill-trained woman sat back on her haunches to catch her breath. Clearly, she needed to increase her training regiment... but she hated cardio so fucking much. Battle moves were fun, politics interesting, but just cardio? She hated it.


    Eventually, after a few moments, her breath steadied itself long enough for her to gather herself. With a grimace, she realized that their territory stank of death, with various splatters of blood and bodies across the border. Still, after standing on a half-rotten corpse on the Sanguine Ruins' border, nothing phased her that much. But she knew she'd definitely need a hot, soapy shower after this. Her dark blue eyes drifted from the dead bodies as she looked into the territory, trying to pick out any moving people. "Ah, hello? I'm Zenith, a member of one of the groups you're neutral with. I'm here to tell you guys that we, the Prismatic Plains, have changed our name to Color Command. In addition, we've got a slight leadership change, as Arcadefire has gone missing and Yuri has stepped up to lead," she announced, tail flicking behind her. She hoped they wouldn't attack her for this -- she'd attended that weird little event they held, but very little came of it and she met basically nobody from here.

    ❝ HEAVEN NEVER WANTED HER INSIDE ❞


    Oh, Littlesoldier wouldn't attack her for that. Politics and announcements and changes meant virtually nothing to the feral beast, not when she didn't even understand them in the first place. And today was a different day, an unlucky day for those unforunate enough to be in her sights. She had been tied up prior to this event. Her chain had been carefully wrapped around a tree and knotted to keep her in place. Unfortunately the npc (who was slightly new to the job of babysitting her) had left it too loose and she was able to yank it free. At first she didn't believe that the chain was free and she was almost surprised when she stepped forwards without being tugged back by the chain. However she quickly became accustomed and released a series of snarls and dog-like yips to signify her new found freedom, chain dragging along behind her as she ran through the territory. The snow underneath her paws made crunching sounds and although it was bright and cold, she never felt more alive.


    A red tabby stood there. One that smelt different. Well, she didn't care. Different smells didn't mean shit, really, did they? It was all the same meat in the end. All the same taste. She would know. Littlesoldier licked her lips behind her muzzle and briefly wondered as she ran if there was a way to get the muzzle off. No. She'd have to feed herself the way she did before, putting pieces of flesh through the grate in the muzzle. Oh well, it was food. And she wanted it. She wanted it now.


    Littlesoldier didn't even come crashing to a halt when arriving in Zeniths line of sight. She attempted to collide into the other at full speed and slam her metal claws into her chest, hoping to slit downwards and let blood pour forwards. A guttural string of words, incoherent to anyone sane, would leave her scarred muzzle though muffled by the black iron around her face. "Eat, eat, you dead, eat, eat."

    Abathur, as the designated envoy to the Prismatic Command - Color Plains - whatever the hell they were called, he didn't really care about their name - as the ambassador or envoy or whatever they had decided on naming it, he was a little attached to the project that was "making the color place less mad at us," if only because he had exerted some energy on it and didn't want that energy to go to waste. He was a spider that valued efficiency and growth above all else, besides maybe protecting the people he loved, and such ideals showed in everything he did, from the form he had chosen to do everything in to how he spoke, a mangled form of english that removed most of the unnecessary things with emphasis only on what was important. Unfortunately for him, his desire to protect had culminated in a poor choice during his first ever vacation, and now he was in charge of Littlesoldier, someone he was starting to get tired of. She wasn't being fixed yet, she wasn't doing anything useful, and she was causing both him and the clan such disruptions that he was starting to get tired of it. Soon, he supposed, she would have to be dealt with in one way or another - either becoming a private experiment or becoming permanently removed from the Renegades. Soon, though. He was busy until then, helping Koday with clan affairs since he was a high position, and dealing with eight percent of the clan's injuries and sicknesses. Karma was fine, but Abathur was of the mind that the young shouldn't have to deal with such a high amount of stress as he did, which is why he had yet to train the male in surgeries. Too much stress for the young. As soon as he became aware of Zenith, as well as her assailant, he was in action. Speeding towards Littlesoldier, he would attempt to grab her from wherever she currently was, rip her away from the visitor, pin her to the ground and bite into her neck, injecting her with the sedative he always carried with him. As soon as he was presumably done dealing with the zombie, he turned to Zenith, letting out a small breath, his eyes a sickly-looking green indicative of his fear. "Is subject alright? Medical assistance required?" His voice was filled with a tinge of panic, something barely heard over the monotony and calming sensation it constantly emitted, but still there for those who listened intently to his deep voice. At this point he was less worried about the politics, more about the person, though he supposed the two were connected in the end. He absolutely didn't want something to go wrong because of what he did.


    tags - "speech"

    ❝ HEAVEN NEVER WANTED HER INSIDE ❞


    She was so close. So close to tasting living flesh. So close to being one step closer to being free. Being real. She needed that feeling and needed it now and absolutely no-one would take it away from her no matter what. She would kill anyone that tried to get in her way of freedom. She would kill them and she would do it slowly. But she was stopped by the very person who weaved her back into existence, who probed her broken mind with sharp metal things that only further shattered it all, who muzzled her and chained her, who she viewed as a god. Abathur wrapped two of his many limbs around her, yanking her back like the chains did when an npc held them and she let out a vicious scream as she was violently ripped away from the red tabby- my prey- and slammed into the ground- my freedom- all the whilst giving snarls and grunts of opposition. But it was too late. Her god sunk his fangs into her neck and she writhed along with the pain, eyes becoming two large golden saucers of fear. "NO! FREE ME!" Littlesoldier howled but, just as when he muzzled her, his weight departed her and she was left lying on the ground, tears suddenly dripping.


    The sedative did its quick work. She felt darkness swallow her. It should frighten it, it should comfort her- the darkness was both terrifying and welcoming. It was not one or the other. She passed out with an unfamiliar sort of peace on her face. Perhaps it was the only time the Renegades would ever see her look as content as she did then. God knew it wouldn't last long.

    The rattling of chains drew her attention towards Littlessoldier as the former leader raced towards her -- but Zenith, naturally, knew nothing about Littlesoldier's past. Her only interactions with the zombie happened in the Renegades' own territory; she remembered seeing the creature chained up during the conclave event, straining against her bonds and trying to get at other creatures. At the time, Zenith instinctively kept a large buffer distance between the two.


    So the ginger she-cat, now, held her guard up. Hackles raising, she jumped back and dodged the attempted attack -- a frontal assault when she already considered the beast a crazed attacker? Not the most difficult thing to anticipate and counteract, even with her limited training on combat.


    As the giant spider pinned the crazed zombie, knocking her out with what Zenith could only assume was his local spider venom, her blue eyes widened. Right now, it seemed unlikely that these Renegades moved on from their past as the Exiles. Now that the immediate danger passed, her butterfly wings shook upon her back, ready to take off at a moment's notice. She took a few steps back, putting distance between her and the spider, least he become an aggressor to her as well.


    "I'm fine, but you're going to tell me what the hell just happened! You told us your group cast off their old ways -- but, this, really? I could have been killed, would have been seriously injured if you didn't come along to stop it!" she yelled, raising her voice out of panic and rage. She rarely swore, but this infuriated her. She vouched to her father that this neutrality was a good move. She humored these Renegades with their neutrality request and attended their conclave event. But here they were, keeping a pet zombie that wanted nothing more than to eat her, like some mindless drone from their history.

    As Ottawa comes trudging along, he can't help but regard Zenith's tone with a soft sigh. He can understand why she's upset—he'd be upset if a drooling, shit-covered zombie attacked him, too, however this is escalating quickly and he fears that it could lead to a fight, of sorts. A fight is the last thing he wants. It seems that this already has gotten to a place where he doesn't want it to be, and so, to try and tone down the hostility a bit, the silver-specked tom inches closer, ears laid flat against his head. "Relax, please," he says, quietly, voice flat. He doesn't reflect the same kind of concern that Abathur does, but that's not to say he doesn't care. She's not hurt, is she? Just shaken. He shoots a look towards the spider, though his gaze doesn't hold as much warning as he thinks it does. He's got no place to be glaring at anyone, anyway. "That is, uh..." How does he say this? He knows that Littlesoldier just being alive is inhumane, but he doesn't want Zenith to go back and report that the Renegades are a bunch of evil Dr. Frankensteins. No, that's just Abathur.


    "Anyways, are you okay?" He's a little late asking this, but he's trying to keep everything from becoming more of a mess. "Do you have any other news to report?" He's really ill-suited to be handling this. Ottawa shifts from paw to paw, almost nervously, gaze flickering anywhere but Zenith. He wishes someone else, someone better prepared, would come along and take care of this, calm her down.

    clockpaw hated her new form, she didn't want to be a disgusting canine. dogs stuck and smelled like yeast, unlike felines. a dry scoff would release from the alabaster canine as she slowly made her way over, her clock necklace beating against her chest as she moved- having appeared just in time to see littersoldier be taken down by abathur's venom. "sorry, shit-smelling doesn't have a brain. it's okay, don't mind her- she's slowly learning her manners: maybe she'll even take a bath." the snarky apprentice would grumble in response to the hawkclanner's former monarch who of course, made the renegades smell like complete ass along with the dead corpses and everything else. god, this girl's voice made clockpaw want to cut her ears off- like shut up.


    / ic opinions omg i love u all


    ♡ tags ♡

    oh, wonderful. littlesoldier was back at it again. she couldn't be near anyone without lunging and screaming "eat". capiz wondered why abathur had brought her back in the first place; she didn't seem to be much use for everyday life in the renegades. perhaps she could work in raids, but littlesoldier tried to eat practically anyone. she might turn on her clanmates. capiz raised a nonexistent eyebrow as she watched abathur sedate littlesoldier. fuckin' weird, undead beast. capiz turned her head to face zenith, who was visibly shaken, and for good reason.


    ottawa and clockpaw had already spoken to zenith about what had happened, but capiz couldn't help but add her own two cents in. "oh, that's... not supposed to happen." capiz spoke, her tone sweet and calm as ever. she hoped that zenith didn't go home and report that somebody had tried to kill her in the renegades, even if that was the truth. "she's supposed to be chained up. sorry, we will work on that." she hoped that was comforting enough for zenith not to write them off as all savages. how littlesoldier was running loose in the territory was unknown to capiz, but apparently whoever had been on guard duty would need a reminder.

    shit-smelling. she’s supposed to be chained up. all their comments, innocent or no, make imperia’s skin crawl. littlesoldier would not be like this if abathur had not taken her life into his grasp. the healer wants to growl at the others, scold them and say that they would not have to worry about little if they actually made abathur do something about it. but they don’t care. most of these creatures do not remember littlesoldier from when people called her littlestar. they don’t have to look at the feral beast and see the face of an old friend but the mind of a monster. and how lucky they are.


    “she doesn’t have much of a choice in the way she acts,” comments the direwolf as she approaches, chiseled muscles rippling beneath a metallic pelt. her morals do not allow her to remain silent while everyone thinks or says terrible things about littlesoldier. she will defend her friend’s honor. peri looks pointedly at abathur before shifting her gaze to the stranger on the border. “little did not choose to be the way she is,” explains the huntress, bristling internally at the image of abathur reanimating her best friend’s corpse. no one deserves to be forced into some false-life after their souls leave their body. no one deserves to be treated with such disrespect. the whole thing disgusts her, but zenith came for business, not to hear about internal clan-drama.


    imperia dips her head subtly in a nod of greeting, a polite smile gracing her lovely visage. argent eyes regard the ginger she-cat regretfully. “my name is imperia. i would like to apologize for the fright, mademoiselle. i am sorry about arcadefire, but do send yuri our well-wishes.” somebody needs to get this interaction back on track. best just to smile, apologize, and gently guide the conversation in the proper direction. no amount of complaining will change what abathur did to littlesoldier. peri firmly believes that some positive changes can be made if people just took the time to try to rehabilitate little. maybe not fix her completely, but certainly improve her behavior.

    The savannah's gaze remained narrowed at the four other Renegades came to stand around her -- their apologies sounded empty to her ears. Not to mention how damn quick they were to try and get this back on political terms. As though some rabid beast under their banner hadn't just tried to eat her. "Well, I wasn't supposed to be attacked and I didn't choose to be attacked either," the ginger woman frostily responded by throwing their own words back at them, her tone clipped and each syllable clearly spoken, despite the way her body's muscles still trembled from adrenaline.


    Her butterfly wings began to beat, growing faster as her paws took off from the ground. "That is all I came here to say. I'll be on my way now," she spoke, her tone much the same as before. They were all so rude. Brushing her encounter under the rug, apologizing on behalf of a maddened beast as though its actions were easily excusable. Not even one of the four introduced themselves, just gaggled around her like a bunch of judgmental onlookers. Perhaps the Renegades changed their ways, but Zenith considered them pathetic at relations. No surprise, though, considering relations meant beating everyone else up to them.


    Jaw set and her opinion resolved, the ginger savannah quickly sped away. Before she got home, she had one more stop -- BlizzardClan. But she knew those people would be much more polite.


    >> out

    well that certainly went poorly. imperia watches with an impassively expression as zenith bristles, strangely beautiful wings revealing her irritation. the ginger she-cat’s angry expression reminds her of fire, sparking at the so-called impoliteness. oh well, peri tried. she gave her name, apologized, and even tried to make conversation. but perhaps she has been away from society so long that’s she’s forgotten how to interact. part of peri is regretful that she failed to properly reassure zenith, but the other part is resolved in her opinion regarding littlesoldier. she will never put down the poor creature just to make it up to someone who cannot see that some problems are deeper than what the eye perceives. a soft sigh escapes parted lips, silver eyes tracking the ambassador’s movements. “safe travels,” she calls in spite of the probability that the other female will not even spare her a glance. it makes sense, anyways. someone did just try to eat the poor girl and so she feels slighted. peri can understand that.