white shadows ; p

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  • Over the river the deputy did traverse, limbs limber and defined by gracefulness, a dangerous radiance preceded his softening arrival. He stalked, slim limbs akin to those of a heron's, but not nearly as fragile. Long, pointed beaks, they embodied grace, untouched, navigating the marshland like ghosts, and the skies like angels, graced by heaven's touch. They were always too big to catch, but Glade was happy to watch them, a refined beauty, detached elegance, contented to simply snare fish and frogs from pockets of water. He silently yearned to be like them, drifting through life with little to care about other than the next pond to dip into.


    Before him the marshland ebbed away into industrialized urbanity. Not Bloodclan's territory, no, it was the suburban neighborhood that pressed against Riverclan's territory. Shielded somewhat by thick grasses, trees and a wooden fence the towering buildings in the very distant east formed the jungle within which Bloodclan lived. He had just about crossed Riverclan's border, barely, the twoleg path before long fed into a concrete neighborhood. His lungs had already tasted the acrid stench, so unlike the glistening, lush grasslands of his home. Why anyone should choose to live in such a loud, depraved place was beyond the reaches of his mind.


    A silent grief hung over him as he walked along the sidewalk, frigid torment as sharp as glass and a mentality about as fragile. The pillars of his consciousness were fracturing with every passing thought, memories of his interactions with Cliffpaw each served to nick and chip away at his stability, and the tides of his emotions grew more and more powerful still. Eyes squeezed shut, he scrambled to piece together himself, his personality, his strength. Shattered, cast to the winds that swept across the barren tundras of his mind. His heart. He didn't even know what he was doing here. It was a silent force that compelled him, a soundless breeze tugging at him, too weak to resist the wills of his body. The sky was a wash of orange and pale blue, the sun's descent slow, but inevitable.


    -revolution! here it is!!

  • Enemy of the month: RiverClan. As far as he knew, he was still a tyro... fuck that. Revolution, no matter what anyone else said, was a king. A long-lost, mistreated, cruel king but a king to himself nonetheless. He had to find a way to prove himself. He would not die like this. He was going to bring home a nice RiverClan pelt for the beating. He moved through the neighborhood like a phantom, hungrily looking to the plump kittypets. Revolution was a monster, and he supposed it was just his nature. It couldn't be changed, not now and not ever. Today was not the day to feed on them. Today was a day to get one of those fishy bastards.


    Just his luck. Gladefall's pretty pelt glinted in the sunlight like a gold coin to Revolution's eyes. He moved swiftly along the fences. He wanted a good fight now, preferably one in which he won, but if not, he'd just have to get better to a point in which he won. "What are you doing here?" He hissed as he leaped off the fence, landing squarely on his paws. His claws were unsheathed, prepared for a fight to come.

    "speaking in #dc143c"

    - tags -

    QuaqtPm.png

    *:・゚✦ YOU MAKE THE RIGHT IMPRESSION

    THEN EVERYBODY KNOW'S YOUR NAME *:・゚✦

    — revolution | storage | sig art by stiner! | played by melo-crisis —

  • It was with a chagrined grin he regarded the Bloodclanner before him, breathing in the stench, igniting the fury that pressed against the walls of his heart, a firestorm consumed him. At the eye of the storm his anger beheld him. Teeth ignited by the setting sun gleamed, a venomous smile sloping away into a terrible grimace, his boyish features twisting into the expression of pure, unfiltered hatred. The foul creature that coiled ahead of him, dripping in the scent of gasoline, writhing in the stench of smog. He belonged there, for all that Gladefall’s perception could conceive were the disgusting actions committed unto his friend, his brother, uprooted from his home, he was but a damaged sapling trying to reach for the sunlight. Wordlessly his glaring tore apart the creature before him, digging deep, searing across his thick pelt rubbed by umber under scrutiny the embers glowed only hotter beneath his thumping heart. Vile creature. How pathetic... to prey upon someone so weak. Helpless. Innocent. This thing was but the fleeting image of what a cat should be, but instead he draped himself in crudeness. Glade’s stomach clenched in disgust.


    What are you doing here? What was he doing here, heading so close to the Riverclan border, prodding, poking for someone to snag from the pool of cats that gathered. Probably looking for someone like Glade, who had made themselves a target by venturing from past the river’s embrace, a big watery arm that warded off the terrors of the city. He thanked the heavens above that it was him standing here, and not someone vulnerable. Like Bloodclan’s more favourable targets.


    Gladefall’s guard was in no way raised, he simply presented himself, raw, the mask had peeled away to reveal what pulsed beneath. He was hardly still, hypersensitive paws tasted the concrete, crystal vision sharpened into the tom standing ahead. Threads of muscles pulled and released in hunger. Silvery voice had honed into a venomous blade, slashing and slicing past any feigned cordiality that.. rat might try and use on him, “You. He silently dared the tom to pick this fight, oh, how his ivory yearned, his tongue was so.... dry.... How strong the desire became to quench his thirst, a hunger for the crunch of his bones between his teeth and the coppery sanguine to cleanse his mouth.

  • The forest cats always thought they were so great. They were civilized, but they were weakened by limitations. Revolution enjoyed his home because it was the epitome of freedom, yet living harmoniously with others, even if that harmony was sometimes dissonant. He had always wanted to force the Clans to their knees, begging for mercy, and he would not give it to them. "For me? How flattering. I came here for you too." He shot forwards, claws aiming for those silver, taunting eyes. The first move his mother had taught him. He wasn't aiming to tear those beauties out, but he wanted him to flinch. This was just the beginning.

    "speaking in #dc143c"

    - tags -

    QuaqtPm.png

    *:・゚✦ YOU MAKE THE RIGHT IMPRESSION

    THEN EVERYBODY KNOW'S YOUR NAME *:・゚✦

    — revolution | storage | sig art by stiner! | played by melo-crisis —

  • The tom's seething words fell on deafened ears, pinned to his skull, behind him his tail whipped and lashed against the hot evening air, sickly sky above closed Starclan away from the earthly terrors below. No, they weren't watching him now, the clouds were too thick, the stars had not yet ordered themselves into the indigo nighttime. No, the sun had yet to kiss the horizon, the world was coated in a tangerine glow as the golden hour shed it's light on the dancers. His eyes briskly assessed his enemy, landing on the disfiguration of the side of his face only briefly. A flash of movement burst across a touchy vision, the predictable attack initiating his reflexes to throw his weight down and to the side, from harm's way. Lithe limbs braced against the grit of the concrete before coiled muscles released their grip, springing toward his aggressor's blind side- he aimed to cleave a row of hooked knives across the Bloodclanner's face. His chest was thumping, a feral thrill sent stars erupting from the center of his eyes. He could navigate the battlefield with grace, he could dodge, bend and twist himself from the clutches of pursuit, but only for so long. He knew his best chance at dominating the battle was to strike with precision, and to disarm them before fatigue takes it’s hold.

  • Revolution expected an attack from his blind side. After all, it was common for enemies to aim there first. Not just for him, but for most half-blind felines. The seal point didn't expect the fisher's speed though. He dodged the bulk of the damage, but still felt the stinging graze of claws against his cheek. Revolution turned around to face his opponent. He hated being on the defensive side, but perhaps it was necessary. He'd never get a hit on the deputy if he kept blindly attacking. He had to be smart about this. It was rare for the BloodClanner to take fights this seriously, but hell, he hated himself right now. He was desperate. He needed to get a win, a victory, or something to prove that he wasn't worthless.

    "speaking in #dc143c"

    - tags -

    QuaqtPm.png

    *:・゚✦ YOU MAKE THE RIGHT IMPRESSION

    THEN EVERYBODY KNOW'S YOUR NAME *:・゚✦

    — revolution | storage | sig art by stiner! | played by melo-crisis —

  • Crimson tainted his claws, ignited by the setting sun, he felt an inkling of surprise flash across his gaze as he prepared for a counterattack and receiving none. He tasted the air, the threads of copper working into his nose as his blood coursed hot with adrenaline through veins and capillaries. This was child's play. He'd flattened into a graceful stance, tail pressed down with his weight distributed evenly across all of his paws. He danced, he was featherweight, his slim bones and lithe muscle maneuvered across the concrete like an adder as muscles primed and oiled prepped for engagement. He bit back a growl as his mind reached back, uprooting memories past, Beewing, trembling boy, pulled from the clutches of his home... Revolution deserved this ..he deserved this, he deserved to experience the terror of a loosing battle, the horror of a fruitless fight, to face an opponent as livid as someone who had lost too much already in this life. Fleetly he dashed from the tom's blind side, driving beneath and aiming an anchored bite to the tom's farthest ankle to wrench it out from under him and bring him to the concrete- if he were successful he'd bat past the tom's limbs and pin him to his back, sending claw-laced blows toward his throat. He was far from tired, the emotion-fueled furor shooting through his body.

  • Revolution's eyes narrowed as he studied the tom. He was close with a few RiverClanners. Weak ones, anyways. There was Rosepaw, who he promptly left after her announcement of pregnancy. He was too young to be a father. It was unfortunate, she was a nice girl, but he hoped that the kits wouldn't survive in the freezing winter. Then there was Beewing. Or Beeboy, as he called him. Soon after he captured the boy for the second time... well he didn't want to hurt him. He felt so fragile. He kept him more as a pet. Perhaps that was what fueled the sudden fury of Gladefall. Revolution did toy with his Clanmates, but he seldom put his claws to use. He followed his otherworld training: mental manipulation.


    As the other seal point disappeared from view again, Revolution quickly turned his eye to see him. He couldn't lose. Not many cats decided to aim for the same place twice, but it happened sometimes. As Gladefall caught his ankle, Revolution attempted to place his claws on the attacker's back, and would dig them in before he was put onto his back. He let out an omph as the impact knocked the breath out of him. One of the blows caught, sending a bloody scent to his nose. His blood. His godly blood was exposed to the world, and it stung, but Revolution wouldn't give up. No, he'd fight until a result made itself certain, which it had not yet. If Gladefall was right over him, Revolution aimed a sharp kick to his stomach in hopes of getting him off.

    "speaking in #dc143c"

    - tags -

    QuaqtPm.png

    *:・゚✦ YOU MAKE THE RIGHT IMPRESSION

    THEN EVERYBODY KNOW'S YOUR NAME *:・゚✦

    — revolution | storage | sig art by stiner! | played by melo-crisis —

  • "Ough-!" A choke tore from his lungs as dark legs plunged into the flesh of his stomach, intestines convulsed in a blunt pain that rippled across his underside. He pulled in a breath, smeared blood across his front paws unveiling the creature of chaos he was. He reared back onto his back legs but did not yet fall, he towered, a dicey nostalgia flashing across his mind as he relived a fight long since over, won, left it's scars across his throat. The flash of Eris' teeth had locked around his outstretched ankle as the scene replayed out before him- only he was on the attacking side. He replicated her movements in that moment, the inclination for revenge surged through his chest as the past played out in flesh and bone before him. He advanced swiftly, using Revolution's close proximity to his favor he aimed to lock his jaws around the other's outstretched leg and savagely drag him across the concrete, effectively skinning him against the grit- if he hadn't escaped by then Glade would throw his body to the side in hopes of furthering demobilize the dark tom by twisting his leg in the wrong direction.


    His fight with Eris had been not yet been matched in measure of ecstasy, the bliss in those moments was not mirrored here, only with fury did he duel, the vehemence of his mentality constructing an icy wall from the typical frenzy he experienced in viscous combat. Perhaps he would get there when the red tinged his gaze, when the border between life and death raced toward them. There was no one to interrupt. No one to distract. Just the ambiance of the evening and the visceral savagery of two animals locked in the clutches of battle.

  • Revolution hissed as Gladefall dug into his leg, but he furiously pulled it away, exposing flesh and warm blood once again to the warm breath of the evening. If a fox was willing to chew its own leg off from a trap to escape, then it seems that Revolution was the incarnation of one of them in a feline body. A foxheart. "So tell me; how's my favorite blue Bee doing back home?" He coughed, droplets of blood falling to the concrete as he panted, trying to take a breath. Revolution fell once more to the defensive side of the fight. His throat had nearly been ripped from him, and his leg was far beyond "walking it off."


    //ready for the muzzle scar?? :0

    "speaking in #dc143c"

    - tags -

    QuaqtPm.png

    *:・゚✦ YOU MAKE THE RIGHT IMPRESSION

    THEN EVERYBODY KNOW'S YOUR NAME *:・゚✦

    — revolution | storage | sig art by stiner! | played by melo-crisis —

  • The grating of tooth against bone rang through as uneven vibrations in his skull, sanguine blossomed into his mouth as flesh tore and ligaments stretched away, skin peeled and raptured in desperation for escape. He dropped into an offensive position. Sharp shoulder blades sliced through the thick summer air as he stalked, encircling the injured fox slowly. Blood drenched the inside his mouth, his jaw was dripping steadily, the tarmac scarcely scattered with droplets, set aflame by the brilliance of the sinking sun. Glistening rubies clung to his whiskers, viscous wine filtered between rows of ivory. He inhaled the bouquet of bloodshed, his heart sang, lungs submerged in the hostility of loathing, pure and simple. It had festered silently within him for moons, a disease only cured by the animalistic temptation of the unholy bloodbath. Starclan forgive him for indulging himself so!


    He then spoke, feasibly hoping to brutally twist the blade of anger in Glade's heart- but the notion of Gladefall, deputy of Riverclan, revealing anything at all about his best friend's life to the very rat who assaulted him was laughable. "You're disgusting," Words veiled in blood spat into the concrete below him, wild silvery spectacles looped and darted across the crippled creature, unstable was he, the fragile animosity present in the pupils of his eyes as it swelled into his boyish face, taking its place within his skin. The delicate hairs around the circumference of his head kindled in the evening's afterglow, quivering lightly as pulsing blood disturbed the surface of his skin. What Dovepaw perceived as a halo of light, a crown of brilliance was utterly incorrect. He wasn't above the predicaments of life. Not by any means. The duality of his existence herein lay. The impurity of savage onslaught and the heavenly radiance of a god. He disgusted himself sometimes.


    He kicked off the concrete, whipping through the air with feral eyes honed into the center of the tom's face. The motion in his body was ever-moving as he pulled back a paw, spread into an unmerciful set of claws,defined by the sharp shadows of tarnished sunlight. Backed by toned slabs of muscle he aimed to violently lacerate up the center of the tom's face. If it landed in full, knife-like cartilage would plunge into skin and flesh, splitting it unevenly from below his eye to the eyebrow on the other side in a brutal diagonal fissure.


    /of course! you can decide the extent to which glade's blow lands if you want :))

  • This cat was a deputy, yet he seemed to love the fight like a BloodClanner. Disgusting, hm? Both toms had hearts filled with anger and battle. It was no surprise that the lesser experienced tom would be defeated though. He hissed in pain as the RiverClanner's claws dug across his face. He could feel the warm blood trickle into his mouth. His lips had been torn in the attack. Though cat flesh was like a delicacy to him, he was no self-cannibal. Futile, weak, futile, weak. The words repeated in his mind like a chant of his inner demons closing in on him. He surrendered. The seal point turned tail and ran in defeat, but not with one last insult, spat with crimson, "You'd make a good BloodClanner, y'know?" With that, he scrabbled up a fence like a rat with his three good legs, hoping he would not be pursued nor killed.

    "speaking in #dc143c"

    - tags -

    QuaqtPm.png

    *:・゚✦ YOU MAKE THE RIGHT IMPRESSION

    THEN EVERYBODY KNOW'S YOUR NAME *:・゚✦

    — revolution | storage | sig art by stiner! | played by melo-crisis —