For a week, Venom had spent her time desperately rubbing up against the ice of the canal and what little flowers were left in the forest of Bloodclan's territory. For a week, Venom tried to get that disgusting stench off her fur that just wouldn't leave, and for a week, she would lick at ice to forget the taste, the smell. For a week, Venom had found herself unable to stomach the sight of a dead rat, much less the smell or taste of one. Ever since that damn bucket incident, Venom distanced herself from others and kept to herself more than usual, all the while festering hate for those who decided it would be a hoot and a half to drop said bucket on her head, unleashing with it freezing water that drenched Venom to the bone and embedded into her fur the stench of the still-bodies rats that had drowned in it. For a week, Venom had felt, known, that she would get back at them, and maybe not just once. She doubted she would ever let this go, especially if they wouldn't. So today, as the negative thoughts swam around her mind during her walk, two familiar voices broke her out of her daze.
Venom slowed her walk until she eventually came to a stop. For a moment, she remained eerily still, her ears pointed forward to pinpoint the owners of the voices, and as they did, Venom had to bite back a growl that rose in her throat. The molly pressed herself up against the wall beside which she had been walking, and despite its freezing temperature, she stalked forward with her body pressed fully against it. As quietly as possible, Venom made it to the corner and slowly peeked her head out to see the familiar form of one of the culprits. Sinclair was standing a bit precariously on a windowsill in the alley Venom looked into, his undivided attention given to a rather compact trash bin below him, or rather, what was inside it. Noise was undoubtedly coming from within the bin, and after a moment's surveillance, Venom knew that it was undoubtedly Ryland inside it. It seemed as if the slender tom was rummaging throughout twoleg trash for food or something similar, and Sinclair was keeping a lookout. He was doing quite a shitty job of it, though, because with the speed of a snail, Venom managed to round the corner and sneak along the wall towards him after a moment's epiphany. With her fur blending in with the snow, she was almost invisible, the only indicators of her presence being her paw and eyes. As she crept, Venom could barely keep her excitement at bay; her plan was working. Slowly, slowly, she made it to the windowsill, Ryland and Sinclair's conversation making it into one of her ears and out the other, as she could focus on nothing other than her mission.
Venom waited, waited, and then slowly bunched her muscles to make another leap. Waiting longer than necessary, until she was absolutely sure she could make it, the molly uncoiled her body like a snake, muscle propelling her throughout the air and as smoothly as butter onto the windowsill. The moment her paws met the surface, Venom dashed forward with a speed that highly contrasted against her previous pace. With speed and power ever higher due to momentum, Venom barreled through Sinclair's body and shoved him right to the side as she passed by to send his body into the bin he was looking into. Not stopping for a second, Venom made it to the other side of the windowsill and jumped off before turning back the way she came. From there, all it took was was a simple jump and shove of Venom's body to send the bin's lid fly shut, and one more jump to land atop it. Breath heavy from adrenaline, Venom took a seat, placing her entire weight on the lid to keep it from opening. The feline sat there, a dazed yet euphoric look in her eye as her lips slowly curled upwards into a sadistic smirk. A quiet, almost inaudible, breathless laugh escaped her as her actions registered. Venom was high on revenge, and she wasn't leaving anytime soon.