we all need a place to slow down // introduction

This is an archived version of FeralFront. While you can surf through all the content that was ever created on FeralFront, no new content can be created.
If you'd like some free FeralFront memorabilia to look back on fondly, see this thread from Dynamo (if this message is still here, we still have memorabilia): https://feralfront.com/thread/2669184-free-feralfront-memorabilia/.

    The solemn drip of water colliding with concrete surface resounded through the empty alleyways, which was then accompanied by a even more depressing gloom that was cast by the shadows of within. The grinding of rat teeth as they slipped by one another as they hurriedly made their pickings of the carrion that lied about lopsided in areas unbeknownst could be heard from where the youngster was sat, as he the cutting bite of the cold nipped his nose and the sensitive padding of his paws. It was a divine experience, nontheless, that he had found himself so fond of his new vicinity, to which he absorbed the second upon entering. It was a dreary place, no trees, barely any vegetation to support any type of life, yet in all the circumstances in the looming buildings that made up where trees often should be, counting the many bits of debris that lied about inattentively, the youngster, who had went by such an absurd name as his own, had found himself loving every inch of it, as if though he had been there the entirety of his life.


    He was birthed and reared in the life of a cat that only accepted the lowest, where rat meat plentiful and the discarded waste of twolegs had become more prominent in the likeness of it all, to which he had found his pickings, and accepted it wholeheartedly, even as young as he was. He couldn't help, but laugh at the situations that he had manufactured over the moons he had been alive, although just a minuscule five, it was for sure an event to bestow. From being indulged in the life of a house-pet, into the streets from which he had been reared, it was quite a mesmerizing ordeal for the younger ginger tom who toiled in the depths of the city, gazing about in a child-like stupefaction, as his mind wondered back to how he had gotten there.

    His brother, who hefty in shape, and impassive in all definition of the word, had 'handed' him off to who's name he could recall to being, 'Sol', a dubious character who's eyes were just as welcoming as that of a serpent's, but will just the same as that of a raccoon's. The young tom had not understood completely as to why he had been given up, nor did he hold nor mutter any harsh vexations for being seized from the life in which he had been given, gratefully, into another. He was aware of the situation he was in, but the tom didn't care. In fact, it was plausible that he couldn't find it in himself to give short noting of anything that would happen to him, as a joke would often fall in suite with every wisp of the way, and his mind just a bit off from that of usual, although not as warped as to kill, maim, nor torture, but simply, when a situation as light or as dire in the likings of the young orange tom, he would erupt into a bellowing, bell-like laugh, as everything to him was just a simple jest, nothing more, nothing less. Life was how he wanted to bend it, and how he had bent it? Into his own pleasurable game.


    // hi

    Scrounging for items had always been a pastime for him. It was strange what upwalkers would throw out- cloth, charms, sometimes even herbs- it was a shame what valuable things they'd throw to the streets. Digging through the mounds of goods, he was looking for cloth scraps, until he heard paw pads coming from the alleyway. He backed out of the hole he had made in the trash bag, shaking off any undesirable matter that hung from his body. His tired cobalt gaze shifted to the strangely proportioned tabby. His tail flicked from side to side, trying to sense if this new fellow was a friend or fiend. “Hello. You seem... to not be from here. May I help you?” He asked the young scrawny orange tom in a deep monotone, his expression unshaken.

    “SPEECH”

    ATTACK

    He had been momentarily transported into a world where the shadows of the towering buildings had overcome his vision as his brain had began to slip from consciousness as he lied idled from where the other had been situated, levering his paws upon a rock where he lied uncomfortable with his abnormally long limbs sprawled out about his length figure, and his over-sized ears now slumped until they had been leveled with each side of his temple, but at the sudden call of his name, the youngster turned his head, and from his more weary expression, it quickly adverted into that of a grin. "Oh, but you'd be wrong!" came his reply in such a hurried fashion, "I was brought in just last night! My name's Onion Ring, what's yours?" He was oblivious to the fact that the tom had mentioned prior to this, that he seemed new. Perhaps it was the fact that he had felt that he was already a part?

    Ah! Just last night... Anubys' eyes lighted up at this youngster's immediate smile. Onion Ring- what a peculiar name! “You may call me Anubys. You seem very eager to be here. Welcome to BloodClan.” Anubys tried to force a smile upon his face, but the combination of his dark voice and strange expression just made him more creepy than anything. The vigitilo sat down, then realized his collar was rusting more, and the metal had grown softer. Maybe he can break it somehow? He'd have to think on it later- his brain zipped from topic to topic, trying to focus on the most pressing one, the cat in front of him to be exact.

    “SPEECH”

    ATTACK

    * He'd slept little since bringing the child in, the strangeness of the circumstance by which he'd even landed a kit in his paws still lingering in the back of his mind, occasionally jumping to the forefront screaming, 'Why did you do that?' Was it that he felt indebted to Tater Tot? He didn't even like the guy, and yet here he was, performing a favor for him. And a big, loud, strange one at that. He'd thought perhaps- in a spur of momentary blindness- the child might perhaps develop a fondness for Sinclair by proxy alone, and thus slip into the Web in an act of eternal gratitude. Of course he'd been wrong, but it had taken no further prompting before the deal was sealed at the time, blinded by the momentary stupor of forged camaraderie and disproportionate expectation. Of course Onion Ring likely didn't feel at all indebted to the tuxedo fiend, and had in turn evaded the tangling snares of Sinclair's nefarious devices. Oh, well. Surely he'd become someone else's responsibility, if the aversion to business was as strong as Sinclair predicted.

    He sauntered closer, the unmistakeable black and white markings being enough to disclose his presence- beginning to harbor their own force of will, it seemed. His glare swept apprehensively up the grimy alley walls, an uncomfortable frown tugging at his face— not at the fact Onion Ring had for some reason wandered out so far but simply out of discomfort regarding the nature of the alleyway itself. He didn’t like alleys; they surfaced some kind of distant terror in the pit of his stomach, for simply the smell, the slimy concrete under paw, the narrow space was enough to put the tuxedo out of his element. He forced a charming smile to his face as he stood beside Anubys, inquisitive green eyes snaking up the limber figure in front of him. He was small, but the lack of baby fat on him gave him the proportions of an adult. He was like a small adult. "How're you settling in?" He incited charismatically, pale green eyes wide in an expression of fanciful eagerness. He really was curious, though. They'd chatted on the journey here but there was something extremely obscure about the nature of the orange kid that left Sinclair unsatisfied with his own, personal analysis. Who exactly was he, besides a burden to be handed off to a shady man from Bloodclan? Was there a reason Tater Tot was willing to be rid of him?

    The conversation about this kitten's joining had panned out in a relatively short, to the point manner. Sinclair had brought him to their borders yesterday, asking for his Leaderly Blessing to allow him to join the Clan for the usual personal reasons, and though he'd known BloodClan's resources to be low, Ryland had let him in without much in the way of bribery. He's a child, after all. If he were older, perhaps an adult, his joining would have been harder, but for now the sight of a hungry kitten had easily earned him a spot in BloodClan. He needs to become self-sufficient, though. He needs to be able to hunt for this Clan eventually, if not to feed himself, then to eventually feed Ryland. The blistering scorch of the notorious heat wave has ebbed for now, but for how long will that last? Eventually the dark clouds covering their skies will part to reveal the angry sun once again, and the few appearances of prey that had decided to come out of their holes will promptly disappear. The world loves giving nice things to mortal cats, only to rip them from their paws moments later. Such is the way of Mother Nature.


    An angry growl rumbles in his stomach as he walks through the alleyways of the Twolegplace, white paws dragging in tow. He's following the foul stench of carrion—the expanse of forest surrounding their camp had unfortunately offered him nothing in the way of food, as their patrols today had already overhunted the meager numbers of scrawny mice and voles there. So he's instead looking for rats; not to eat himself, but to trade with. If the other BloodClanners eat his rats (with their lack of tastebuds), then they'll leave the actually good prey for him. But turning the corner, he doesn't come across any of the disgusting rodents. Instead he stumbles into a small gathering of felines—Sinclair, Anubys, and the young cat that had joined just yesterday, Onion Ring. His will to hunt is lost within only a second. The appeal of talking to others will always trump the feeling of oily rat fur touching his tongue, and therefore Ryland gives up on his hunt for now, slinking to Sinclair's side, where he takes his normal place at his right. The gazes of the two older BloodClanners are focused onto their newest, and Ryland follows suit, staring at Onion Ring with a tired pull to his features, though he does attempt a smile. "If it isn't Onion Ring. What're you doing out here in the Twolegplace?" Pointedly he glances to Sinclair, one of his legs shifting to jab its elbow into his arm—a warning. Watch him more closely. "You should come back to camp. It's safer."

    The post was edited 1 time, last by RYLAND. ().

    It was to be expected that others would begin to manifest in the wake of Anubys’s own appearance, derived from their own curiosities that often guided cats into different situations that could descend into other circumstances all based on chance. In this way, to be exact, they had managed to stumble across the kit, who spoke in a once rushed manner as ecstatic as his tone was, only seemed to heighten upon sighting Sol. The entirety of his attention, which had been fixated upon the blue BloodClan warrior previously, proceeded to latch onto the tuxedo. “Hi! I love it here, I’ve got a lot of things to do here, it isn’t anything like it was living with Cheese Tot, but I’m not complaining.” He paused before speaking again, “Thanks for bringing me here.”


    Had it been just a few seconds prior and the silhouette of another cat had become less of that of a shadowy figure and more of that of a subsequent being, which held true to his markings which were patterned familiarly upon his features. He was unsure as to what authority this tom had, although he was sure it was something more serious in regard to Sol’s own. “Just wondering about, I just wanted to see everything,” came Onion Ring’s earnest answer, “didn’t think it’d matter all that much.”

    * He nodded as the lanky tom's attention fixed itself absorbedly unto him, something bright and eager encompassing his expression the moment their gazes locked. Sinclair knew very little of this kid, still. Despite having been the one to lead him over the border to begin with, he was still just a stranger with a funny name and disproportionately long legs. Pale eyes dove into the muddled brown, searching for anything that would hint towards anything he didn't already know about the boy. He had an interesting, turbulent energy hanging around him, that was for sure. His charming smile lingered, dark ears flicking as his eyes once again pulled to the slimy alley walls, his stomach squeezing for a moment. "I'm glad, I'm glad!" He divulged with conviction, as if his arrangement with Cheese Tot had been a good idea. He still wasn't sure about that. "Just stay outta trouble, eh?" He chided, chuckling lightly.

    He turns to look at the familiar presence of Ryland appearing on his right, an easy smile replacing the twinge of discomfort beginning to take hold of his features. He looked tired. Joining in the collective stares, his arm buckles beneath him in the wake of a sharp jab, a stunned sort of fear flashing through his eyes. "Ah—!" he gasps, shock quickly replaced with irritation as Ryland's pointed stare meets his own. Its clear- in its obviousness- Ryland was dissatisfied with Soloman's current carelessness regarding the supervision of this child. He suggests bringing Onion Ring back to camp, which felt like a responsible course of action. Since bringing the kid here he'd failed to acknowledge he'd given himself a responsibility- something he actively avoided. "If you ever want to come out here just— I can take you with me," He suggested effortlessly, unsure if Onion Ring was even aware of the nature of his daily undertakings, "I'm— I'm always out and about. Every day."

    The words that had been elicited had been that of a idled conviction to which Onion Ring was sure enough to pick up on, which only urged one brow to arch curiously as he gazed between the two. A mischievous glint resonated within the murky depths of his gaze as he hoisted one paw off the stone floor, toward the rock from which he had previously propped on. A light laughter was soon accompanied by this, as he began to speak. "Oh, I wouldn't dream of getting myself in trouble," he stated, his voice dripping with only a hint of derision as he eyed the two toms up and down, "You don't need to worry about me."