midas touch + introduction

Check out the Court of Halcyon, holy knights of the Bleak Wilds and a growing unboarded proclan who aim to bring peace and order to Agrelos!
  • Yeah, he was born to two important people. Yeah, that meant he had to be a cool kid. He had to be strong, smart, the best. He had applied those pressures on himself since the beginning. Honestly, he wasn't sure if he was feigning immaturity or letting it overcome his self-control. What he did have control over were his words. It was hard to bite his tongue and hold himself back. Some might even consider him to be an awkward cat to have a conversation with: tilting, nodding, or shaking his head, opening and closing his mouth, or maybe just a hard stare that made him seem lost in thought because sometimes, there really were better things to listen to. Most of these times, he was looking for a word worth saying so he could finally break his silence. His refusal to speak conquered his thoughts and shaped him. His first word was going to be a word he'd remember for his whole lifetime; it was going to be special, unique, jaw-dropping. But what he needed first was a word with that effect, a word he could say with utmost confidence. It'd be real clumsy to stumble over his first word, it'd lose the whole point of being said late.

    "speaking in #daa520"

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  • Ryland hadn't put any importance on words when he'd been growing up. Words were words—and if you threw them all together into a sentence, you could yap and yap and yap until your brother smacked you on the top of the head and told you to shut up. Well... That was his experience, at least. Ever since he had learned to speak Ryland had never stopped talking, and even still he always lazily throws something into a conversation no matter the topic. It's mute cats that he struggles to speak to—he had only met two completely silent cats before Mikhail, but all three had been around the same age. Is there something that affects kits at this age? Some kind of disease that sticks in their throats like peanut butter? Ryland had heard of the silence of Sergei's kit through the whisperings of his Clanmates, and in an attempt to try and get him to talk himself, the scruffy tabby approaches him with a strange curiosity in his eyes. It's the type of curiosity that a kit feels when approaching a dead frog, or something. He extends a single paw, poking the top of the kid's head to try and get his attention (or maybe it's to poke him like a kit would poke a dead frog, too). "Hey—we haven't met, have we? What's your name?" Would Mikhail notice the baited trap? Maybe he should sprinkle in a bit of conversation... A red herring, if you will. "My name's Ryland. Your dad was, uh- my deputy, you know."

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    YEAH—WHY YOU ALWAYS GOTTA RAIN ON ME AND MY VIBES?

    BLOODCLAN TRAPPER & SKYCLAN DAYLIGHT WARRIOR » BIOGRAPHY » PLOTTING » PENNED BY GREAHOUND

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  • Mikhail let himself be poked, although, he glanced up at Ryland and extended his own paw to poke the tabby. His blue eyes stared at him, a look that conveyed something along the lines of "do you take me for a fool?" He did find it amusing when people did try to get him to talk though, evident by the hint of a smile tugging at his lips. Maybe his first word could be his own name, but wasn't that a little narcissistic? Even saying someone else's name was better than saying his own. He'd considered his dad's name before, but decided it didn't make the cut when he disappeared. Instead of answering the first question, he decided to answer both with a simple shake of his head. No, he hadn't met Ryland yet. No, he didn't know that his dad used to be Ryland's deputy but that meant... his eyes widened, and what was just a growing grin became a full smile. He was talking to one of the ex-leaders of BloodClan!

    "speaking in #daa520"

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  • * A pair of cold green eyes were next to land on the kit, moving then to regard Ryland, who had taken it upon himself to try and draw a word from him with the baited hook of conversation. It was like Ryland to do that— and while Sinclair had little interest in solving the troubles of a leader's child he meandered still to the tabby's side, talkative wiles poised at the ready. The tuxedo did like words. Some words were fun, and if you strung together specific words you can make sentences, and jokes. And you can also get things from others. He'd sacrifice sight or smell at the drop of a hat if it meant his tongue was left intact, for Sinclair was someone who relied on talking for his trade, his very purpose in life. Needless to say, when he came across someone selectively mute he could only roll his eyes; who would doom themselves to live a life of silence? He blinked his eyes to his Wingman, nodding casually as he brought up Sergei, the man, the myth. "He was also very ugly," He built off the tom's words as though his own weren't a blatant insult to the child's bloodline and therefore the child himself. "I don't think you inherited that, though. Whaddya think, Ryland?" In fact, he looked nothing like his father, oddly enough. It was for the best. "Oh— Where are my manners— I'm Sinclair," He introduced himself with a sprightly charm, forever-mischief flashing through his stare.

  • What an odd name. "Sinclair..." He murmured to himself, as if pondering the taste of the name upon his tongue, and ultimately breaking his superficial vow of silence. Ah. Well, that wasn't bad of a first word. The tuxedo was eccentric, outright, and just... interesting. "Whaddya think, Ryland?" A smug smirk drew upon his lips as he mocked Sinclair's words, although, they had a different context. What else could he take? That stare... It was perfect. He would try to imitate that as he looked to the brown tabby.


    Oh talking... Talking was great! Now he didn't have to look all gloomy and demanding and all. Now he could talk, ask, answer. He could talk to Henrik and Mischa and mom and all his WindClan siblings he missed quite dearly. He could communicate now, and this probably really was the golden opportunity; it was exactly what he was waiting for.

    "speaking in #daa520"

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  • If she wanted to, Venom would probably not have much trouble living her life without uttering a word. Sure, it would make some things about harder, but she barely talked to anyone in the first place, and most things she wanted to say were conveyed through her eyes a good portion of the time. Needless to say, she valued silence more than any sort of unnecessary small talk. While this may have deterred many a relationship from being formed between her and another feline, Venom couldn't say she cared very much. At least, not for most cats.


    The white molly approached the small group that had formed, gaze slightly curious. The fact that Mikhail's first word was "Sinclair" was barely short of amusing, although Venom would have been lying if she said it wasn't thought provoking. Was he just that much of an interesting individual? If so, was Venom rude for failing to see it? Either way, it was hard to miss the new spark that invaded Mikhail's eyes after he spoke his first words. Venom pulled her head back upon noticing it, the look on her face akin to that of an incredulous one. "Oh, great," the molly sighed, casting her gaze onto her new boss. "You've infected him."

  • * Within moments of speaking his own name Mikhail had adopted the word into his own vocabulary, repeating it back spinning it over his tongue with a speculative stare. The tuxedo's eyes brightened, though not enough to give the impression he'd expected a different outcome. Of course he'd say his name. Who wouldn't? Like a parrot he then echoed his prior words, the action serving only to widen the dealer's toothy grin. "That's mehahaha," He chuckled with a hint of surprise woven into his tone, turning to stare at the tabby as Mikhail had. He reiterated the words again with a teasing smile, "Whaddya think, Ryland?" He was delighted to notice Venom had also found her curiosity tickled by the prospects of a silent boy, furthermore curious when his first word had been the name of the clan's local scammer.


    He glanced to the Hawk with a lingering smirk, enjoying her derisive cynicism as always. "It is— It's great, Venom," He turned her sarcasm against her, knowing full well it was really no proper way to go about countering such a deadpan comment. "Tell you what— if he starts walkin' n talkin like me he'll be destined for success— hahahaha!" He looked back to the golden child at hand, amusement clear in his eyes when he gave him a prod to the shoulder. "Isn't that right, kiddo?"

  • "Yeah!" For once, he felt that he really bonded with someone outside of his family. He was more proud of himself than surprised that he was able to make a connection almost immediately upon speaking. While Mikhail didn't know much about his own destiny, he knew that fate tugged at his paws. Why else would he have left a promising, peaceful home in the moors for such a loud, vibrant place? Why did he feel compelled to speak the strange no-longer-stranger's name upon his tongue as his first word? It was all meant to be; maybe it was meant to be that this Sinclair would be a huge part of his future. He couldn't tell if the tuxedo's comment was serious, but Mikhail had already made up his mind. He just turned to the white feline, once again, mimicking part of the dealer's dialogue, "It's great, Venom."

    "speaking in #daa520"

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  • Watching Mikhail basically come to life invoked a somewhat nostalgic feeling within Venom. Although she repressed the feeling as soon as it came, Venom couldn't deny the stirring in her stomach as Mikhail became all but another person on the spot. It was nice- watching Sergei's son begin to feel as if he truly belonged in Bloodclan. She might not have had anything to do with it, but as long as Mikhail felt happy in the clan, it didn't really matter, did it? The molly averted her eyes to meet the kit's own, fighting the urge to repeat his last phrase back to him in a mocking (albeit innocuous) tone; that would have been childish, even for her. Instead, she settled for a scoff. "Great for you, maybe. One Sinclair is enough, thank you." For a moment, Venom narrowed the gaze she had set on Mikhail before looking away at his new idol. "Although something tells me I have no choice in the matter." Despite the exasperation that settled onto her body, Venom couldn't help but fight back a smirk as she came to the realization that Mikhail's father would surely be delighted upon hearing the news.