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  • * White-dipped paws brought him along a splintering wooden fence, the chipping divider between twoleg gardens and dens but one that was easily navigated nonetheless. Maybe he considered it to be something as a last goodbye to the birds over which he'd domineered for the past 6 moons of his life, but otherwise his journey had little purpose. Just tracing the wooden borders, watching the sun slowly set over the neighbourhood, his neighbourhood, thoughrouly webbed at every angle, through every alley. They knew who he was, and now, they'd finally be free of his isolated reign. How boring. Wherever this great move brought them he could only hope there will be another community to place his racket over, with stronger supports, with a model now perfected from the test run. He'd have more stuff, and more things than ever before. What more could a businessman ask for in life?

    He moved to rest on a post, watch the stretching shadows cast by twoleg-nest grow longer the lower the sun sank. He should probably head back to his room soon, but he wasn't quite ready to turn his eyes to the near future just yet.

    PARADOX? sorry its a tad short :,)

  • [ IT TRULY WAS A CRUEL THING ] Did Para miss the life in the Twolegplace, living under creaky houses and broken wood and trash? Maybe she did. The life of her time spent there is different from living here, living in a collective group of other felines. She really did prefer being on her own, having to survive with each rising sun and setting sun. Now, life's a bit dull at the moment, but of course, that is only now. With changes on the horizon, a move coming soon for the Clan that would drag them from this familiar place into who knows where, she's a bit excited to see what would happen next. Perhaps, the newer territory would be much more dramatic.

    The tabby spots the tuxedo sitting on a post as she is making her way through the gardens, ready to rest for the day. He's warmly lit by the setting sun, his shape making a glow outline and for a moment she's reminded of Sunny. But as soon as she thinks of him, she forgets him. She will no longer be able to see him when the move starts, after all. Her gaze is trained on the back of Sinclair and she's quiet for a moment before remembering what she had been wanting to ask of him when he's alone. Now's a good time to ask him, before the chaos all starts.

    "Birdie enjoying the view up there?" Para would call to him from where she stands, just a few steps from the post.



  • * Pale green eyes tumbled down angular buildings and nests, sharp shadows cleaving through streets and gardens; the epitome of industrial bliss, the only organic shapes were the occasional trees blooming from the cradle of a fenced-in yard. He hoped there would be kittypets wherever they ended up. Sinclair knew that if he were cast to the clutches of nature he'd die before moonhigh to the jaws of a badger or the talons of a great big hawk. Paradox wasn't the only one anticipating this fated move, that much was certain. Sinclair had always considered himself to be as adaptable as they came, but he had to admit, destroying a network he'd spent 9 moons establishing was going to sting. Whatever. He'd recover like he always did.

    'Birdie enjoying the view up there?' Black and white features were consumed by the cloak of shadow when he turned to see a grey-furred molly, standing below the fence with an expectant stare. "Yes I am, actually," He answered easily, muted expression something unreadable. He couldn't remember her name, but he'd seen that black-accented face around the station. A Bloodclanner. "Y'know. I think I might actually miss the twoleg-place, when we move." He kept his gaze fixed to her, twin eyes of jade narrowing bitterly while the words passed once again through his mind. "Isn't that so stupid? Hahaha." He chuckled before looking back to the sun-drenched urbanity, tongue pressing into the tip of his canine.

  • [ IT TRULY WAS A CRUEL THING ] Paradox is probably fortunate enough that she had the chance to live the life of the forest clans, even if briefly. Although RiverClan itself is a bit removed from the woods that is mostly home to ThunderClan, the rivers that cut through the pieces of land is enough of nature to remind her of the dangers of life away from the Twolegplace. What Sinclair is thinking, about the worries of being picked up easily by a badger or a hawk, she understands it, but it don't quite strike a chord of fear within her. For her, it's not death by those that prey on them felines, but rather, something else. Moving across who knows what could expose them to plenty of dangers and who knows what lies in the new place? Maybe even more dangerous wicked things, for all they could know. But they can't know until it happens then, and for now, they would have to accept that death is inevitable and sacrifices have to be made.

    The BloodClanner is quiet as the tuxedo reflects on her amused question, bitter words rolling off his tongue as he makes a comment about the home that BloodClan had made here. She takes this opportunity to look around at her surroundings more closely, taking notes of the broken pieces of fence still trying to stand in the greenleaf breeze, the scattered patches of grass among the dirt patches, the trees looming above them in the distance. He isn't wrong to say that this place would be missed - she really would miss this place. There's no knowing what the future place would look like or have, and she could say she would miss some kittypets here as well, Sunny included. "Hah," she says in response to his comments, turning to focus on the tom on the post. "Changes can be good." She gazes at his back in silence for some moment as if reflecting on her own words.

    "Anyway, been meaning to ask of birdie about the Web he talked about at the introduction," Paradox would get into business with no time to waste. "I'm interested in this Web that you and Ry are part of."



  • * 'Changes can be good.' He turned a skeptical stare to the silvered molly, wondering for a moment if she was implying something beyond his knowledge. Her words were obvious truths, but he didn't trust philosophical talk (no wonder he and Caledon never hit it off). Changes could be good, it was obvious, but who could blame him for being reluctant? He didn't think about the future, nor did he ever turn his eyes to the past if he could help it. The present was what mattered, and if he had to clean up messes he could've prevented with a bit of foresight, then that was his problem. Regardless, he was glad that she'd moved onto what she actually came here to do. The sweet song of business; Ah, he loved to hear it. He did find it odd she was calling him 'birdie', when most cats in Bloodclan knew him by name alone. "Don't you know my name?" He challenged with a cold smile, for a moment diving into her coppery pools. He found nothing and huffed, gaze returning to the chaotic display of shadows cast over garden below while sunlight beamed through breaks in this rickety fence.

    He supposed there was no use thinking about a stupid nickname when there were more important things at hand. "Well you've come to the right guy," He moved on casually, black tail snaking over a splintering wooden support. "You could say.. I'm the Spider in the centre of it, heheheh." He rolled his slim, black shoulders and tilted his jaw into a slight stretch (it felt good to temporarily free his skin from the forever-cinch of his tight, leather collar). "You looking to be associated?" He could see how someone like her could have a use for his kind of business.

  • [ IT TRULY WAS A CRUEL THING ] The skeptical stare that she is given is clear - that Sinclair truly didn't think much of the future. Para had plenty of time in her whole lifetime to think about a lot of philosophical things, about the future, the past, and the present, about what lies ahead in her own path. It's not quite so much like thinking about futures like a medicine cat that receives signs from StarClan about what comes for their clans, but rather, something akin to one who have too much time on their paws to worry about what comes for them. Her own comment, that changes can be good, is only really a partly truthfully made statement. Changes can be good, but only when she could foresee it. When things gets to chaotic and too hectic, changes are terrible. For the upcoming move that would tear BloodClan from this place, it's somewhere in between the good and the bad. She couldn't weigh this move on the scale of balance when she don't know what will results from this.

    Her attention is snapped by the challenge of the tux, halting her running on thoughts. She blinks once as it take a moment to register reality into her mind as her worlds being filed away in the back and lets out a small pained laughter from her scratchy throat. "Of course, I do know your name. But it's no fun to say your name every time." Sinclair's name is not forgotten - absolutely not when he plays some importance enough to be remembered by her. But sometimes, names are really a nuisance. Who could care that much about names? She had been given the name of Greykit at birth and it's a terrible name. Did her parents really look at her grey fur and decided that is her name? Really, no thought process is made behind her birth name. Maybe because of this, she don't think much of others' names, even the one that kittypet had dubbed her as "Paradox." And for her, it wouldn't be a lie to say that sometimes she hesitates and have to recall the names of her own clanmates.

    But she is spared from explaining any further when the tom focuses on her main business for being here, about the Web trading group. She raises a fictitious eyebrow at his comment of being a spider of the group, which actually make sense considering it's called . . . the Web. Although that didn't mean she would stop calling him "birdie" (although she would now consider calling him "spiderie") A small look of amusement appears on the tabby's face as he asks her if she wants to be "associated" with this Web. "Why else would I be asking you about it?" Her neck hurts slightly from craning up to look at him so she would lower her head as she move through the grass, as if looking to move to another spot and expecting Sinclair to follow. "Indeed, I have plenty to offer in exchange for being a member of this Web of yours," Para calls over her shoulder to the BloodClanner.



  • * A smile came to his face when confirmation was made that his name hadn't been forgotten— his relationship to the concept of a name was something more complicated than he could ever hope to remedy without a restructuring of his entire attitude towards them. He had three names, each the pillars upon which periods of his life stood, and in the throes of trauma were forcibly written over by a new identity; A new name, each time. The peculiar desire for his name to be known and remembered was but a manifestation of the paranoia surrounding his identity. Sinclair didn't see it as such, of course. He masked it all with the egocentric bravado he was known for; I'm Sinclair! Everyone knows me, why wouldn't you? Still, he raised an eyebrow at her comment. She sounded like him when she said that. "I'm sure you can't come up with anything worse than what I've already been called before," He chuckled, Ivory's stupid nickname for him coming to mind.

    Her rhetorical question prompted a huff from the tuxedo as she began to snake through the well-kept garden of a twoleg nest, clearly beckoning him to follow. He scaled from the fence and traced her prints, joining her in navigating the patchy shadows and scattered sunspots with ears angled eagerly forward. Plenty to offer? He smiled, pale eyes wincing as a tall blade of grass grazed his cheek. "Oh, tell me more," he encouraged earnestly, mind beginning to flit through the roles and jobs he had available, and available for someone like her. He had a couple; A hawk, and perhaps something a little more specialized... But he'd wait to see what she had to offer before trying to categorize her.

  • [ IT TRULY WAS A CRUEL THING ] Threading the way through the grass of the area cast in the rays of red sun, she's looking over her shoulder again when Sinclair makes a comment on her answer. She briefly wonders what nickname he would think as the worst, but don't ask of it. Of course, there would have to be a nickname worst than being called "birdie" or "sweetie." A pause in her movement forth, waiting for the tuxedo feline to catch up to her for a moment before turning and continuing in the general path forward.

    Eagerness rolls off his tongue, grey-green eyes glistening with piqued interest in the ever-vague words of her, as her paws feel the soft earth beneath her and the grass blades tickling them both. Silence hangs in the air, purposely given to put the businessman in suspense, awaiting to know what services she could provide for his business. Copper eyes warming up to brown as Para gazes at the bleeding sky, she would finally answer to his eagerness. "Information." One word, just one word given and she leaves it at that, letting silence encompasses the atmosphere around them once more. A twitch of a smile makes itself on her face, although her face is probably hidden as she's just a bit ahead of him. When she turns, the smile is gone and a neutral thoguhtful look takes place.

    "I'm not materialistic, you know. It's kind of funny seeing you guys doing trade in collars or whatever, those things are terrible," the tabby launches into her slight critique of the mini group. "I'm sure there's more value in information than items, don't you think?"



  • * Her techniques for suspense had worked, but as a cat who spent his days threading deals together with strangers and Bloodclanners alike, he knew his way around the techniques of a conversational artist well. Still, he allowed himself to cling to the cusp of suspense, his jaws even parting into a silent gasp as she revealed her offer. Information? A smile creeped across his face. That was new. He enjoyed surprises, and the tip of his snaking tail slowed to a measured ticking. Paired with his narrowed eyes and peeking canine, his message was clear; Color me intrigued. As she fell silent he was forced to ruminate on her offer, a single word.

    Of course, he wouldn't leave this interaction without facing her own dissection into the supposed frivolity of his Web. So she was one of those cats who painted his trade with the broad strokes of uselessness. She wasn't the first, nor would she be the last. What was true was that there would always exist those who wanted items, and he'd keep providing. He was a materialistic dragon atop his pile of treasure, and for as long as the demand for it existed, he'd keep filling the veins of this pulsing network with gold. A laugh puffed from his nose, unimpressed. "You're not the first to tell me that, y'know. Don't you think I've heard it all? Hahaha," His chuckle was genuine, and above all, a sign he could care less about what she thought about his work. He had his own validation piled beneath the floorboards of his room, woven into the notoriety he'd garnered as the cat to go to for stuff and things.

    It was true that he wanted to the information-brokering side of his business, though. It just happened to be that trading collars and jewels was much easier to oversee and control than information. If he knew what was going on with every Bloodclanner he could target his trades, too. "I have my own little Birds, around the Twoleg-place," he prefaced easily, dark ear flicking away pollen. He had always called them Birds, like they watched from the trees, flitting through branches. "They tell me things, but it's—honestly very inefficient, hahaha!" He didn't mind admitting that much- he wasn't exactly known for it as much as he was for procuring stuff and things. "If you like information so much, maybe you could help me out with that."

  • [ IT TRULY WAS A CRUEL THING ] Sinclair soaks up her silence and suspense, intrigued by her and her way of lacing the offer. Soon, he would comments on her slight critique, chuckling at her words and waving it off. Of course, it's understandable he had heard these many times. She would be surprised if he had said it is his first time hearing it. "Of course not, I'm sure you must have heard everything there is to be said about your group," she would quietly rephrases and echos his words, voice returning to its scratchy sound.

    He's dancing around with his words, sharing his small experience with his 'birds' of information, but admitting it's not quite efficient and effective. Despite his remarks, he's agreeing to her offer, making the statement that would need to be confirmed to really put her place in the Web of his. "That's what I am here for, master birdie." A slight tease based on his previous explanation, she would tilt her head and then nod once at the tuxedo. "Just state what you're looking for." A small smile twitches on her maw.



  • * He watched flies chase each other through the sunlight, gathering in chaotic clusters. The evening tango of insects wasn't something he thought he'd ever pay attention to, yet sitting in the thick of it, he had no choice. 'That's what I am here for, master birdie.' Her comment teased a smile from the stony mask he'd created, laugher perched beneath his chin. He suppressed the impulse to chuckle and swallowed, head tilting to the side as his ever-cold glare travelled along the twoleg-den beside them. Perhaps 'Master-Birdie' would've been a more appropriate moniker for the man who managed allegorical Birds— But he liked to think of himself as an entity with many legs. One leg being dealing, the other services, and another; The ebb and flow of information. This was why perhaps, of a choice between Paradox and Sinclair, he thought she would be more befitting the title of 'Master-birde.'

    If she took his job, that was. "What I'm looking for..." He began, taking a moment to put his thoughts into words. "...Is simply someone who can gather information for me." If she was as interested as she let off, then she'd fit into the role perfectly. "As I said— I have my Birds... But at the moment they're just waiting for someone like you to collect everything they have to say and bring it back to me," His system was ready for someone, just not him. If Paradox could round up all the information, and all of the deals, he wouldn't have to operate in the dark anymore. "They might take a bit of convincing to tweet, though." He figured Paradox was perfectly capable of such endeavours, if the muscles he saw weren't simply a trick of the light. "I want to extend my reach into Bloodclan, too," He added, introducing to her his ideas for local exploits. "I can't know every secret and every rumour, but if I had a second pair of ears listening for me, I think together we could find out more than we ever could alone." If she truly had a knack for collecting and storing information, surely she'd have no problems relaying every bit of Bloodclanner-gossip she came across to him.

  • [ IT TRULY WAS A CRUEL THING ] He's lost in thoughts for some moment as the evening sun lights him up in a a glow once more. But the silent moment isn't long before he would speak up again, telling her of what he needs. When he says that he's looking for someone who can gather information, she lets out a scoff. "Well, I get that, haha." But she quickly quiets herself as he continues to explain a little about his problem and what he needs to resolve that problem. Her gaze lingers on him, although not quite focusing on him, but something behind him, as she considers the words spoken.

    "Ah I see, of course. That is no problem at all." Strangled chuckle lets out as she makes this comment, understanding what Sinclair is asking of her. "That is true, but all birdies love to tweet tweet a lot, even if they don't look like it." Curious copper rests on the tuxedo-suited businessman before her. "Can't quite get into BloodClan, eh? Guess the Spider can only spins so far." Look of amusement lights up on her face before it distorts into a look of annoyance when a fly comes too close to her ears. Her paw moves to try to swat at it, but the insect's quicker, darting out of her reach and circling above her in the red sky along with the other flies and bugs.

    "Come catch these bugs, will you?"



  • * A smile is what comes to his face when she understands without the crutch of further explanation, even staying faithful to his analogy in her reciprocated confirmation. She could convince them to squawk, either through the means of intimidation or perhaps through the subtle art of conversation. He could envision Paradox taking either route, though it was likely every Bird responded differently. Regardless, he fed off her confidence, mirroring her curious coppery eyes with the green-tinted silver of his own. 'Can't quite get into Bloodclan, eh?' A lopsided smile twisted into his face, almost-impressed she'd managed to read between his words and come to a conclusion as quickly as that. Was it so obvious he couldn't get along with everyone? "I have my own circle of friends of course..." He reminded with a slight pout, though he wasn't truly insulted by the notion someone like him wouldn't be able to get along with a bunch of greasy, braindead rippers. He was acquainted with everybody, but very selective in who he chose to let past the friend-barrier.

    'Come catch these bugs, will you?' He raised an eyebrow, watching the insects whiz about his company. "I don't think I would be much help," He countered with an amused smile, lifting a paw to his mouth and giving it a lick or two. Knowing him, he'd probably accidentally smack her. "I hope you're happy with being paid in information— My own gathered information: Give some, get some.... I'll throw in something else for the kittypet work, if that's required."

  • [ IT TRULY WAS A CRUEL THING ] A slight pout and response is made when she makes an observation through his lines of words. A twitch of a smile lingers on her maw and she would swat at another bug once more. "Having friends can be good," she muses out loud, thinking of her relationship with Sunny. He's not exactly a friend so to say, but he's someone whom she sees as helpfully valuable compared to other lazy kittypets. That aside, she don't make many friends in the neighboburhoods of the Twolegplace and she would rather not make more - the more you have, the easier to lose them, to be backstabbed, to be betrayed. Sinclair could have his own circle of friends, she could care less about it how he handles his friendships. But for herself, she would be someone who stays on the outside, watching in with curious eyes. Friendship is not a concept in her book.

    Another swat flies through the air, almost smacking the tuxedo if he can dodge it. It's not an intentional act to hit him, but just like he is thinking, Para is not exactly the most balanced feline. "Oopsies." Scratched bell laughter rings out as she manages her balance and puts her paw down as she watches the flies finally move away from the duo to another part of the run-down place. "Like I said, I'm not very materialistic, so I don't really need anything." Coppery eyes fall upon the businessman as the buzzing insects are now gone. "But some poison would be nice. Well, that is, if you know what they look like."