on edge * open

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  • *:・゚✦ LAVENDER

    wake up.

    the sharp intense command jolts the grey speckled femme awake. tilting her head down past the beam, looking for approachers on the marble floor below. to the open fields with rushing winds of her past, she'd long understood protecting herself. the beam was high up from the rest of this 'clan, long enough to race away from an attacker. yellow eyes rapidly blink away sleep, neck fur rising in its familiar bristle, it's not lost on her that such a luxurious camp was not meant for a cat like her.

    abandoning her clan. her kits. crowpaw, he may be now. her friends. what had come of brightshine? surrounded now by cats who didn't know her, frightening her off with even a glance. this was no life but it was safe.

    carefully, the grey ticked tabby unspools long but too thin legs, using the beams to avoid the floor of the camp, attempting to avoid any members here.

    -- tags

  • * Sinclair had begun to secretly foster an appreciation for the cold, lofty arches of their marble camp, the towering heights of which he quite enjoyed tracing with an impersonal glare. It was a dusty space he had at first considered suffocating, but in its emptiness was now suddenly and surprisingly freeing to experience. His eyes snagged upon a body suspended in air; An unfamiliar, rounded form emerging from the concord of abstract, industrial shapes. Grey enough, but not quite still enough to appear statuesque. Black tail whisked clouds in the dust as his ambling slowed to a stop directly beneath, curiousness threading itself through his expression at the sight of her. He saw a pair of eyes, darting nervously about the shark-infested waters below from the safety of her elevated baldachin; as a cat would stare into the koi pond, swirling with hungry fish.

    He stood and stared for a small while, indifference easily mistaken for malice from her distance. He wasn't sure what he planned to do, but judging from her wide-eyed paranoia, she was nervous. Easy pickings for a shark who took pleasure from terrifying the innocent. "What're you doing up there?" He asked with a blunt, but playful character to his voice.

  • *:・゚✦ LAVENDER

    figures pass below, scurrying around. lavender tries to read their intentions in their pose, their voices floating upwards. distraction made weaknesses and her head snaps around, wildly looking for the voices owner. run or fight and where were the exits?

    immediately muscles go stiff, claws digging into the surface as her fast heart gallops, the form of a spring about to be let loose. whoever he was, the grand distance between them would take him time to cross, but the aura he stares at her with says it wouldnt take long. a shark scenting blood of a wounded soul.

    darting for an excuse to flee, her claws grab out for a dusty forgotten play toy on the beam. "i was looking for this." had he seen her rest here, if so she had to move nests urgently. "is this your nest? sorry if it is. i don't know the territory or camp well yet." voice strained and yellow hues bearing down on him. big with black and white his posture suggests sleeping on a beam isn't this fellows go to.

    -- tags

  • it had been a bit since widow herself had settled within these walls, comfortably resting wherever she saw fit. it wasn't abnormal for another cat to steal away her nest, forcing the non-confrontational feline away. she didn't dare start a fight over a pile of cardboard, or a patch of sunlight. it seemed petty, dangerous. bloodclan was a little too unhinged to risk such an encounter. she could just as easily make her way to another stone wall with a hole big enough for her petite body. any npc resting within her crevice, replacing any lingering trace of scent.

    she may have decided to take a nap somewhere else today if it weren't for the voices not too far away. echoing against walls not meant to bend. it was impossible not to recognize the first, a voice she would have to now learn to respect instead of fear (however impossible it seemed). eyes could dart to his victim, a grey spotted female who had taken her own solace atop a beam barely big enough to support a lanky body of twisting limbs. how uncomfortable, how uncomfortable she looked. widow did not blame her for the unease.

    "i don't think anyone has lay claim to a permanent nest yet, don't let him disturb you from..." from what exactly. was this female attempting to rest? it seemed near impossible to sleep without every limb resting comfortably on a stable surface. widow could only imagine how excruciating, so close to the sweet temptation of rem sleep before struck by the threat of falling completely. nightmares of falling from cliff side's crumbling underneath your paws.

    the black and white molly was not standing too far from the exchange, she was tempted to ask of this strangers name, though at the same time scared that more prying would force more to bear down. widow knew of the pressure of having multiple felines swarm, no bone in her body wished it on this innocent enough looking mau.



    widow + senior warrior of bloodclan + tags

  • Up high crawls another face stricken with BloodClan’s usual atmospheric paranoia; her fur is lifted and her yellow eyes wide as she prowls the upper beams, looking down below with an obvious wariness about her. She must be yet another unfortunate schmuck who had lost her way and ended up here, just as Ryland had all those moons ago—but after so much time in this godawful Clan, and after so much time enduring its godawful cats and its good-for-nothing moral standing, he’s no more out of place than the rest of them. He’d not seen this molly in all his time being here though, so maybe she’s different from the rest. At least if she’d been living right under his nose, she hadn’t bothered with making any relationships. That’s what had ruined his own chances at freedom: relationships. She, friendless, still has a chance of escape. Right?

    Maybe. But it’s too bad Ryland is such a friend-searching menace; doesn’t that lower her chance of escape? He cranes his head upward, stilling into a halt beside Sinclair and as if on cue he does what he does best: he offers her his trademark smile, crooked and friendly and not at all BloodClan. Maybe she’ll take it as unfriendly, but he’s anything but. "How’d you get so high up, huh? Last I checked, BloodClanners sucked at climbing," the scruffy tom teases, a pang of disheartenment causing the slightest waver to cling to the edge of his words. Being forced to leave SkyClan so soon had hurt him a lot more than he wants to let on, but he’ll be damned if he lets his skills as daylight warrior Ryeleap go to waste. Rather than sitting firmly on the ground like Widow and Sinclair, he seeks out a nearby path, leaping up as best he can in an attempt to make a skyward bound up to Lavenderspine. With his hind legs scrabbling on a crate, Ryland heaves himself upward. "I bet I can get up there too—uuf- Just you watch!" He could be scaring her in doing this, but hey: he's not the sharpest tool in the shed.




    ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ☆

  • * He'd ensnared her attention— the pointed fin carving through the water was alarming enough even from the safety of a boat's elevated bow. A curved, empty smile formed beneath a pair of dead green eyes; He had the posture of a predator without the brawn to back it up. Stiff, still, staring from beneath the seas turbulent waves. Was he as merciless as he let off? 'I was looking for this.' Her choppy excuse drew a twitch from his whiskers, emotionless stare growing narrowed as it fixed to the plaything. As a question is deflected his way he simply gives his head a slow shake, unsure if answering her would contribute or subtract from his shark-like pretense. To his embitterment, Widow had sailed into the interaction on her floaty little paws, fishing the truth at a fair distance from the oceanic crook. The hero of this little tale, crossing the seas to rescue poor little beam-cat from the danger below. Irritation pressed his tongue to the tip of his canine, annoyance brewing behind his muted grin.

    Before long Ryland had joined the party, lazy smile and unrestrained eagerness to make friends in tow. He posed a fair question to the arial femme; Bloodclanners weren't climbers, they were ground-folk who slithered in the shadows and ate rats. Maybe she had forest-clan blood, felt the inherent pull to the safety of a trees branches (or in this case, a bit of exposed scaffolding). It seemed Ryland was now acting upon his own craving to climb, scampering his way up crates and platforms. It was likely a means to show off, but Sinclair was eager to twist the narrative from his place on the ground. "YEAHH— get 'er Ryland!" He bolstered with a wicked flare to his voice, laughter breaking from his impromptu ruse. He was cheering support for a pretend, performative chase, hoping to sweep his victim up in the act as well— To convince her Ryland's intentions were of malice. "Hey— get that thing too, I wanna see what it is."

  • *:・゚✦ LAVENDER

    believe her lies or not, she would still wind them tight around her as a warding barrier. things with eyes dead as his spurred fear at his claws and jagged fangs. he could kill without sharing his name. those sickly green eyes like a poisonous marsh, full of dead and rotting.

    the spirits beyond heard her tremoring prayers for protection, sending a new femme to the scene; her black pelt streaked white in a ray of salvation; eyes kind with understanding, words balming with reassurance. it was unsettling. below on the marble ground widow appears stable and knowing. on the creaking beams staggered by how unknown they are to her, lavender begins to pace away, form twitching but eyes pinned. "he does disturb me." lavender replies to widow wondering if his gaze poisoned her soul too.

    another tom with a black collar, a matching set to the first toms. they sit with a familiarity and their actions mirror. if the first was a poisonous swamp, the other was the waiting monsters in the mud. their voices decietfully playful like bear traps. she knew danger. she would not play. "i saw a path and took it." he seemed like he had many paths, choices that crept into his words, made him reek of discontent and loss. bloodclan might not be all in his veins - his heart.

    lavenders claws screech into the beam and her jaw locks as ryland tries to join her. run run run run run. he's slow but determined, he knows how to climb. taut, she bristles at sols encouragement to take the plaything. she glances to widow.

    these toms, they knew power. knew the feelings of others bowing to their paws with smarmy smiles. did the other femme know how to stop it in its tracks?

    "what will you do when you get up here? i won't give this plaything to you. you might fall. the beams splintering. it could fall on your friend." it was quick bursts of nervous words. stay back.

    * i love these responses sm :>

    -- tags

    lavenderspine * windclan

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