Posts by Flight | Skulls

Flight dipped her head. "Sorry," she apologized. "I shouldn't have assumed. But surely you must have a story to tell. Were you alive when Lady Avorio took over?" She leaned forward, eager to hear of that time.

Oh. "And?" she asked, prompting Remilia to continue. She turned to Flandre and shrugged. "I wasn't there at the beginning. I guess it was just the way the leader made the clan, and everyone followed suit."

Hmm. She'd have to learn more about the in-between time. "Do you remember a cat named Voltaire?" she asked, trying to pass the question off as casual despite keen interest in Remilia's answer.

It had been a long, long time since Flight had battled, and even longer since she had fought for fun. She recalled numerous skirmishes and raids when she had been part of the old Skulls. Oh, how she had loved those days, rushing by like autumn leaves shed into a river. But soon the prosperous tree had relinquished its last decoration, and she reluctantly had entered the harsh, bleak winter of her life.

Winter comes and passes, and spring arrives once more. Flight felt like the spring, joyful and youthful despite the years dragging down her paws. She had found the Skulls once more, though they were the Skulls in name only. She recognized no one. Gone were the toms she knew, gone was the gender bias, and gone was the shadow of intimidation which seemed to have been cast over the previous Skulls. This new clan, under Lady Avorio, no longer struck fear into the hearts of others, and maybe that wasn't a bad thing. They no longer lived to impress. Living for themselves was enough, and she quickly found her own quiet place in the midst of the cavernous mansion.

Still, as she rolled her shoulders to loosen them up, Flight stared at her opponent with grim determination. In her day, she had been bloodthirsty, a true respected Skull. She had fought back-to-back with her mate and defended him where he'd fallen. She had endured torture and torment at the paws of RadicalClan. She had scratched out the eyes of the hypnotist Deathwish, and she had sparred with the best of them. Though her skills were rusty with disuse, like speaking or walking they were second nature to her, and could not be lost completely. Her private training had prepared her enough. She squared off and crouched down, facing Stella with narrowed eyes.

Flight shrugged smoothly, refusing to take her eyes off her adversary. "I guess we just fight." Her liquid muscles slid into alignment, dropping her in the perfect position to spring- and spring she did, directly at Stella. Her claws were extended, eyes narrowed, forelegs bent just slightly to absorb the impact of whatever she would end up hitting, be it flesh or floor. There would be little talk. She had already decided that. Flight wasn't one to discuss things during battle; she had never been partial to psyching out her opponent verbally, and of course she thought it juvenile to make empty threats instead of acting. Courage, in her mind at least, was defined by action; bragging or blithely chatting was tiresome and decidedly unheroic.

Flight rolled off Stella and slid to her paws. Lightning coursed through her veins as she ducked beneath the larger cat, flashing out her claws in an attempt to catch skin as she did so. This was fighting! This was the adrenaline rush she had expected, this was beauty and the dance she craved. Whether her claws slashed fur or not, Flight ducked out from beneath Stella before she could be crushed beneath the cheetah and waited, rocking on her paws, for her adversary's next move.

So. She had won.
Flight's heart pounded in excitement as she thought of it. Finally, she was regaining her old skills and putting new ones to the test. She felt like a connoisseur, refining the art of fighting, evaluating opponents with battle-scarred eyes. Her notched ear flicked. The patch on her tail, where fur had never quite grown back after a particularly nasty battle, twitched. Her torture-slashed pelt eased over well-developed muscles. Flight was ready; it was time to prove herself again.
Wait, though. Not yet. She had to warm up first. A few sprinting laps around the room had her breathing in a healthy light pant, heart thumping fitfully in its cage of wrought bone. She stretched, easing her forepaws across the floor in a spine-cracking lunge that rolled her shoulders forward and ruffled her hastily-groomed fur. No matter; neatness was secondary. Flight leaned back up to a standing position and stretched her jaws in a manufactured yawn. She wasn't tired. Far from it, but it felt like a muscle that needed working.
With the conclusion of her brief routine, Flight swept herself into a sitting position and waited, ears roving, tail curled primly around her paws, for her opponent. She honestly had no clue what to expect. Stella had been a cheetah; what form would this new combatant take?

OOC: Winners have been picked! Flight has won this match and has already advanced to spar Namira the Valiant.

Flight had kinda been in the background for awhile, mainly because roleplaying two characters in one clan was inadvisable. She was here, though, for threads such as this one.
"Hello," Flight purred, padding up to the ex-leader. "I don't recognize you, but- did you say you were the leader once? I was here a long time ago, under the leadership of Sharven and Voltaire. I was a respected female." She didn't get excited very often, but here she felt her heart rate quicken. "Did you know of a cat named Collateraldamage? Or perhaps his sons, Cobalt and Bismuth? Or..." here she looked haunted, almost afraid of what she would hear. "Or did you know a cat named Nebuchadnezzar?"

Flight's face fell as he informed her of his acquaintances. So he had only known Voltaire. Maybe the gruff cat was still around somewhere? At the mention of the rule change, though, she nodded, joy shining on her features. "When I returned and Avorio told me," she confessed, "it was one of the happiest days of my life. If you're the cat who put that in place, you have my respect and gratitude." The sheer happiness she had felt had rivaled the day she'd blinded Deathwish, the day she had been promoted, and even the day she and Nez had confessed their love for one another.

Flight had felt similarly lost the day she'd paced beside the Skulls' border. Their scent had almost been chased from her mind, and so she hadn't even recognized her own clan- she'd just been asking for a few days' respite and some food before continuing her endless search. When she'd been told that the search was over, that she was home, Flight had been overjoyed- and yet she paced the mansion in considerable sadness, longing for someone familiar. Voltaire, Collateral Damage, Bismuth, and most of all, dear, sweet Nez.
No matter how much she tried, she couldn't chase these thoughts from her mind. Pacing the border in the darkness, she dwelt upon the past, pained and lost. Until... was that her imagination? Was she dreaming? But no, that scent on the air, that beautiful voice! Flight sprinted through the darkness and nearly crashed into the tom in her haste. "Nez!" she hissed, heart thrilling in disbelief and love and hope. "Nez, is that you?" She couldn't seem to raise her voice above a desperate whisper.

//it's private, remi ^^

She wasn't dreaming! the feel of his fur on hers and the murmur of his joyous voice made Flight shiver. "You don't have anything to apologize for," she breathed, returning his nuzzles in earnest. "I left, too, to bury Sundiata. It took me eight seasons to get back." In this moment, even the mention of her dead brother couldn't bring her sadness. "Thank Fortis you're back, Nez. I love you so much."

Flight smiled softly at Nebuchadnezzar's compassion. "He died as he lived," she murmured. "He was frolicking on the shore and fell on some rocks. It doesn't hurt anymore, really."
Then the cat started blaming himself and showing remorse for his actions, and she frowned and leaned back to stare him in his eyes. "Nez. It's fine, really! I'm overjoyed that you're back after all this time and that we can spend time together again. And hey," she purred, a thought taking over. "She-cats are equal to toms now! The leader's even a female." He had a lot to catch up on, and she wanted to be with him every moment.