Posts by Massacre

s w i n g s [is writing book] wrote:

[ I'm picking up a little on my muse. Wow I just adore how you role-play Massacre ;] You have such a way with him that it is so elegantly beautiful x3 He's a charmer yet a killer, yes? xD

I am exactly what my names suggests.

Now what was that cunning reply supposed to mean? Massacre.... Massacre. The feline was positive she had heard the word at least once before. Now if she could just remember what it means... She felt the ends of her fur begin to prick up as she heard her heart pounding blood into her ears. She needed to turn back to her clan-mates and leave this disturbed tom alone, but she had already gone too far. She must carry on and show no weakness to him.

Her vibrant aqua orbs watched as he angled his ears in the direction of the she-cat. The Hawkclan Greeter turned to stare at the cat, a frown forming on her flawless face. "Eavesdropping is she?" Heather growled lowly for Massacre's ears only as she turned her back to the she-cat. Something made the Hawkclanner feel uneasy about talking to this loner. He was dangerous and daring, and that is what kept Heatherscillation talking to him. When she watched his witty remarks, his strong and unnerved expression it made her cunning and sly. He was fabulously flawless with a strong built and a perfect Skull persona. What a jack-a** she was for following him into this, but what the hell. It was only a few days ago that she attempted suicide, so as of right now she didn't give two sh-ts what happened... But her kits did.

"Massacre, your charming and gentlemen like, now how can you also be killer of many innocent cats? That is what your name refers to, hum? Yes it does. You killed a large group and that is how your name relates to your past. So then why have the charmer persona? You are a killer, not a gentleman. What are you doing and who are you messing with?" The last question was confusing herself. Who was he messing with? Was he messing with her and her mind, she thought so, but was it true. Now why was she feeling unsure of herself now?

[6]

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[Thank you so much, you have no idea what that means to me <333

Actually, I have you to thank for how I'm playing him right now XD I can only do this when I have a good RPing partner and there's an interesting character for Massacre to interact with. x3

Well... sort of like that. He's the most charming when he's out to kill... though of course he's not trying to kill Heather anymore.]

"Eavesdropping is she?"

A soft growl rumbled in Heather's throat, and Massacre dipped his muzzle slightly in a faint nod, narrowed eyes still pinned on the other female. When she made no response, he let out a snort of exasperation and turned away from her, surreptitiously shifting further away from her so that he would not be overheard once more. When he turned back to Heather, she meowed,

"Massacre, your charming and gentlemen like, now how can you also be killer of many innocent cats? That is what your name refers to, hum? Yes it does. You killed a large group and that is how your name relates to your past. So then why have the charmer persona? You are a killer, not a gentleman. What are you doing and who are you messing with?"

Her words elicited a low chuckle from the obsidian tom. She was a reflective one now, wasn't she? In any case, she was quick to catch on to his meaning, completely different from most of the dull-witted he encountered on a daily basis. Oh, she certainly was an interesting girl. A rare jewel in the midst of a sea of placid rocks. "Perhaps you may find my behavior... contradictory to my nature." He answered with a purr, locking his sallow gaze on her's once more.

"But I am what one might call passive aggressive." A pause, to allow the words to sink in, while the corner of his maw lifted slightly into a faint smirk. "And besides, you fascinate me, my dear," He breathed, his words spoken in an exhalation akin to a sigh. Molten, sulfuric eyes burned into clear azure. His head was mere inches from her's, so close he could distinguish every hair on her pelt, and every distinct band of blue in her irises. The air between them was of cold civility, yet it smoldered with an underlying fiery intensity.

"And who are you really, Heatherscillation? I can tell you are from HawkClan, but I'm certain there is far more to you than that. It would be a small matter for me to divine what I could, but since we have chosen to be so... forthright with each other, it would be better for you to tell me instead." He flashed her another dark smile.

"Although, of course, both options are equally suitable for me."

He would learn of who she really was, one way or the other.

s w i n g s [is writing book] wrote:

[sorry for the late reply, I’ve been very busy as my parents are remolding one of our houses and so my younger brother and I have unfortunately been along for the ride in shopping for all the supplies. x3 and I have you to thank for the way I am rping Heather. I usually don't rp this she-cat as... long... x3 Oh and your welcome, I could only dream to be such a writer as yourself :)]

”Perhaps you may find my behavior... contradictory to my nature?”

“I do believe that your behavior has been contradictory to your nature, Massacre,” the sleek she-cat mewed with a small innocent twitch of the ends of her maws. The twitch carefully curled into a sly and mischievous smile as she watched the night black tom.

” But I am what one might call passive aggressive."

“Passive aggressive, my dear?” she mewed as her aqua azure vibrant orbs sparkled with pleasure as she used one of his phrases of saying ‘my dear.’ “I indeed do believe that someone likes myself would describe you as passive aggressive.”

”And besides, you fascinate me, my dear.”

Now this was music to her ears as she heard him. So she fascinates him, yes? Well he too fascinates her, but why would a mysterious tom be fascinated with a she-cat such as herself. He had yet to learn that she wasn’t who she was playing as. Heather had a dark side, one that she had been burnt for having.

“And who are you really, Heatherscillation? I can tell you are from HawkClan, but I'm certain there is far more to you than that. It would be a small matter for me to divine what I could, but since we have chosen to be so... forthright with each other, it would be better for you to tell me instead."
“Although, of course, both options are equally suitable for me."

The lilac and white she-cat let his soothing words sink in before she parted her maw.
“Massacre, you are playing a dangerous game by asking of my past, of who I am. You’d have to follow for me to explain,” she whispered gently, avoiding his burning tawny orbs as she turned around. “If you’d like to know the…. True me, follow.” Her heart thumped blood in her perked ears as she slowly began to pad toward the forest. If he followed this road would become more twisted and curved then he ever would probably imagen.

[7]

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[No problem, it's fine. :) And thank you so much, and to you as well, Miootje <3 ]

“Massacre, you are playing a dangerous game by asking of my past, of who I am. You’d have to follow for me to explain. If you’d like to know the…. True me, follow.”

A low, mirthless chuckle slipped from his throat. He felt no apprehension at the ominous promise in her words; he was Massacre, he feared nothing and no cat, and he found only entertainment in those who tried in vain to faze him. This girl would be no different. "Life itself is a dangerous game for me," He purred in her ear, but she was turning away from him, slowly beginning to pad toward the depths of the woodlands.

He had a hunch that Heatherscillation did not mean to explain to him by words alone, but he was not perturbed. Despite his apparent friendliness, darker, far more unpleasant and malicious intentions hovered just underneath his charming facade; bestial cravings for blood and pain mingled with an inherent, seething anger. She might be dangerous, but he was confident he was more dangerous. And if she happened to step across the fine line between what he tolerated at didn't, it would be she that would pay.

She continued to pace toward the depths of the woodland, clearly expecting Massacre to follow, but he remained seated in place. His head swiveled toward the she-cat that had been eavesdropping on them the whole time, and it was then that he spotted another shadowy figure that had joined her. His jaws parted slightly as he tasted the air, deciphering the scent of a pair of wayward she-cats who were encroaching on them. Massacre's lips twitched into a wicked grin, baring rows of glistening fangs, livid amber eyes glinting with undisguised malevolence.

They had made a dangerous mistake if they wanted to spy on him.

In a deceptively light voice, he called to Heatherscillation. "I wouldn't be so hasty to reveal my inner characteristics, unless you want these two miscreants listening in as well." In an instant, he had fallen to a hunter's crouch, only his quarry was not prey.

Things were about to get ugly.

For them.

s w i n g s wrote:

[ x3 and you too мισσтʝɛ ]

”Life itself is a dangerous game for me.”

Indeed, but not only for the tom, but for Heather herself. She had seen it all, and had done it all. Betrayed, been betrayed, hurt, been hurt, loved, been loved, broken, been broken, and most of all. She had been pained in so many ways that she was beginning to think Starclan couldn’t have any more ways to make her pay for her foolish and hurtful actions. Her worst actions of all was being a little sl—t. The memories wouldn’t stop haunting of her mind. Remotepaw. Paypaw. Radiantnight. Their names burned inside of her as she felt the same insane feeling she had once felt for the opportunity to be wild and crazy and break the code. All ‘accidents’ had led to a litter and now she didn’t only have a litter of her mate’s kits, but three other non-Hawkclanners kits. The history chocked her, making her cough before letting out a soft gasp as she shut her once soft now indignant aqua orbs.

”I wouldn't be so hasty to reveal my inner characteristics, unless you want these two miscreants listening in as well."

Heatherscillation stopped short as she gradually looked over her shoulder to spy two unfamiliar she-cats. This was not them time to get into a fight, but the lilac and white feline was already feeling her oats. Pain flashed through her eyes before she whipped around. “Certainly, and I think these eavesdroppers need to be taught a manner lesson,” she growled through gritted teeth as she steadily began to stalked over to the she-cats. The Hawkclan Greeter wasn’t normally like this, but something had flickered inside of her as Cloudfoot had called her off from being his mate. He thought he was sooo… Errrrr! Letting out a snort, the she-cat bunched her muscles up in a hunter’s crouch, readying herself to spring.

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мισσтʝɛ wrote:

{19 [Oh, thank you very much! Thats very nice from you two :3]}

Speckle narrowed her eyes and sneaked into some bushes, so she could look what would happen.
She made no sound, her feet moved easily through the bushes and she moved her body elegant and fast.

[font=georgia]"You needn't dirty your claws," Massacre's hawk-like stare never shifted from the wayward pair as he spoke to Heatherscillation. His tongue flicked out and passed briefly over his jowls. His lips twitched into the beginnings of a snarl in anticipation of the bloodshed that was to come if these two fools didn't move. Judging by their unresponsiveness to his obvious threat, that possibility was more than likely. "I can take care of them both, if neither are intelligent enough to understand their lives are hanging by a thread." There was to be no mistaking the ominous promise in his words.

Massacre flexed his claws, reassured by the sharpness of each lethal, infinitesimal point as they shredded grass and dirt beneath his paws. In another few seconds they could be grinding flesh and fur, if a certain someone wasn't careful. Addressing the skulking females directly, he crooned, "My dears. It would be most unfortunate if you made it necessary for me to resort to more... forceful persuasion." He allowed a thoughtful pause to follow, so that the true meaning behind his words could sink into their apparently thick skulls before he continued.

"I advise both of you to leave now, and to leave quickly, or there will be blood spilled." He flashed them both a wicked, chesire cat's grin, exposing an array of glinting ivory daggers stark against the eternal night of his pelt.

"Your blood," he specified.

Just so he was being completely clear. No one could blame him then when he finally succumbed to the innate bestial desires that already threatened to consume him.

[size=11px][ Alright, 20K. Let's do this. >3 1000 words per post, 10 posts per person. ][/size]

The ebony tom harboured no regrets for his decision to desert from SkullClan.

Certainly, the morbid hell-hole had fully satiated his thirst for blood and misery. But it had been a grim, malignant place that eventually began to fester at even the most indomitable and fiery of souls. Though he revelled in the sensation of warm blood flooding his jaws and the desperation and pain of the wretched individual that bore sufferance beneath his claws, the putrid stench of death and terror that hung over the entire repugnant cavern and its surroundings had worn at him. Even swine would not have tolerated such vile conditions, and even less so a cat. More besides, though the toms of SkullClan had asserted their supreme dominance over she-cats, it seemed as though they housed more of the pathetic creatures than any other alliance. It had become tiresome tolerating their residence so close to his own.

And it was so then, that when the newly forged alliance BoneClan revolted, he had taken the opportunity to tear himself free of the clinging appendages of his responsibilities at Skull. He had reclaimed his freedom, his dignity, his power. The chains of commitment and the obligations that had enslaved him, binding him to their cause had been sundered; he was Massacre in entirety once again. The blissful release his reclaimed liberty brought ascertained one thing in the atramentaceous tom's convoluted mind: Never again would he succumb to a life of servitude. There would not be another being, he was assured, that he would ever commit himself to in such a manner. He was born a vagabond, and he deigned none the honour of his service.

Though, at a time like this, he would not have found the service of another to him objectionable. A lifetime of independence and self-reliance had hardened Massacre into a cat of stiff pride and self-sufficiency. The mere concept of needing another was unthinkable. It was a sentiment that he spurned and scorned; dependence and reliance on others was a weakness. Yet now, he had no choice but to admit that he needed help. The prospect of unbending his pride enough to accept the fact was immensely painful, and a difficult truth that he had no wish to embrace, but with each passing moment, it became more evident that it was necessary.

The monochromatic black tom's muzzle was twisted into an agonized snarl, his jaw locked, teeth gritted with the effort of restraining the pitiful hisses and gasps of pain that would surely escape him if not for his endeavors to withhold them. Sallow amber eyes, narrowed and glazed, darted left and right in search of nothing in particular. His usually piercing, hawk-like stare was blank and unfocused, his smooth, powerful stride reduced to a lurching, staggering gait to compensate for his now-useless right leg. A terrifying fog of oblivion had descended over his normally sharp and deductive mind, and an encumbering dizziness rendered him pathetically clumsy. His breathes came in shallow, labored gasps, and his heart pounded too fast in his too chest.

He felt as though he had been poisoned.

And that was not at all far from the truth. A ragged gash rent his otherwise unmarred coat from his shoulder to his ribcage, a terrible, gaping wound that had been festering for days. Even the most accomplished of fighters like himself eventually met their superior and their defeat. His had come several days before, in an unexpected and ill-fated encounter with a fox. After a vicious and decisive battle, in which Massacre dealt many similarly mortal wounds to his opponent, he had dragged himself from their battlefield, miserable and almost senseless with pain and blood-loss, into a foul, damp hollow beneath a tree-root. There, he holed up for the two most wretched days of his life before his wounds stopped bleeding, and hunger and dehydration had driven him from his hideaway.

He had lost them. His two companions, Ixxr and Year of Pain. There had been thunderstorm just after his battle, and he suspected the pair had sought shelter or moved away - in any case, they had not been with him at the time of the battle, and they had not been able to find him after. Nor had Massacre been in any shape to find them when he had emerged from his shelter. Ever since then he'd blindly, aimlessly wandered, stumbling upon two abandoned kills by pure luck, which had kept him sustained. He was weak, weaker than he had ever been in his life, and with what remained of his consciousness he hated his helplessness and feebleness, and he felt a morbid shadow of fear encroaching on his fevered mind.

Fear of death. His body was waging a war that, he sensed, he could not win. It was a wound too terrible, and he could not find the food he needed in order to get strong enough to recover, nor could he tend to the injury with the care and herbs that only a real healer could provide. He was losing, and he was dying.

Rain sheeted from the heavens, penetrating the canopy of late summer greenery that arched over his head. The relentless patter of the water against his back drenched his coat and soaked to his skin in icy rivulets, and a merciless wind buffeted him from all sides. Pain, pain of the likes which he had not felt for years, a terrible, life-sapping pain lanced through his body with every agonized throb of his heart. Every step only worsened the discomfort, but his mind felt oddly numb and detached from his body. Dimly, his nose registered the strong scent of many cats a pungent warning, even in the rain, marking the border of an alliance he did not recognize.

Exhausted, the black-furred tom sank to his haunches at the base of a tall oak, and then, without realizing it, slumped onto his left side, head reeling. It occurred to him that he should rise, that he should get far from here, from these possibly hostile cats that would surely take advantage of his dreadful condition and weakness, but he could not summon the strength to do so. He lay still, listening to the pounding roar of his pulse in his ears, to the ragged intake and exhale of the shallow breath rasping in his throat. He resolved to take just a short break to lie here, just for a moment. His eyes slid shut, his garbled, incoherent thoughts only able to formulate one sentence.

What a pathetic way to die.

[ Word Count: 1107 ]

[size=11px][ Perfectly 1500? XD Nice! ][/size]

He was uncertain of exactly how much time had elapsed. What remained of his awareness encompassed only the interminable thrum of the rain drumming against the earth and his body, the throb of his pulse in his ears and the hideous pain that, even in his deadened state, refused to numb or lessen.

And then the unexpected patter of light pawsteps, and the dull thump of the impact of another cat's body with his side. Massacre's eyes flew open. A second of uncomprehending shock passed before his body registered the excruciating pain the collision sent lancing through him. A truly piteous moan choked in the air, and it was several moments before he realized in disgust that the sound had come from him. The pain in his wound seemed to have multiplied tenfold in an instant, the previous dull ache exacerbated into white agony that eventually subsided into brutal throbbing.

Massacre squeezed his eyes shut and curled his head against his chest. Vaguely, he was aware of the scrabble of a cat frantically finding their footing on the rain-soaked earth and then the sound of receding footsteps. His senses spun sickeningly toward the enticing blackness of unconsciousness, and he felt an indescribable shame at how willingly he embraced the darkness and the escape it would bring, at how helplessly he slunk to the refuge of unconsciousness like a wounded lamb. At how he prayed, how he begged for it all to just end. Yet, despite this, he kept every whimper, groan and even scream caged within, determined that if he was to suffer, he would suffer in silence.

Several long, agony-filled moments passed. Much to his disappointment, he didn't lose consciousness. The battered and bedraggled black tom drew a thin, shivering and much needed breath before slowly opening one eye a slit.

And that was when he saw it.

That was when he saw her.

Despite everything, Massacre immediately loosed a hoarse and pain-strangled but nontheless furious snarl, his claws scoring gouges in the earth as he beheld the fragile looking calico that was cautiously leaning over him. Her round, frightened green eyes flickered over him, taking in his ragged, haggard form, the festering wound that rent his pelt from shoulder to rib-cage, the obvious fact that he was at her mercy.

He hated her at first sight.

Here he was, lying broken, beaten, helpless, and now that he was going to die, he was going to have to die with this wretched girl staring at him. Had he the morsel of strength needed to rise, he would have done so right then, and he would have killed her. He wanted to flinch from her closeness, from the unwanted intimacy of a she-cat who had the audacity to come so near to him, but he didn't have the strength. Oh, heaven forbid that she touch him - no one, absolutely no one touched him unless he allowed it, unless he initiated the contact. Fate could not have chosen a crueler way for him to die: defeated, humiliated, surely on the path of a desperately slow and painful death, with a she-cat staring at him.

And then, suddenly, she left him. Abruptly, the presence at his side vanished; the green-eyed calico was gone. Her disappearance was so sudden he wondered if he had been hallucinating. Exhausted, he lay limp against the sodden earth once again, allowing his eyes to slide shut. A shiver racked his bedraggled body as he suddenly became acutely aware of the icy chill of the rainwater seeping through his pelt to his skin. In reality, the water wasn't at all excessively cold; however, the wounded tom's mounting fever gave him the impression that the rain was freezing. He felt the last dredges of his anger melt into misery. Every moment was a torment, yes, but at least he suffered alone.

With a gasp, Massacre awoke. He was uncertain of precisely what had roused him, but it was only then that he realized he had fallen unconscious. How long had he been out? It was impossible to tell with all the rain --

Suddenly, he realized she was back. The she-cat. She was focusing intently on something, focusing on his shoulder, and just what in the world did she think she was doing... Then, without warning, her paws descended over him and pressed firmly down across his wound. This time, Massacre couldn't help but to cry out in pain. Oh gods, she was hurting him — no, no, no not the shoulder... He felt like a kit again, pinned under his father's heavy paws, unable to move, unable to fight back, helpless, as he hurt him. The terrible, black memory that he had tried so hard to suppress crowded into his mind, overwhelming him entirely, tearing away every remaining scrap of dignity and self-control he possessed.

He had no choice – it was a startling similar situation to his bleak childhood – he had no defense, he could only plead for it to stop. In his pain, he didn't realize that, despite the intense agony the pressure was causing him, she had succeeded in patching his wound and stopping the bleeding. In his fevered, confused state of mind, he could draw no conclusions of such level. He knew only the most basic of facts, the most obvious to him of all being that she was hurting him. A she-cat was hurting him.

"Stop," He finally managed to choke out. "Please, please, please just stop..." He could feel the hazy blur of unconsciousness encroaching on his mind again, threatening to engulf and swallow him into the blackness of its abyss once again. This time, he fought it, struggling to stay awake, not wanting to leave himself at the mercy of this calico, fearing for what might happen if he allowed himself to slide away.

[ Word Count: 1000 ]

[size=11px][ ... o.O Wowza, I swear, I did not deliberately make this happen. O___O What kind of a coincidence is this XD

Also, yeah, it might take Massacre a while to soften up, but he will, don't worry~ He's grown up hating she-cats, so its going to take a while for the old habit to die. Also, as I mentioned in the OOC thread, I don't believe in love at first sight so I want to really develop their relationship. >3 Lastly, I think I should also note that though he is badly injured, he's not at death's door yet like he thinks he is. x3 He just feels that way because he's in so much pain. ][/size]

[size=11px][ INDEED, IT MUST BE AN OMEN XD
No problem, my apologies for being a bit late as well. ^^; School has started for me too so I think its fine for this to move along at a slower pace. c: ][/size]

To his horror, it didn't stop. She wouldn't stop.

With that realization, the world began to devolve into a chaotic and incomprehensible anarchy. Every scrap of courage deserted him as blind, unchecked fear and panic flooded his body. Memories, dozens, hundreds of unwanted recollections that he had endeavored all his life to suppress, tore at the intrinsic fabric of his being. They overwhelmed him, consuming every ounce of rationality and self-control he possessed, leaving nothing but terror, pain and desolation in their wake. He would rather have suffered the physical pain he felt tenfold than the jarring experience of reliving those memories.

How had she done this? She was breaking him, chiseling through the sturdy, steel barriers he'd spent seasons erecting around himself, barriers he'd been certain that no one and nothing would ever be able to force through. He hated his own weakness, his inability to defend himself or retaliate, the fact that he had been reduced to such a pitiful state. And oh, he passionately he hated her too, for inflicting this upon him. What did she think she was doing? Was she trying to kill him?! Oh gods don't let that be it, he didn't want to die like this. Not at the paws of a she-cat.

Anything but this.

Sallow amber eyes, dull and glazed with pain, focused blearily on the slender calico's face. Beaten and broken as he was, the expression in his stare conveyed a blazing inferno of indescribable hatred, that, had it been tangible, might have scorched her fur. However, she was oblivious to his ardor of his animosity, for her eyes were closed tightly, and she wore a faint, sickened expression as though she abhorred the process as much as he. It was at the sight of her face that he suddenly felt the immense incongruence between her and his father. Typhoon had always tormented him with an expression of triumph and a perverse and immensely skewed delight in making him suffer. He did not repent for his actions, nor did he care for the misery of another. In fact, he reveled in it. But this girl wasn't like that... then what was she doing?

It took his clouded mind several moments to, with some difficulty and reluctance, come upon the conclusion that she might be trying to help him. He grimaced at the absurdity and at the surge of revulsion he felt, refusing to allow himself to feel gratitude. He didn't want her help, he didn't want her here. He wanted her gone.

But, without her aid, he would certainly die.

What a dilemma.

"I know what I'm doing is causing you pain, I know. But please understand, I can't-"

A faint hiss of shock escaped Massacre's maw, and it was only then that he realized he'd been clenching his jaw so tightly that his teeth ached. He drew a tremulous breath, preparing to spit and snarl a response at her, but she continued before he could speak.

"I can't do what you ask. I need to make sure your bleeding has stopped almost completely before I stop."

That gave him a pause. So, she was trying to help him? That realization unleashed a torrent of incomprehensible emotions within him, incredulity intermingled with confusion, contempt, seething anger, hatred and humiliation from his bent and broken pride, and deep, deep within him, a tiny stirring of relief and gratitude. An emotion that, of course, he never wanted to display outwardly and express, or even acknowledge, but he felt its presence encroaching on the convoluted darkness of his being all the same.

But, at the same time, he felt a dark cunning and slyness stirring within him, like a snake uncoiling from a long sleep. It unfolded sinister black wings in his heart, urging him to take the opportunity and then satiate his desires. Painful as it was, he would accept her help. He would let her nurse him back to health, and then he would kill her. And he would be kind; he would kill her quickly, rather than make her suffer as so many of his victims had. Upon reaching that conclusion, he felt perverse satisfaction flood his body, and even some of the excruciating pain in his shoulder numbed as he settled upon that plan. He would have his twisted vengeance, and no one would live to remember him ever being in this state: weak, broken, defeated.

These thoughts passed through his mind in a matter of seconds, and it was several moments later before the she-cat added softly, "You look strong. It's just one more minute. One. Then it'll be over, and all I'll have to do it cover the wound. I can even try to get you some poppy seeds to stop the pain."

Her mew was still quiet and timid, but there was a note of sincerity in it that aroused a mixture of exasperation and contempt in him, as well as a tiny, infinitesimal sense of appreciation for her comment. As much as he loathed she-cats, short of causing misery and suffering, he found few things as pleasing as a remark of such nature. Despite everything, Massacre found approval in anything that stroked his ego - a great flaw and weakness, but no cat was perfect. However, at the same time, the extreme irony of her comment elicited a hoarse, mocking laugh from the sable-furred tom, for he had never been in a more forlorn state.

"That's... ridiculous," He snorted, his demeanor derisive and sneering, but at least, no longer blatantly cold, hateful and agonized. Then he gritted his teeth as the pain in his shoulder intensified, and any other words he wanted to say were lost in a hazy blur of pain as the uneven beats of his heart counted off the seconds until the minute was up. His vision swam and the earth seemed to lurch sickeningly underneath him, so he squeezed his eyes shut and focused on keeping the moans and screams inside. Every muscle in his body locked rigid, a long, tense silence lapsed between the pair as each fought to maintain self-control in the unpleasant task.

The rain fell steadily, drumming against his body, trickling through his fur.
It was the longest minute of Massacre's life.
And then, it was over.

With a gasp, he felt limp relief surge through him as the pain relented. Slowly, he opened his eyes to look up at the she-cat's face, squinting as droplets of water struck his eyelids. "I need food... " Blunt and inelegant, but true. "And some kind of shelter." He flashed her his infamous chesire cat grin. It was crooked from the pain, but it was such a relief to no longer have pressure on his shoulder that he felt something akin to elation. It was almost enough for him to start behaving as he usually did... and there was his plan. It was time to start laying down the rails.

"Poppy... things would be nice too."

So eloquent. He hoped he was at least vaguely making sense.

[ Word Count: 1321 ]

[ Lol, well, its not a perfect number but its 1321 which is an interesting number~ XD ]

[ bump? ]