[fancypost bgcolor=; border: 0px; width: 400px; text-align: justify; font-size: 12px;]Cricketpaw has totally been there the entire time. "Condolences and congratulations!" they call out, feeling a pang of disappointment at the mention of Knut. Where oh where has the bear cub went? Adeline's promotion soothes the burn, however, and he makes sure to shoot his sister a grin. "I can help with the invitations, too!"
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[fancypost bgcolor=; border: 0px; width: 400px; text-align: justify; font-size: 12px;]Here comes salty Sea. Carter makes an effort to grin at the Ravenclaw in a friendly manner. "Studying, yep!" they say, brandishing their quill and textbooks. Working hard is part of Hufflepuff's nature, and he certainly works his ass off in class. Only a few of the teachers can dislike them for their cheerful, helpful attitude, and garnering favor with them means higher marks as well. It's not something he's aware of, or he would immediately try to break down his reputation to give other students a chance.
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[fancypost bgcolor=; border: 0px; width: 400px; text-align: justify; font-size: 12px;]Aw, shit, trouble in paradise. Cricketpaw's very relaxed on this subject, easily accepting the less murdery traditions of The Garden's religion. Herthe, well, they can worship Her without much trouble, so long as She won't mind their moral inclination to refuse any acts of murder. The assistant deputy of The Garden pads over to Nevin's side, blinking at Yuri.
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[fancypost bgcolor=; border: 0px; width: 400px; text-align: justify; font-size: 12px;]/ rip my muse is gone sorry
Padding over in curiosity, they stop to stand nearby, staring at Wishfulpup with their head tilting to one side. "Uh, hey, what's that?" they ask, blinking. "Also, the name's Cricketpaw, Priest, demiboy, they/he. Aaand you?"
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[fancypost bgcolor=; border: 0px; width: 400px; text-align: justify; font-size: 12px;]"Can I get a green one?" Cricketpaw asks, padding over. Realizing their request may be difficult, they add, "You can use vines or something." With an apologetic smile (Crick, why) they sit nearby patiently.
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[fancypost bgcolor=; border: 0px; width: 400px; text-align: justify; font-size: 12px;]Chase decides he wants to sink into the ground and never return upon hearing Dorian's comment about "fans." Sometimes he just can't stop himself from speaking. It's a thing. He wants to scream. The feeling increases even more as James speaks. "I— uh— I'm Chase, Chasingchances, it's nice to meet you, too, James, oh God." He slaps a paw to his face, feeling like the worst person ever during the exchange between Dorian and James. "Your extra head looks cool! I'm really, really sorry, sometimes I just— don't stop talking and I say weird things and um— you look. Cool. Weird and cool. Being weird is. Cool." He totally wants to die. Like, right now. At this very moment. Someone just. Kill him. Kill him dead. Which is redundant. "I am. Going to go. Drown myself now," he says. Instead of leaving, he plops down on the ground, puts his paws over his head, and groans. Why him.
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[fancypost bgcolor=; border: 0px; width: 400px; text-align: justify; font-size: 12px;]You know, it makes you think: how many deaths have you indirectly caused? An accidental spill on the ground, a tool balancing haphazardly on top of something... how many lives have you accidentally taken versus the lives you've consciously decided not to? These weird thoughts tend to haunt Chase's head from time to time. They're very interesting thoughts, you see. "Okay, Cagedp— Cagedbird," he says, bobbing his head in acknowledgement while he scuffs the ground with his paws.
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[fancypost bgcolor=; border: 0px; width: 400px; text-align: justify; font-size: 12px;]Harry Potter seems like a universal thing. Everyone knows about Harry Potter, right? Everyone knows the names of Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger and Voldemort. Chase remembers being a little pup and absolutely refusing to say Voldemort, instead relentlessly calling the villain of all seven books You-Know-Who. Or You-Know-Whom, depending. "Oh, I know those books," he says brightly, padding over on long legs. "I'm a Gryffindor!" Glancing down at the others, he says, "And— and you guys?"
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[fancypost bgcolor=; border: 0px; width: 400px; text-align: justify; font-size: 12px;]Death is an old friend to Chase. He's seen it, flickering in the corners of his eyes, taking lives right in front of him and leaving him behind to suffer survivor's guilt. Why them? Why them and not me? Why take them when I was right here, right in front of you, willing to give it all up for them to have a chance? He's screamed those thoughts too many times in his head, but there's no answer. Nothing but a hint of a Cheshire Cat smile and a debt that won't be paid until his time.
"Oh my God," he says, and the smell of blood forces him back into an old life he doesn't want to remember, forces him to remember every scream, every scent, every plea. He shakes himself back into the present and moves to stand unsteadily beside Sel. "If— if there's anything I can do..."
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[fancypost bgcolor=; border: 0px; width: 400px; text-align: justify; font-size: 12px;]Chase follows Pippa toward the source of the call, wrinkling his nose at the unfamiliar scent of ScarClan. He straightens his snout back out at the sight of Melantha, who is a feline of intimidating size and yeah, he's going to let Pippa do the talking for now. The Brotherhood's Maester doesn't seem at all fazed, judging by her cheerful demeanor, but he himself can't help but feel a measure of discomfort. Hello, anxiety, his old friend. Nodding toward Melantha— and he hopes it comes out friendly instead of scared to pieces— he sits himself down beside Pippa.
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[fancypost bgcolor=; border: 0px; width: 400px; text-align: justify; font-size: 12px;]testing
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[fancypost bgcolor=; border: 0px; width: 400px; text-align: justify; font-size: 12px;]cheeps quietly at you
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[fancypost bgcolor=; border: 0px; width: 400px; text-align: justify; font-size: 12px;]/ anthony is so cute im dying & antihero will flirt everyone out of house and home if it means they can have a bit of fun lmao
They suppress an amused grin upon hearing Anthony's stammered response. Perhaps the two of them won't be real friends— oh, no, they are much too secretive and careful to let a genuine friendship bloom— but they can certainly keep up the guise of such a thing. Not even as a child did they have friends. When you trade in lies and secrets and blood, your friend potential dwindles quite drastically. "Okay, Tony," they reply, all smooth tones and hidden laughter.
Keen ears catch Seija's muttering, and though curiosity and a habitual need to gather information compel them to inquire, they keep silent and simply acknowledge it with a flick of their ear. As for her statement in regards to food, they say, "Thanks."
Their amusement returns in full flow at Peregrine's sputtering and deflection; despite their more primal side insisting otherwise, they let go of the topic. There's plenty of fish in the sea, to use a rather crude figure of speech. "Then again it would be easy to get cornered in a building," they say musingly. Strategy— not their first choice in casual conversation, but they'll take it.
Romi's arrival brings back their initial curiosity at Seija's offhanded remark. "Good to meet you, The Romi," they respond playfully. "Antihero. Fascinating pelt you've got there." It's on the tip of their tongue to follow that up with mind letting me take a closer look tonight; but they decide against speaking those words aloud.
/ pray for leth
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[fancypost bgcolor=; border: 0px; width: 400px; text-align: justify; font-size: 12px;]Death and religion are one of the most dangerous combinations xe has encountered in xyr two years and two months of life. Religion gives death a meaning beyond it, and death gives religion the chance it may be wrong. Xe has never been a religious person, preferring to make xyr own rules and xyr own code rather than adopting a set xyr lifestyle would never even agree with. Murder and marauding tend to be incompatible with peace and love. Anyway, the latter is, frankly, bewildering to xem. Not that xe is confused by love, oh, no, merely xyr opinion on it switches constantly from "YES ROMO" to "NO ROMO" without even a warning in between.
But that's an unrelated matter entirely.
"Another chance at what?" xe asks casually, striding in with xyr lean body lax and deceptively unguarded. Homewrecker is praying, that much is obvious, and if xe must, xyr educated guess would be she is praying her thanks to whatever deity may reign up above for her life. Curiouser and curiouser, so the ungrammatical protagonist of a fairly famous book would say.
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[fancypost bgcolor=; border: 0px; width: 400px; text-align: justify; font-size: 12px;]It's a shame she doesn't possess the authority to accept these invitations; a chance like this may lead her to learn of a few useful names for another time. Surely there will be many other high positions present in this event, as well as other people in positions of power. However, as she is unfortunately not one of the two LithiumClan leaders, she resigns herself to waiting for them.
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[fancypost bgcolor=; border: 0px; width: 400px; text-align: justify; font-size: 12px;]/ FANCY SEEING Y'ALL HERE
Interesting, xe thinks, discreetly watching the exchange between Seija and the WindClan leader. They know each other. At the least, the two of them are friends, and the greeting isn't affectionate enough for lovers. As for the second WindClanner, he seems to be afflicted with a stutter. Xe doesn't miss the confident way he holds himself, though. Another curiosity, as most assume— though not xem; xe is too smart for that— stutterers as shy and nervous. Offering a harmless, friendly smile toward the unfamiliar two, xe lingers behind Peregrine, xyr body language relaxed and unguarded.
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[fancypost bgcolor=; border: 0px; width: 400px; text-align: justify; font-size: 12px;]Technically, Sky isn't a superhero. They're more of a chaotic good vigilante, if they're being honest. Questionable morals and a tendency to kill rather than imprison their villains make them more of an Antihero than anything. That's the name everyone calls them, at least. Antihero— the black-clothed vigilante with super strength and super senses. And apparently the perfect representation for all young non-binary people of color everywhere. They find this amusing; why put a murderer on so high a pedestal? Is it only because they kill "bad people"? Flawed logic, that. They're merely a glorified assassin.
Their base happens to be a massive tower sticking out like a sore thumb, which is exactly why it's the perfect base. Nobody expects them to be the adopted child of Roman Feodorovich, who is so ridiculously rich that they, Ekaterina Romanovich, has millions of dollars at their disposal. At least their father doesn't mind their superhero activities, nor does he care about the many other superhero friends they have. This is sort of the Feodorovich Tower, which is also sort of Superhero Central. Yeah, Sky's little superhero team pretty much hangs out here all the time. It's actually really cool.
Standing on the roof, they peer down at the rush of traffic and crowds flooding the streets below them. A police scanner is perched on a cardboard box behind them. So far, nothing yet. But there's bound to be someone in need of Antihero's help.
Or, you know. Team Hero's help. That too.
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[fancypost bgcolor=; border: 0px; width: 400px; text-align: justify; font-size: 12px;]If Cricketpaw possessed fingers, they will have snapped said fingers when Scout finishes his explanation. "Yeah, that's right!" He can agree with Scout's last statement; Herthe demands blood sacrifices, which is... not Crick's thing, but there are other ways to worship Her. "Depends on your definition of 'spooky,'" they tell Locksmith with a secretive grin, before letting out a burst of laughter. To Wraithstatic, he says, "Visitors are great, so long as you don't ruin the flower beds." Seriously, don't destroy the flowers. There will be hell to pay.
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[fancypost bgcolor=; border: 0px; width: 400px; text-align: justify; font-size: 12px;]"Well, you have a point," they say, tipping their head toward Quietriot with a grin. "Great. You're definitely a potential ally." He'll make his report to Child and Nevin once he gets back to The Garden. "Oh, yeah— gardening's definitely our thing," they tell Destrehan, grinning even more widely. "I'm not much of a plant person myself, but there's always a way for me to help. And you're welcome, of course!" Well, he's received the important information and dropped off the gifts. "It's high time I go back, though. Hopefully I'll see you all around!" They give the RiverClanners a cheery wave of their paw before trotting back home.
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[fancypost bgcolor=; border: 0px; width: 400px; text-align: justify; font-size: 12px;]Cricketpaw's quite oblivious they're standing in the presence of an actual Goddess, or they will have briefly apologized for their lack of tact; but since Anima hasn't said a word, they keep on grinning in their usual friendly way. He can't help that The Garden has strange requirements—and he in fact finds himself disagreeing with some of them— but his naturally conflict-avoidant nature prevents him from questioning it further. "Well, we're kind of standoffish towards other religions," they say sheepishly; "we pretty much have our own religion? And we apparently don't like others? I'm just the messenger, really." He shrugs. "Personally, you know, anything goes, but The Garden's stricter, I guess." They're well aware no one's gotten them water yet, but they get the feeling it's best if they just leave now. "I've overstayed my welcome and I must be going now," he says cheerily, saluting the Rifters. "See you!" And with that, they trot back toward The Garden.
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