Posts by DARKPUP.

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I like black but is this hard to read?? I will. Think more on that later. I dunno.

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"Shit Sango, you still haven't grown a heart, huh?" Arkham doesn't look worried about the whole ordeal as he comes to stand by the other RiverClanners, though he only recognizes maybe two of them. Hey, that's barely more than the one ShadowClanner he recognizes. Honestly, the canine had never really liked her, since she acted like this towards RiverClan from the start. Now, Arkham was still Darkpaw. Same body, same attitude, he just stands on the other side now. Same worn old argument, too. "She's a fucking kid — she ended up with you on accident, and you decide that you're gonna use her as a bargaining chip?" His lip curls with distaste, fur bristling along his spine. But there's still a rather cool look in his eyes, as if he's still making the same assessments of her that he had before. Eventually, the canine scoffs and glances towards some of the RiverClanners. "What, are you guys gonna be so fucking stubborn that you're gonna risk an innocent clanmate over a few herbs? You've probably got someone who can fuckin' grow 'em. So do they. It's intimidation. Don't be intimidated. Find revenge on your own time, just not when you're risking an innocent person."

He turns towards Arabella and nods his respect. "That one's right. I like her."
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Arkham thinks he's a little too big for this fort, but there's something kinda cute about it anyway, watching a short little ball of fur get to work. The canine doesn't lower himself to his stomach or make any attempt to seem smaller than he is, because he wasn't small, and he wasn't kid. Unlike the girls here, he has no urge to go crawling through them unless it's to sleep. Then again, that's more of Red's m.o., right? Curl up and go to sleep in any goddamn place. Maybe he wasn't that bad anymore. It's been a while since they caught up, though he can't remember the exact number of days anymore. Where is that piece of shit, anyway? He'd like this, unless more has changed than he remembers. The canine doesn't want to think about that, not right now, and instead focuses his attention on offering the kid a low grunt of acknowledgement. "A little unstable, bein' made of pillows, but that's'somethin' you can fix pretty easily. You do good work, tiny."
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"You think ShadowClan's left your medic fucking intact?" Arkham's voice is cold as he comes to join the group, though something in his heart doesn't like to see a ShdowClanner hurt like that. Was it because they were a ShadowClanner, or because they weren't — they weren't guilt? He doesn't know, but he's tense all over, eyes narrowed. He scoffs. "I know Sango. I know a lot of 'em, unless too much 's changed, and they're not gonna be merciful." The canine takes a seat, not even looking at the stranger, looking terrified, trying to spit venom in his clanmate's eyes. But you know what? Arkham doesn't give a damn about either party here. He just feels like he's being the only sensible one here. "I'm not sayin' you have to be nice to 'em, and I'm not sayin' you have to be mean, but you're not doing anyone good with anything you do here."
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The canine's jaw sets angrily, shoulders tense and high. He's obviously got no problem disagreeing with authority, but that's hardly the point. If they're the type to refuse injury to someone, they're going to be taken advantage of. He remembers now why he was so frustrated with WindClan as a kid. Wandering around to find corpses of other children, or friends and people he knew. And you know what they did? Nothing. Fucking nothing. Maybe that was what started molding him into whatever he was now. He doesn't really know for sure. "Shit, you guys're'nt much — listen, I was one of 'em too, alright? They hate RiverClan. They're not gonna give her back because you ask nicely. Get off your asses, get off your high horse, and stop letting this innocent girl, or so you call 'er, suffer because of your shit." WindClan all over again. Fuck this. Playing nicely gets people killed, playing nicely gets people captured like this, and he's feeling sick of it already. But he has to wait for Red and Bellona, probably. Before he does anything too stupid, like get himself exiled. Watching the ShadowClanner leave, he doesn't bother to stop them, but at least Fraison does.

Arabiancub earns himself a sharp bark of laughter, the hound turning to look down at him with a sick sort of amusement. "Look, kid, if you're not gonna hurt girls, you're not gonna hurt boys either. You don't fucking pick and choose." These people and their fucking morals. Arkham knows that he's not going to last long here, now. With a short wave of his paw, the former ShadowClanner turns his back and walks off. "Have fun."

/ out
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Arkham doubts that he's the familiar face this person is looking for, considering that he'd never seen them before in his life, but a job is a job. When the canine comes to stand there, it's with a raised brow and a rather irritated look, as if he expected them to have spoken already. "What're you here for?"
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Disturbance number one: Arkhampaw. He should probably make it his official profession, being a disturbance. Just because he was very good at it, things like that. He wanders around ruining peaceful moments with his loud mouth and less-than-peaceful demeanor like he gets paid for it, but he's not always like this. Seriously, if his friends would just get their lazy asses to RiverClan, all would be right with him. He'd mess with them instead of strangers, he'd stop trying to start fights with every person who held a position of authority, he'd just chill. But he's not, for now. He's obnoxious. So he doesn't hesitate before approaching the lone cub, cold eyes narrowed partially in thought as he glances over what she's reading. "What kinda shit are you into, tiny?" The apprentice laughs, mouth curling into one of his less dangerous grins, though it still seems as if he's making fun of her. He's not, really, that's just how he is.
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tags for when he switches bodies.
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Alright, he can't help it — he laughs. Arkham knows that he's an asshole, but come on, seriously? One glare and one comment-frown combination, and all it does is make him laugh. "So what's the magic age, huh? Day you turn six months old, your entire world changes? Nah. They'll hear it eventually, there's no point in covering their damn ears." With a roll of his eyes and a conspiratorial shake of his head meant for Nebulacub, he settles his attention back on whatever the kid had been reading. Kali's assertion that she shouldn't believe all of it makes him even more curious than he had been before, brows raised. "Don't be so secretive about it tiny. What, you reading about something weird?" He almost makes an innapropriate joke, but that's — yeah, he'll swear in front of them, but sex jokes are a no.
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/ edit: WHOOPS wrong tag template

Kate. He... He thinks he remembers Kate, from a long time ago, when he was still just Darkpup in WindClan. She'd been a good person, and perhaps she still was now. It's only her name that draws him closer. They're both in new bodies, it would seem, so Arkham won't make himself known. It's weird thinking that he's at least physically older than her. Brows drawn in a bit of confusion, the muscular canine takes a seat to the side of the other RiverClanners with something of a smile, awkward as it was. "She smells like WindClan, tiny," he mumbles to Nebulacub, and then turns his gaze back to Kate. "What kinda gifts did you bring?" Just because he was curious, or something like that.
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Ooh, a fight? Hell fucking yes, it had been far too long since Arkham let loose and let himself hurt some people, and the tension was starting to get the best of him. He felt like he was going to kill someone he wasn't supposed to, but then — "What the fuck is this? Children? A child was leading the raid? What the actual fuck. Who did that? Who thought that a child could beat any of them? The canine pauses when he comes to stand near the other RiverClanners, brows drawn in confusion, and then his eyes fall on Prancer. Pale eyes roll in annoyance, because of course the weird deer was that type of person. "Hey there bucko, if ya ain't gonna fight, maybe go gather some more people, huh? Somethin'?"
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Oh, daring Arkham to do anything was a bad idea. Faint blue eyes flash with the challenge of it as he turns to look at Sylmae. She may be older, but he's larger and probably a bit tougher, too. Even if she's mom, here. "Look, miss, swearing's not against the rules and I don't intend to stop for anything. And I'm certainly not going to sit still and let you touch me," he answers, dropping the typical relaxed slur for something sharp and precise. Maybe there was a reason he'd stayed in ShadowClan after all, they weren't nearly as fuckin' soft. The kids there were still kind, and make no mistake, Arkham's still the kind of guy who will die for the small ones, but this bores him. "I'm not asking anything that the others aren't already asking. So if you've got a problem with me, save it." Perhaps it's just to spite her, when he sits down. Because maybe it hits a sore spot, that she's someone's mom. That he didn't have one, and never would again.

"But I am sorry for disturbing ya, tiny. Especially now that you've gotta crowd. Seems like a good book, if you're that determined to read it."
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He thinks that he accidentally looks like a mother hen when he comes to stand in front of Red, but if that isn't the story of his life, he doesn't know what is. Expression drawn to a frown but eyes intent, he takes a moment to just look over him — the first actual friend he'd ever had, and the guy looks like shit. Again. It kinda pisses him off but in that worried way, that if you don't tell me who did this to you I'll find out myself way. (Sometimes the answer to that question was just Red, though. At that point, he could only frown and keep a closer eye on him, but he doubts that he could have done all of this to himself. Not this time.) "The fuck, Princess." Usually he's got some sort of grin on his face, because it's that or a scowl and honestly, seeing him grin when you want to kick his ass can be a terrifying thing. But he can't grin, because 1) Arkham hates looking up; it's his job to be the tall one. 2) He's lost weight. Again. And 3) He looks like he hasn't slept well in a month. But have any of them, really? They'd gotten used to each other, Red and Bell and Arkham. What now? At least they were here again.

He looks pretty in red, even if looking at his spots means that he has to notice how fucking frail he looks. Despite himself, Arkham tips his head back towards camp. "Welcome to RiverClan or whatever the fuck it is you're supposed to say here." Does he really have to say it at all? If he doesn't, someone else will, and god knows Arkham likes beating people to the punch. Sometimes a little too. Literally. "Whenever you get done with the crowd, you've got a story an' I've got food." Yeah, sometimes he was the breathing equivalent of non-recyclable trash, but he took care of the people who were nice to him, and sometimes Red and Bell were the only ones who bothered. (Maybe it was just because they could still see the nervous, fucked up kid underneath all his bravado. Nobody else could anymore, but he's not even upset about that.)
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Like Bellona, Arkham had hated the swamp when he got here. Though the gloominess had easily matched his mood, and the fireflies were pretty, he didn't much like the idea of traipsing about in a weird wet wonderland. And you know what he'd also felt when he got here? Those pieces of shit aren't here. He'd spent how long making trouble here without them? Fuckers. He's pretty sure that another few days without their somewhat calming influence on him and he'd have been exiled or something like that. But hell, if that happened, at least he'd have gone out with a bang, right? Nah, he'd have hung around here until these fuckers arrived, because even if he hated pretty much everything else in the world, he liked them. Arkham liked to call it "tolerating", but you can't really call it that when he ends up smiling at them and not making it seem like a threat. So maybe it's something stupid to smile at, but he thinks that there's an australian accent somewhere in that hello and it makes him grin the stupid-happy kinda grin that usually means you've done right by him. In her case, it's just... Existing. "I recognize that voice, right?" He's probably not wrong. Not about this.
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"Why the fuck would a RiverClanner tell you they were from RiverClan. That is actually the stupidest thing I've ever heard." Maybe this time Arkham's sharp tongue would be used for the sake of RiverClan instead of somehow making it possible to berate them just by breathing, because seriously. Nobody here was the type to make that sort of mistake, even if he wanted to find a reason to dislike most of them, at the very least. "You've been lied to, buddy. I'm at least ninety-six percent sure you're not gonna find anyone here like that." And even if they did, why would RiverClan turn them in? So either way, there's an almost 100% chance that this guy's here for no reason, but he doesn't tell him that. No use escalating the situation. (See? He's being good.)
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Ooh, so Arkham here only really owns two things for himself, and Jackdaw is free to steal the blanket?? It's a worn, scratchy thing he's had since he was a baby and he will likely panic if it's gone, but he'll definitely do everything he can to get it back since it's his only physical reminder of his parents.
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That's good with me, yeah! And thank you. c:
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He'd been out for a walk. Just a walk, because he needed to clear his head and get away from camp, and even though he could have easily just spent his time with Red and Bell instead, he'd gone for a fucking walk. It's not something he would have considered to be this kind of mistake. If anything, Arkham had expected to run into trouble while he was away from camp, not when he came back. But he came back tired and a bit wet in the worst of ways and a bit sore in the best. And there was something missing. His day had been alright up until this point. Red and Bell were here now, so he'd picked less fights, kept himself steady. Done productive things, kept his head low because Red kinda liked it here and he would try not to fuck that up for as long as he could. That was harder than it sounded, when it had ended up as habit after he'd vanished from WindClan. (He still misses the moors. Misses asking Wraithstatic if he wanted a hug, misses what it felt like when Locksmith picked him up or when he hid up against B's chest, misses the smell of the medic's den. Misses being a kid, and that blanket is all he has left of that, and now it's —) Things were a lot less okay now.

"Where's my blanket?" The canine can't help the fact that his heart rate picks up in panic, that he turns on the spot to see if he'd maybe just put it in a different place, but it just wasn't here. Arkham doesn't even sleep with it anymore, but that doesn't mean anything, not when it was — he doesn't expect anyone to understand. "Did someone take my blanket?" His voice, while raised, is far from as angry as he wanted it to be. Edged with panic and words coming out in a tumbling rush, he fights the urge to fidget. "If someone took it just — give it back, I won't be mad. Where is it?" There's the sharpness he'd been looking for in the first place, and yet he still simply sounds scared. (Nobody would get it. Only Red, maybe. He'd had one too, he'd watched his parents die, he'd know.) "If this is a joke it's a really shitty one, just — just give it back."
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