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He remembers these things. The last one he'd taken was just after he'd gotten this name the first time. He'd been in a bad mood and wanting to prove himself, so Locksmith had given him something a little difficult. For that, the wolfdog had been grateful. There's nothing to prove this time, but he still doesn't want something that he doesn't have to work for. So Darkpaw rolls his shoulders and squares up for a challenge. "Hit me, boss," he says with a bit of a crooked smile, taking in front of the blind hybrid. "Nothing too easy, if you don't mind."
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Posts by DARKPUP.
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If you'd like some free FeralFront memorabilia to look back on fondly, see this thread from Dynamo (if this message is still here, we still have memorabilia): https://feralfront.com/thread/2669184-free-feralfront-memorabilia/.
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Artpop, huh? Dark thinks that he's seen the leader once, but that doesn't mean much. Fayina, on the other hand, has proved to be a steady enough face in ShadowClan, so he doesn't mind that she's the one in charge for now. Though he's still curious about the other guy, he'd focus on current events for the time being. Something about sitting down for a meeting still hits him with a jolt of nostalgia, makes him feel small and vulnerable and alone. He's still alone, but the canine wears armor both inside and out, now. He's not so easily hurt. Still, it's all familiar. The format is quite similar to WindClan, even if the setting isn't. Too hot, too crowded — he misses the openness of the moor. (Damn, even the announcements are basically the same things that Sam used to say.) That's all Darkpaw is thinking of until he hears his own name, head jerking up slightly, frown on his features. Huh. That hadn't happened in WindClan. "Uh, sure thing, boss." He wasn't sure how well he'd do with a promotion. He's still worried about vanishing, though Red's more than enough of a tie to keep him around. "Noted."
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finally satisfied. new body, everything redone and more accurate. i like it.
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FINALLY MADE HUMAN AU TAGS?? IDK??
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/ just a quick body change thread, description/refs in tagsYou know the best thing about being in ShadowClan? Nobody here knew a damn thing about Darkknight. Not even his name. And with that came a certain amount of freedom for Darkpaw. People who wouldn't compare their appearances, their personalities. People who accepted that they weren't the same and never would be, because they didn't have another choice. But something had rubbed him the wrong way, when Mercenarymouth had joined. His body had still been familiar, still put up flags for everyone that had known the WindClanner at some point. Those were the thoughts that the apprentice had fallen asleep to, oddly discontent and still feeling vulnerable within the temple's walls. Maybe the paranoia would never fade, as long as he carried all of these memories. Taking off his armor, lining freshly cleaned knives out within reach, it all felt like he was tearing at his own skin, leaving the important parts in the open. What if someone else saw him like this? Vulnerable, unprepared, alone, curled up to sleep, hoping for peace.
Peace doesn't come tonight. He falls asleep with dreams of emptiness and something dark — there was a small part of him would always be amused about the fact that he was named after something he was frightened of. Not scared, no, he wasn't scared of anything anymore. But it never ceased to put him on edge, worry him, make him tense his body and lift his head a little higher. The dreams aren't the important part. They pass easily enough, like they do every time, but what comes afterwards isn't quite as alright.
He wakes up feeling distinctly... Softer. Not in regards to his body itself, or the muscles there. Thank god for that much, at least. No, it's just... Above that. He's used to feeling the ground a little bit more, the morning chill, the little gusts of air. And when he actually stands up, the fur around his paws is longer, down his legs, his chest. The colors were off, too. A solid coal black, as far as he could see. Well shit, now this was just great, wasn't it? Dark picks himself up, and his equipment too, as he tiredly plods outside. The gauntlets don't fit anymore, the harness for his equipment feels too tight, and overall, Darkpaw looks pissed. "Fuck this," the canine mutters, voice still hoarse with sleep. He can't really look at himself, but at least things haven't changed too much, color-wise. Grey and blue. There's a new freezebrand, but he's not going to analyze that quite yet. The ears aren't quite perked anymore, but they're not quite floppy, either. It's just strange enough to suck. "Fuck all of this."
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Awww Pyre, it's an accident, I swear.
+ I did!! I think it suits me.Now I need to re-update both sets of Dark's tags.
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why do i never put any effort into my work? updated as reference.
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maybe later i'll go back to that and actually put effort into it but !!
yes, he is Pissed™. edit: I DIDNT COLOR HIS NOSE DAMMIT. WHATEVER
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See, he's never really safe, is he? There are some places that are safer than others, some people that are safer than others, but it's never quite that simple. There's always going to be someone eyeing that third story window — Jason just figures that if there's some kid smart enough to find their way into this place, they're free to take whatever they find. Usually that's not much, considering that he's usually a pretty simplistic person by nature. Unlike his father-brother-clone-thing, he didn't get the family fortune. Not that Win really wants it either, but that'll be a bitter spot between the two of them (what isn't, really) for a while. Neither of them had it too great, if he was speaking honestly — then again, who in the world did? Jason isn't exactly broke, not quite yet, but this apartment will be taking up a good portion of his (shitty, mostly illegal) income, and he was basically living off of cheap takeout and cheaper alcohol. For someone who actually liked to cook, that was hell. (He doesn't have a butler, either, and maybe that's what he misses the most about all of this. Alfred. Everything about him, really.)They're all just coping. If you quit, you die, right? Like Tim, the older boy is borderline delirious from sleep deprivation alone — add in a few gulps of whiskey and a little bit of blood loss, and... Well. That seemed to have some interesting results. It's not a lie, that he would likely end up throwing something if he figured out that anyone was in his apartment. Maybe it's just luck that the circumstances meet the way they do. Tipsy, injured Jason, literal cat Timothy — today, at least, the odds are in the smaller's favor. (They probably always would be, but his pride was a little too commanding for him to admit that.)
His eyes had closed just slightly by the time he gets through the window, still resting loosely against the couch as if that would make the pain fade away some. And it does, after a few slow breaths. It's not like he minded the pain anyway. (Now that didn't sound quite right, did it?) You couldn't do the things that he did if you were always crying. Even the small ones had an awful pain tolerance. Street kids, the lot of them, but he wouldn't have it any other way. Well, no, he would. If it meant that his apartment didn't feel as empty as it did now, if it meant that his friends didn't have to worry about being hungry all the time. He'd do just about anything he could for that sort of thing. Most days, at least. There are a few times when Jason is admittedly a little grumpy with the two of them, and this is exactly why. The prickling on the back of his neck becomes unbearable just as Tim reaches the area behind him, and pale eyes snap open just in time to catch sight of his hand, and then his eyes. "How the fuck did you get in here, Timothy?" (An interesting note: he overuses the word "fuck" when he's in pain, apparently.)
But it's not really sharp, because he looks tired and scrawny (and he's still pretty as hell, fuck), and the feeling of a glove against him when he's wearing almost nothing is pretty fucking personal. Jason exhales, lets himself smirk again instead when he notes his apparent path. The goddamn window? Now that's dedication. "I've got a door, princess. You miss me that much?" He clicks his tongue. "I'll be fine, but christ, when's the last time you slept?"
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updated and rearranged. finally happy with this.
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You know what really messes him up about being here? He thinks that he's always been a WindClanner at heart. Unlike Red, he has no hopes that they'll forget him. He's sure that they already have, and that they wouldn't even recognize the body he was in, but that isn't quite as comforting as he'd hoped it would be. Were there many people out there who wished to be forgotten? It doesn't even matter, in the end. He won't be fighting them, no matter how hard he tries to convince himself that he doesn't care for them. "What kind of food'll you have?" The question is mostly meant as a distraction for his own mind, hoping not to linger on the scent of BoneClan. Two of WindClan's greatest enemies were close allies of his new home — Darkpaw couldn't say that he appreciated that. The canine settles next to Red without further questions or commentary, considering that the collie had already covered all the bases. Except — "Darkpaw. Nice to meet you."
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"The hell'd I do to you," Dark demands, voice somewhere between amused and accusatory because yes, he's in the general vicinity, but no, he doesn't think that his reading has gotten too loud, yet. Who knows, maybe he's talking out loud, right? Darkpaw honestly doesn't know what his brain is up to anymore. Actually — well, from where he was sitting, he wasn't the only one with some trouble up there. The canine's semi-floppy ears perk, expression lifting to something nearly curious before he shuts his book just in time to see the stranger literally fucking flop, what the fuck. "Hey! You alright?" Was that... Slime? Drool? Were they an alien? Well shit, he hopes not. After a moment, the dog stands up and hesitantly takes a few steps closer, wondering if he'd missed some quieter words in the midst of Pinkslime's yelling. "Someone bothering you?"
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/ shhh jaws no it's notKids should feel invincible. They should feel like they could own the damn world, because everyone deserves that much as a child. But more and more, as of late, that invincibility was being taken away. Younger and younger, they were sleeping with one eye open and a knife under the pillow. How old was the mini thing? Now old enough to be a -paw, he was betting. But that suffix doesn't mean a damn thing anymore, when you've got literal children trying to prove their worth to a world that's far from kind to them. She's his type of paranoid, and even if she's younger than him, Dark respects that. (She's not there yet, but he gets the feeling that she could rule the world eventually — her and Red both, really. He'd be the loyal servant, or something like that. Yeah, that sounds about right.) He looks her over out of the corner of his eye, waiting for some sort of comment. Instead, he gets a question, and his mouth curls into a tired, lopsided smirk. "What, tiny, you don't recognize me?" Of course she doesn't, they just met, but he likes to joke about these kinds of things. "Besides a broken heart, I'll be fine."
It's nice, actually. That she doesn't recognize him. Maybe it's weird, maybe he's a little pissed off, but it's better than everyone seeing Darkknight. Why does he keep bringing him up? Why does he keep thinking about WindClan as a whole? He's done, he's gone. He's here, at least for now. With Red. That's actually a nice thought, and one of the few that he feels comfortable clinging to. After all, he'd been given the all clear to follow him around, right? Dark won't push it, but it's still nice. Sure, it had been nice of everyone to just take him in right away — it was nicer still when someone wanted you. He can still recall his own delighted grin, shining through even if he tried to hide it because Red had called him better. Maybe it's just that Win is too real; maybe that's why he's so scared of being him.
So it's nice to have someone who he can go to when he starts thinking like that. For a moment, Darkpaw can't help but wonder about Red would think of all this — the collie's silence when he approaches only serves to drag those thoughts to additional heights. What he hadn't expected was a grin. It makes him relax, though, tired smirk warming to a crooked smile. "You know, I wasn't either." I like it. Light eyes widen a fraction when he lifts his brow a little higher, a question written in the surprise. "Yeah?" The teasing air to it gives him pause yet again, looking down at his own chest as if it has an answer. Back to smirking, then. "Don't think adorable really applies, Red." The canine offers a short sort of laugh, rolling his shoulder — no flapping owl anymore. Not as creepy. Not as paranoid. He's feeling better. "What, a little club of two?"
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Like the first two, Darkpaw doesn't know who the stranger is. He speaks oddly, welcoming himself back, but there's nothing wrong with being kind to yourself. It is interesting, though, and Dark finds it a little hard to relax with such a large creature walking around — the mask certainly doesn't help. He watches almost warily as Raspbel greets them and Vintagemisery nods. It's only when Zowie greets them rather enthusiastically that the mixed canine relaxes some, at least enough to walk a little closer. Partially perked ears rise a bit with curiosity. Roadpaw, huh? Interesting name. Alright, as long as he really is as relaxed as he seems right now. "Guess you're a familiar face, then. Welcome back. Name's Darkpaw — don't much mind what you call me." Well, he does, but if you insult him you'll know. That's not something he bothers to hide.
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Perhaps Darkpaw could relate to some of that, particularly the point about making friends when you would just lose them in the end. And no matter how many people he'd been friendly with in WindClan, were any of them really friends? Some of them were likely only caring for him out of obligation, and almost everyone was several months older. The only person that he'd really wanted to be friends with was Red (Redkit, way back then). The two of them had both been alone in the world, and somehow he'd ended up considering the other child a friend. And surprise of all surprises, he'd lost him. Rather, Red had lost Dark, swallowed up by someone else's personality. But things had worked out in the end, the two of them together again, even if things were different. The point here was that you couldn't always think so negatively, not about something like that. Maybe clan life would never be for him. That didn't mean friends wouldn't be.The younger apprentice looks up at the larger canine without so much as a blink, until pale blue eyes fall to the cigarette in his mouth. He wouldn't mind one, but he's sure as hell not asking for one of his. Believe it or not, Darkpaw does have a self preservation instinct. "Anyone ever call you daddy?" Maybe not. "Forget I asked. Welcome back, then. Name's Darkpaw, we haven't met. You need anything, boss-man? Go anywhere interesting when you were gone?"
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Awww Pyre, I didn't think it was that sad?
[hr]DARK + MINOR HUMAN AU THINGS:
— SMELLS LIKE: Cigarette smoke, campfire smoke, leather, and gunpowder. If I'm playing him older, he also smells like nice aftershave. Doesn't use cologne, but still has a very distinctive smell? You know it's him, if you pay attention.
— SLEEPS LIKE: If he's alone, he's curled into a bit of a ball, protecting vital organs and putting his spine against a wall. If he's with someone else, he turns into a weird starfish thing, literally wrapping himself around them. It's both protecting them and just. Enjoying the feeling? There's no consistent schedule, he's a polyphasic sleeper anyway. He sleeps when he can.
— LISTENS TO: Taste in music is really really eclectic. Some days he'll be listening to something classical to calm down, other times he's rocking around the apartment to something more modern. But he doesn't really do country seriously? -
[align=center][fancypost borderwidth=0;font-size:16pt;color:#78C9B8;letter-spacing:-2px;line-height:1][font=verdana][i][b]WON'T GIVE YOU MY HEART;
NO ONE LIVES THERE ANYMORE[/fancypost][align=center][fancypost borderwidth=0;font-size:16pt;color:#78C9B8;letter-spacing:-2px;line-height:1][font=verdana][i][b]I'LL MISBEHAVE IF IT TURNS YOU ON;[/fancypost]
[align=center][fancypost borderwidth=0;font-size:16pt;color:#78C9B8;letter-spacing:-2px;line-height:1][font=verdana][i][b]AND I HATE TO SAY THIS
BUT I'M STUCK ON LOVING YOU[/fancypost][align=center][fancypost borderwidth=0;font-size:16pt;color:#78C9B8;letter-spacing:-2px;line-height:1][font=verdana][i][b]SO I PRETEND THAT I DON'T CARE;
I'LL STAND YOU UP TO KEEP YOU HERE[/fancypost][align=center][fancypost borderwidth=0;font-size:16pt;color:#78C9B8;letter-spacing:-3px;line-height:1][font=verdana][i][b] ——————— I'LL MAKE YOU HATE ME
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"Dog. Ha. Funny." His voice almost shares the amusement that the words should, but something about his voice always seems to tend towards the sarcastic side when it's not with someone he knows well. Considering that he doesn't even know this person's name, perhaps it's right of him to feel as paranoid as he does now. The canine doesn't quite move closer even when the alien-person tells him to, though his head ducks as if to hear them better, a tentative half-step forwards. "Adequately muscle-y," he repeats in another deadpan, because he'd been called things both more and less flattering — what was the point of all this? And then, icing on the cake: "You wet towel." This was not how to get someone to do something for you, now was it? Unless Pinkslime wasn't serious, and considering their request, maybe they weren't. Darkpaw withdraws again to stare (it's hard to focus on all three eyes at a time, though). "You're askin' me to hit you. Hell, I know some pretty kinky people, but that's new."Snark's his go-to defense mechanism, it would seem, though some of it fades with Raspbel's appearance. His original paranoia over her had faded quite a bit, since she really did seem to be a decent person. Even beneath her false exterior, he thinks he gets her, a little bit. Her questions earn a helpless shrug of rather fluffy shoulders, the white marking on his shoulder wrinkling with it. "I don't think you need to leave, don't worry." Unless this really was — nah.
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