Posts by BILLIE

Perhaps Billie wasn't Jacob or Pierce or even Jerseyboy - though he could probably pass as him with little effort - but he did know Lottie. Not as well as he would have liked, he guessed, but he definitely had a certain respect for her nevertheless. She struck him as the sort of motherly-type who did her best to look out for everyone, himself included. Not to mention her job was hard as fuck - she definitely earned the high regard in which he held her.

"Lottie?" the boy called as he spotted the familiar shape of the maine coon, scurrying towards her. She still looked, well, kind of awful from her time in the Exiles, the details of which were unclear to him but he also didn't really want to know them. He had had enough with the damn place, and what was important was that she was safe now. Without too much thought, he would give the larger feline a brief hug in greeting - she really looked like she needed one - before commenting as he pulled away, "Damn, everyone's showin' up here. Jake and Jers are, uh, here somewhere. They're doing fine." He paused now, looking over his shoulder for the two brothers as if they would just miraculously turn up nearby. They did tend to do that. "Are you, ah, planning on staying here too?" he asked finally, an eyebrow raising slightly as he spoke. He would have asked her how she was doing and how things were in Blizzardclan, but he was afraid to ask or didn't really care, respectively.

//OOF a little rushed but i need my mom lottie in my life

Home. What defined a home? Home is where the heart is, they would say, or home is where your family is. While that was all poetic and shit, Billie had come to feel that neither of those sentiments applied to him. Family - he had one, but he had left them months ago now, and even if they were all still where he had left them, he wasn't sure they'd want to see him. And as for his heart, well, his was restless. He had always let it guide him in all that he did, and though that made for a true, passionate personality, so far it hadn't done much for any kind of stability in his life. His heart had guided him to sing music and play guitar. It had told him to run away from his mom, to join Blizzardclan, and then, to follow Jacob to Sunclan when he left. Aw man, Jacob. He hoped he was alright. His heart had told him a lot about what he felt for Jacob, but even then, he had found himself drifting from Sunclan. Something within him compelled him to do so - perhaps his distaste for the repetitive and the ordinary - but he hadn't gone to another Clan or even back to his siblings and parent. He had gotten caught up in the party scene, traveling from place to place and spending almost all his time playing his songs for others or drinking or partaking in other questionable, unsafe activities that he was still probably 'too young for.'

It had taken some time, but his heart had grown tired of this life too, and though it seemed he would never settle, he followed its lead once again. He always seemed to be longing for something more, but whatever that may have been, he hadn't found it yet. He had traveled absently after leaving, letting his paws lead him to his next destination. He hadn't even realized where he was heading until he saw them in the distance - the floating islands, and, small from this distance, the staircase that led up to them. He hadn't ever really intended to return to Blizzardclan, but at this point he was too close to turn around without at least seeing how they were doing. He wondered who was still around - Jerseyboy, Pierce, whoever the fuck else. He wasn't good with names.

The thin feline heaved a sigh as he reached the staircase, shifting the weight of his guitar on his back before beginning the climb up. If anyone was still around from before, it was likely they would recognize him as he reached the top, slightly short of breath. He had grown considerably since his last time here - his soft features more defined, an appearance of lean muscle in his shoulders, and he had even gotten taller, though he was still very petite by any standards - but aside from that, he was almost unchanged, with his unkept black and white fur and wild green eyes. Perhaps the scent of alcohol and cigarettes still clung to him, but really, didn't that suit him?

"Hey, ya motherfuckers! Who's home?" he called, shockingly loud for a creature of his stature as he shrugged the battered blue guitar off his shoulders, wincing slightly as it slid to the ground. Carrying his instrument that far sure was a bitch. Relieved of the weight, he took a seat, glancing around as he waited eagerly for someone to appear. Maybe he ought to just head to camp, though - he knew the way, and he knew there was no way in hell they would tell him to go away. He had seen them take in worse.

As it would happen, it was Billie's older counterpart there to greet him first. He had always liked Jersey, even if he couldn't quite put a finger on why. Maybe it was their shared love for music or his funny accent or his confidence, but whatever it was, the younger tuxedo's face split into a grin at the sight of him. "Well if it isn't Jerseyboy," he drawled, an eyebrow raising. Despite the tone of his voice, he felt kind of relieved to see him, that this wasn't a waste of time after all. "Yeah. Y'know. Just visitin', I guess," he continued with a careless shrug, truthfully unsure of how long he would be staying. He'd stick around as long as it suited him - once he got bored, he'd find somewhere else to kick it. Or maybe he'd stay. He didn't have a real plan. "Hey, how's Jake?" he asked suddenly, the memory of Jersey's brother persistent in his mind. He doubted the husky would be here, to be honest, especially since he had last seen him in Sunclan.

Next was another familiar face. Oh, he knew him! The crying kid, what was his name? Mickey, or something? "Why do ya think I ran away?" would be his only response to the Paladin's quip about his language, tossing the other boy a charming wink. "Don't worry, Mike, I haven't forgotten ya. Did you ever find those friends of yours?" Was he flirting? Maybe a little, but he remembered being genuinely concerned for Mike at the time.

He could feel the disapproval from this one, the one he didn't recognize. Was it the swearing that was putting her off? That did seem to rub people the wrong way. "You bet your ass I am," he meowed, unable to resist and giving a small bow before introducing himself. "The name's Billie. Good to meet ya." She seemed... uptight. Not that fun. But hey, maybe she would prove him wrong.

And Pierce. Yeah, he knew this guy too. He still couldn't quite decide if the Vice-Leader pissed him off or if he respected him. Perhaps in a manner similar to his distaste for Fadingmoon's forced manners, he found Pierce a bit too perfect. He was always nice and polite in positions where Billie would have lost his cool immediately. Plus, the serval wouldn't stop calling him Willie, despite repeated protests that, no, Billie was not short for William. "Oh, hey - oof," he began, only to catch himself in surprise as the taller feline wrapped him in a hug. Unlike himself, the serval smelled sweet - like flowers and paints or some shit. He wasn't sure how he felt about this; truthfully, he was happy to receive some genuinely affectionate contact, and though he reached up to give Pierce a pat on the back in return, he was a bit confused. Were they friends? Had they even liked each other? "I'm good man, I'm good. Just, uh, travelin' and shit, ya know?" To put it simply.

//oof week late reply what's good guys <333

Billie, for one, had never cooked a thing in his life. For one, he had never had the facilities, but he had also just never found a reason to. He wouldn't take the effort to prepare something for just himself, and he had never really had anyone to make things for, so he just snacked off what other people made. So, having been to all the places he had, he had sampled a variety of interesting treats.

The short feline sauntered over curiously, peering first at the cookies and pie the young Paladin had prepared before turning his green eyes up to the black and white feline, a sideways smile on his lips. "Hey, Mikey, ya got anything with, like, pot in it?" he asked, only part-way joking. He didn't really have anything to give as payment anyway, unless Mike wanted him to sing him a song or something. "I can't pay you in money. Do ya accept any other forms of payment?" He quirked an eyebrow suggestively. Prostituting himself for some burnt cookies? Thank god he wasn't serious.

Months ago when Billie had joined Blizzardclan for the first time, it had been odd. He wasn't sure if he would make friends or if he belonged, and though he had never really been concerned over such things, that was really what he was always looking for - he hadn't fit in at home with his family, and at the time, he hadn't fit in here either. Sunclan had been cool he guessed, but even that hadn't felt right. His month or so traveling and partying hadn't landed him in the right places either, but it had ensured one thing - being somewhere temporarily no longer felt unnatural. Anywhere could be his home now, as long as he had Blue and his worn-out songbook to write in.

Speaking of which, he currently had the beat-up notebook open in front of him for reference as he strummed his battered guitar, small paws moving comfortably along the strings as he moved from chord to chord, singing a song mostly from memory. This was fortunate, because the writing in the book was borderline illegible - not only was his handwriting god-awful, but so was his spelling. He had never been taught reading or writing, so all that he could do was just what he had inferred from his own experience. Which was, admittedly, not that good. "Well I toss and turn all night thinkin' of your ways of affection, but to find that it's not different at all." Despite his inability to actually spell the words, the song was well thought out, and his voice clear and well-practiced. "Well I throw away my past mistakes, and contemplate my future, that's when I say-" He stopped now, playing a few more aggressive chords on his instrument before stopping and squinting at what he had written. The rest was incomplete, but even so, he wasn't sure he understood what he had put there anyway.

PIERCE P.

Oh, these damn things again. Billie had never cared much for the weekly meetings when he had lived here before, and he certainly didn't care about them now either. In fact, it all seemed the same dreary routine as it had before, except this time it seemed someone else was calling the announcements - some bigass scaly dude he had never seen before. What had happened to the old girl? What was her name again? God, he couldn't remember. And what was this guy's name? Oh, whatever - he'd probably forget it, too. He tended to struggle with names. The small feline took a seat near the back, glancing around at the others with an eyebrow quirked skeptically before waiting for the unfamiliar dragon to continue.

Despite perhaps having similar experiences, Billie wouldn't want to compare himself to Pierce for several reasons. Firstly, he didn't compare himself to anyone, but secondly, because Pierce seemed so uptight. And, truthfully, kind of fake. Not that he wasn't nice, or whatever, but Billie had seen him force politeness and hold his tongue in situations when he had every right to lose his shit. To be fair, that kind of resolve was kind of impressive, but it rubbed Billie the wrong way. Additionally, he wasn't appreciative about his quips on his language choices and name. It was just Billie. Not William, not Willie. Billie.

Still, he definitely didn't hate the guy. His morals seemed to be in line, after all. Plus, the serval had even hugged him upon his return to Blizzardclan - did that make them, like, friends or some shit? He wasn't sure. He glanced up from his book as the leader's soft voice found his ears eyes finding the serval before a grin found his features. "Oh, thanks man," he meowed, feeling a small swell of pride in his chest as he stepped back, allowing Pierce to get a better look. He wasn't sure what he expected the well-educated feline to say when he tried to read his writing, but nevertheless, he felt a spark of indignation. Did he think his lyrics were bad? "Help? With what?" he asked, leaning back in to peer back at his writing and looking visibly irritated until it occurred to him; Pierce had no way of evaluating his lyrics when he couldn't even read his script. "Oh. You mean my handwriting. Yeah, it sucks, don't it?" He gave a small laugh, lifting his guitar from around his shoulders and letting it fall softly to the ground, watching it for a moment before his green gaze found Pierce again. "I'm guessing you can do better, then?" Pierce was probably smart as fuck.

Was Billie a new member? He supposed that was debatable - he had joined for the first time a couple months ago and took some time away before coming back. And really, he was hardly around and he definitely didn't know shit about Blizzardclan. Whatever he may have been considered, he could stand to learn some stuff about this place if he was planning to stick around, so the petite feline wandered over, glancing around to see if anyone else was going to come before offering the Paladin a smile. What was her name? Fading...something? "Sup," he meowed as he took a seat, assuming that would be enough to demonstrate his interest.

Jacob. Since almost his first meeting with the husky, he had been fond of him. Billie had come to appreciate everything from the husky's affinity for cooking and healing to his cute accent, and if he was being honest, he would have asked the other boy out in a heartbeat if the former medic hadn't already had a girlfriend. That wasn't something he wanted to get in the way of, particularly if it would have risked his friendship with him too - it just wasn't worth it, and he had told himself he would move on past his little crush soon enough. There were plenty of fish in the sea, right? But despite himself, he had found himself traveling to Sunclan after Jacob moved there, and in his time away from the Clans, Jake had been one of the only things he had really missed or even thought about on the regular. Admittedly, he had been hoping he would have run into him sooner after his rejoining, but better late than never.

The easy to spot figure of the canine sitting quietly made Billie's trip into camp worth it, and he couldn't stop the sideways smile that spread his face as he hurried over. Damn, he looked kind of sad - what kind of shit was life giving him now? "Jake! Hey, Jake!" he greeted, scurrying over to place himself by Jersey.

//oof rushed at the end and late asf

In his months outside of Sunclan and Blizzardclan, Billie had spent a lot of time, well, partying. There was really no other way to put it - blasting music, dancing, smoking, drinking, you name it. Though it had been fun, it hadn't really been that fulfilling, and as he always seemed to of everything, he grew tired of it before too long and drifted back to Clan life. He liked being back here - for now, anyway - but that didn't mean he hadn't picked up a few things, and he had gotten used to a certain kind of living. Though he didn't really miss the chaos of it all, he had found himself itching for something - a cigarette to smoke, and maybe a fun drink. He had taken a little time to nab what he needed from around camp - plastic cups from Pierce's studio, a cigarette or two and a bottle of vodka from ole' Jerseyboy, and a packet of jell-o from a friendly NPC. He'd return what he didn't use, of course, once he was done, but Pierce had plenty of supplies and Jers plenty of booze, so he wasn't concerned with them being missed.

He had taken much of the morning preparing his mixture, and now, as the day began to stretch into the afternoon, he had half-buried the completed Jell-O shots in the snow a ways from camp, where they stood out a bright, cheerful red against the white snow. Even in this temperature, it would take them a while to set, so for now the tuxedo feline was just chilling nearby with his guitar, plucking bored tunes and chewing an unlit cigarette - finding a manner to light it had been an oversight on his part, but he didn't feel like looking for a lighter or some matches now. Not when he had his precious shots to look after.

Jacob Wickliff

Billie had never known his father, but he had never really thought much about him before. Clearly, he had one - everyone did, right? - but his perpetual absence from his life and his mother's failure to mention such a figure implied that Billie and his siblings were an accident. The result of a fling or a one night stand, he guessed, but Billie didn't dwell on it much. Every once and a while, when he was younger and still with his family, he had thought about how different it might have been if his mom could have had help raising them, if they had somehow held on to that keystone family member. Perhaps somewhere, he had built up his nonexistent father into some kind of an asshole, a jerk who had no idea his kids even existed and didn't give a shit about them if he did, but as time passed, any thoughts about his dad had become almost as nonexistent as he was. Truthfully, Billie barely thought about his family anymore, but whether or not that was a good thing was debatable.

However, perhaps his choice of lifestyle was partially to blame for that. He refused to linger long on anything, to keep moving, to stay entertained and engaged with whatever he could. For him, his whirlwind existence had resulted in a lot of bad habits before he was even a year old. Smoking, drinking, fooling around - there wasn't really anything he wouldn't try. Here in Blizzardclan, things were a lot more mild here. The parties weren't as crazy as he was used to, and alcohol and the like was difficult to come by, but there was always someone he knew he could count on to have something worth his while, and that was Jerseyboy. He didn't know the guy as well as he might have liked, but the two of them did seem to share some interests. And by that, he meant they both liked the guitar and a good time.

It was the bittersweet scent of the cigarette that drew Billie to Jersey now. He hadn't had a good smoke in what felt like ages. "Hey, Jers, feel like sharin'?" he meowed as a greeting as he approached the larger tuxedo, a sideways half smile crossing his soft features as he gave a nod to the box the deputy held.

The younger feline was all too pleased to lift the cigarette from the other as it was handed to him, and the petite feline savored the first, long drag he took from it. He knew these things didn't do him any good - they probably stunted his growth, which he definitely didn't need - but it felt like it had been ages. The acidic burn at the back of his throat was strangely enjoyable, and he took a moment before he answered Jersey's question, the smoke still curling off his lips briefly as he spoke. "Y'know. Spent a lot of time partyin' and shit. I played a couple gigs out there. Met some chicks. Y'know, nothin' special, I guess. Just been foolin' around a lot." Saying it out loud made it seem a lot less thrilling than it had felt at the time, particularly given Billie had the feeling Jersey had plenty of experience in this sort of thing and wouldn't be very impressed with him. Nevertheless, he didn't mind sharing his escapades with the deputy - he appreciated the other's lack of comments on his numerous bad decisions. In fact, it seemed Jersey might even be one to encourage such thoughtless behaviour.

Billie didn't see smoking as a good habit or a bad habit - it was just a thing he did for the hell of it. Unlike Jersey, he felt no reliance to them, for coping or otherwise. Anything was bad if you did enough of it, but even with that in mind, he wasn't about to decide for someone else what was too much. If Jersey wanted to smoke a pack a day, two packs, more, who gave a shit? Not him, and no one else should have, either. It wasn't as if he were handing them out to kids like candy or something.

In response to Jers' first question, the smaller of the two gave snickered, shrugging slightly as he answered. "If you count in booze and a good time, then yeah, I did." For him, he couldn't really ask for more than that. He loved to play music, and he loved to share what he did - the wild setting and the alcohol had just been a bonus. Plus, it wasn't as if there was any real kind of currency they could have paid him in, not one that mattered. "Oh, y'know, I haven't done any of that since I came back to this place," he added as Jersey prodded him for more info, taking another quick drag on his cigarette, forest-green gaze skimming the landscape as he spoke. He didn't really know anyone his age around here, though perhaps that could be remedied if he made an effort, but being here also made him think of Jacob - god damn, where was that guy?

//lazy oof take it bih

It really was comical how much Billie and Jersey seemed to have in common - from their affinity for a good time right down to their eerily similar appearances. Coincidences, they both assumed. Why wouldn't they be? Why would they have any reason to think otherwise?

Billie chewed his cigarette absently for a peaceful moment before Jersey spoke again, this time of the city. He must have never told him that he had grown up there - the first five months of his life. It was a dirty, boring place when it came right down to it - as a child, he had little to do besides dig around in garbage cans and get beat up by bigger, scarier cats than him. That had been one of the only rules his mother made that the then-kitten had had any interest in following even part of the time. Now, he'd probably be the first one to throw the punch, but back then, he had spent all his time right there with his family, admiring the records and guitars glimmering in the window of the shop they lived behind and holding tight to his own tiny guitar, of which he had only just now really grown into.

He took another careless puff as Jersey began his tale of a blue eyed girl in a nearby city, not really sure what his friend was about to get into but ready to be entertained nevertheless. He doubted there was anything that he'd be really impressed by - he was a city kid, and he had gotten around. 'Shit, forgot her name. Diana, Dianne; somethin' like that.'

It was in this moment that Billie froze, cigarette lifted slightly from his lips and held aloft in his paw. Dianne. That was his mom's name, his blue eyed mom, who he had left months ago. Surely, there were plenty of blue eyed girls named Dianne that Jersey could have run into a year ago. Surely. Yes, this was some kind of coincidence, just like all the other ones between him and Jerseyboy. It had to be. Perhaps he could have even convinced himself of this, laughed it off like they had all their other similarities if it hadn't been for the last detail. The guitar shop. His guitar shop. His city. His mom, his Dianne. And Jerseyboy.

Billie's foresty eyes turned upwards now, his cigarette still held in his socked paw as he examined Jersey's face. He felt like someone had just pulled a rug out from straight under his feet. Like someone had just pulled a very, very unfunny prank on him and he was about to lose his temper. He barely even heard the rest of what the Deputy was saying - it seemed stupid and irrelevant now, and in this instant, he wanted nothing more than for him to be quiet. It showed for just a split second on his face, a rapid transformation first from relaxed to shocked and then to anger. A bitter, upset rage that had bubbled from within him all too quickly. "Shut up!" he burst, not even attempting to approach this calmly. "Shut the hell up! I was fuckin' born in the city, ya asshole! Dianne - Dianne's my fuckin' mom!" Even as he said the words, stated facts he had known all his life, they felt bizarre and untrue.

"I was born behind that god damn guitar shop," he snarled, using his burning cigarette to point accusingly at the tuxedo before him. Someone could always argue he was jumping too quickly to conclusions, but the obvious had been staring them in the face for months. Pierce had said it the first time he saw them together - Oh Jersey, I didn't know you had a son! "Yer my fuckin' dad. Yer my fuckin' dad, you ignorant shit." He could barely understand the words coming out of his own mouth - just a moment ago, he had been sharing a smoke with a friend, and now here he was, shouting cruel obscenities at his newfound father. Inside he felt red hot and hurt, blindly tossing his aggression outwards. Now didn't that run in the family? "Y'know how hard it was for her? All by herself in that shithole town, tryin' to look after us?" It was true, he had never gotten along with his mother, but she had worked herself to the bone for him and his siblings - it was more than likely he had done her a favor in running away. "Yer a fuckin' asshole, y'know that?" he concluded, sounding much less angry as he spoke this sentence and much more what like what he was - a confused, upset teenager with a broken family. Spitefully, and as if to punctuate his sudden rant, he threw the lit cigarette at Jersey's feet, green optics burning with fresh resentment.

Billie watched unwaveringly as Jersey recoiled from the burn, lip still curled spitefully and eyes still alight with anger. Looking into the face of his father, he wondered how they hadn't realized it sooner - the shapes of their features, the way their faces wore fury and ferocity, it was all the same. Sometimes it was hardest to see the truth even when it was right in front of your nose, something quite literal in this circumstance. Stupid, stupid - he was stupid not to have realized before now. But what would it have changed? Could there really have been a kinder way to learn that he had welcomed his deadbeat dad as a friend? They had shared stories and music and cigarettes, completely unaware that the friendship they had formed had been heading this way from the start.

The much shorter feline stood his ground as the larger tuxedo got to his paws, clenching his jaw as he lifted his chin so his eyes never left Jersey's olive ones. It was a pose of defiance and a pose that lacked any fear, despite the obvious fact that the well-trained, battle-scarred deputy could hand his ass to him easily if he really wanted to. In his mind, this seemed like far from an issue. He could take him. He might not win, but he could definitely hurt him - he had chosen to forgo any formal Clan training, but drunken fights with broken bottles and getting into trouble on the streets had taught him a thing or two.

'Shut your goddamn mouth, you don't know what you're talkin' about. I don't have a son.'

"You don't have a son because you left us!" he shouted, so instantaneously that he had nearly managed to speak over him, finally giving into temptation and aiming to give the larger male a hard shove backwards. His denial was worthless to Billie - he knew he saw it too, that the truth was too obvious. He was just a coward who had only ever cared about himself. "Don't fuckin' lie to me, and don't fuckin' tell me what to do!" His tone was demanding and accusatory, and he took another step towards Jersey, halfway closing the gap he had attempted to create by pushing him a few moments prior, once again lifting a paw to point at him aggressively. He wore an expression of pure loathing and belligerence, any chance of salvaging the situation clearly lost as soon as Jersey opened his mouth to reply. "Y'know, maybe it's better you weren't around! No kid should have to deal with a candy-ass dad like you. You wouldn't have given a fuck about us anyway." The vicious, relentless words spilling from his lips might have carried truth, or maybe they didn't - he didn't know, nor did he care. He hadn't even bothered to think from Jersey's perspective, which might not have been excusable but at least understandable, for Billie was too carried away in his distress.

Billie stumbled backwards as Jersey retaliated, the petite feline regaining his balance just as the deputy's next words found his ears. 'Shut ya' trap before I make you, you lil' punk ass!' Was Billie being an asshole? Oh, definitely. Absolutely. Later, when he was calm, he'd be able to recognize this. But this was now, and in this moment, his emotions had blocked out all logic and good reasoning.

Mija, Artemis, and Sylvina's mixture of pleas, offers, bets, and comments fell on deaf ears. Even if he had taken a moment to acknowledge them, it probably wouldn't have made a difference - he only wanted to beat the shit out of Jersey because he felt he deserved it, not some random kitten he'd never met, and if they wanted to place bets, well, so be it. He didn't care. Good for them. He was more concerned with the fact that his absent, suddenly non-absent father had just threatened to make him do something. Oh, make me, my ass.

His next movement was sudden, but probably predictable. The undersized tuxedo cat threw himself towards Jersey with all the power in his small body, letting out an incomprehensible shout as he charged forward with only the intent of decking the larger male. He was always the smaller guy in fights, always the underdog - it was only sheer determination and the element of surprise that ever gave him any sort of edge, and Mija was very correct in the assumption that Jersey could and was probably about to beat the shit out of him.

//dont mind my late 12 am post blease