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Post by sning on Aug 23, 2017 23:06:29 GMT -5
Half focused on actually attempting to give his mottled pelt a quick clean, Hawke could not help himself from overhearing the conversation between Stark and little Yuliy. Of course, that isn't saying much, as the commanding tone of this band of cats' leader was very noticeable by itself. Combine it with the silence of the morning and the rocky outcrop called their nest, and one would have to truly be deaf or ignorant to not recognize the voice. One would have to truly be deaf or ignorant to be able to not recognize the distinct and powerful voice. It was... rather impressive, Hawke had to admit. And this is coming from someone who didn't see the best in everything all the time.
Once the mundane routine of cleaning up was established, the tom allowed himself to let his ears wander more and truly recognize the conversation going on between harsh leader and reserved apprentice. Hawke was lucky that he actually was of capable age when he stumbled upon this ragtag band of strays: he did not need to be an apprentice under anyone as harsh as the grand gray Stark. He could only imagine the expression on Yuliy's face, those wide owl-like eyes filled with a sort of panic and urgency. Perhaps a bit of desire to prove himself? It was hard to get a read on the young cat through his polite and emotional demeanor: he near opposite of how Hawke tended to carry himself day to day... The two were awfully different in that way.
Saying that his own apprentice had mange, and that appearances matter... Oh Stark, mayhaps you are being a tad harsh on the little one. Hawke understood his intentions in carrying it out this way, he wanted to roughen Yuliy up for the harsh winter world on his own. But going as far as chastising him about his pelt moments after the kid got up? If he was anyone else, the hunter would have thought of this remark as cruel: however this was their leader after all, and it fit right into his personality. And if Hawke were anyone else, he surely would have felt a bit flustered to be taking care of his pelt himself, as an older member, as the apprentice was being scolded. The mottled hunter didn't care all too much about the harsh comments to the baby bird of an apprentice even if the words could have very easily echoed to him. Hawke finished up grooming his fur well enough to not be a nuisance for hunting, stretch slightly in his sitting position to scare off the tightness in his muscles, and sat up fully just in time to see Stark recognize him.
'Here we go...'
The simple way that the leader regarded him with just his name. How influential, how inspiring, how powerful... how droll. Locking eyes with Stark, Hawke took in the few short unwavering, yet very useful, phrases he spat out. So both apprentice and mentor would be joining his small hunting party, huh? It should not have been all that surprising as there were two hunters after all, but the tom did catch his leader from time to time taking quick unprovoked glances at Motya. He would have thought for sure that the two would tag along with her for that very reason. Perhaps the two of them could prove interesting to take along however! In an odd turn of events, Hawke was relieved to have at least the company of the two of them. He didn't put full trust in them yet, but then again he didn't trust any cat in the band fully yet. Hell, it was Motya that Hawke had to trust the most, and that was simply because she was his fellow hunter and could relate to what he did! But the two would be in separate groups in entirely different areas.
Different areas... that brought his mind around to Stark's solid question. Or was it more of a statement? Hawke didn't know, but certainly had to entertain him with a solid answer. Which area has had more prey recently...? That was rough to answer. Hawke squinted his eyes and broke eye contact for a moment as the hunter thought hard on this. He had always brought back at least some food, but often times it was after giving up in a certain area or being driven off that he found the prey. But this was a separate situation all together, he had a group to tag along with him this time. Realistically, it was a toss up between the mines and meadow for yielding the highest amount of sustenance, but they did not come without their own risks. Humans often times did come into both areas, the mines more so. While this was a high risk, prey often was focused around this area for whatever reason, even with the God-forsaken humans crawling about. The meadows were less risky, but typically yielded less "crop" in his experience. Of course the two parties would be going to one or the other, neither group being tasked with both the mines and meadows. That would have made things TOO easy...
Hawke had his answer for Stark, and locked eyes with the leader once more. His dull amber eyes were full of seriousness and determination to augment the words that were about to come. "I have had more experience in the mines for finding prey, though it has been much more risky lately. Too many of the monsters have been... visiting." The hunter spoke with confidence, monsters referring to the humans that plagued the land. It was not a straightforward answer like Stark likely wanted, and his apprentice would be nuts to be excited about going to the mines, but it was the truth. "The meadows have been much safer in recent times, but have not provided us with as much food. So plainly put and in two words to answer your question: the mines." It was that simple.
Hawke broke eye contact again to glance quickly at Yuliy and take in what he looked like. He didn't look that bad, considering that he was freshly groomed! Those wide eyes, the quick and subtle head nod, the shuffling of his paws... it was clear that the apprentice was nervous. Be it from the inclusion to the hunting party or just Stark being- well, Stark- Hawke had to admit he felt somewhat bad for him. He was just a kid after all, a kid lost in the wilds who probably was only surviving because he by chance found this group. "Hey, Yuliy. You look fine, don't you worry." He had to do something to help the little one, even though Hawke was not all that proficient in interacting with the apprentices. If it were a fully grown cat, there would certainly have been some sort of snarky remark coming out of him but this was different. "And hunting is a breeze!" The dark tom added quickly just in case THAT was what was getting Yuliy all sorts of upset and nervous. Of course, this wasn't a lot coming from one of the two hunters but still. It was something. And with that, he shot his gaze right back to their leader.
edit: i forgot to sorta interact with Yuliy,,,, my bad
it is better now! kinda
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Post by ᴏᴡʟ on Aug 24, 2017 19:35:48 GMT -5
M O T Y A
Motya had never really liked the cold. Her pelt was simply far too thin to handle such a chilly environment, while her body was too free of the fats needed to keep one warm. She despised the snow, and ice, and sleet that this place spat out like bile, because she always feared she might lose a toe or two every time she left the warmth of her nest-- perhaps her nose; maybe both. Could one survive without a nose and a pawful of toes? She supposed there was only one way to find out, but the likelihood wasn’t all too great.
Aside from her own troubles though, there was always the matter of food. Winter decimated the stomach, and anyone who had spent it roaming the raw expanse of it all could tell you that. Either the prey died, or it went slinking down into its burrows, slumbering while those who wished to snap it between their teeth prowled outside, hungry and far too impatient, but for all the right reasons. That or it would fly to someplace warmer- luckier- and it would take the hunter’s hopes with it. So what was left for the hunter? Nothing, really. Nothing that Motya wished to see, anyways.
So with that all in mind, it was understandable- to say the least- that Motya had felt her stomach drop when Stark first spoke.
The tortoiseshell had never particularly enjoyed her leader’s company- let alone his attitude- but he certainly knew how to snag one’s attention, and stake them with his words. She supposed that that was the very reason why he was the leader of their group; after all, no meek hearted do-gooder (as if she was one to talk) could stand tall in such an icy home, filled with creatures just as hardened. Perhaps that was why he looked with scorn down upon his apprentice. Yes, Motya had seen it; taken it all in with a stone in her gut. Yuliy was no match for his mentor, and Stark certainly didn’t bow to accommodate the difference. It was a shame, really; a shame that Motya desperately wanted to confront... but she bit her tongue for now, and only for now.
Sucking in a breath of damp stone air, the she-cat let her features twist into a wince as her heart began to sink lower, and lower within her chest. Now was not the time to contemplate matters that were not her own, even if a more compassionate side of her mind cried for her to do so. She had responsibilities that she had to attend to now, and aside from Hawke, she was one of the few that truly knew how to handle it. The stuffing of bellies, the stifling of hunger; it all road heavily upon her shoulders.
A quick grooming- that was all she needed. Her fur was too short to really tangle; too light to carry debris. It might have been a disadvantage when those chilly winds blew, but she could at least say that she took far less time shaking the moss from her fur than anyone else in their ragtag splinter group. It was with this optimism that made her stand, even if her bones popped in protest, and the tug of morning sleep continued to brush against her eyes. She could do this. It was just another hunt, right? A winter that hadn’t even fully arrived yet made little difference.
“Alright, uh… Taras!”
Yes, Taras was perfect for this. Perhaps a bit wide in the shoulders, but strong enough to take down a hare or two, if they ever became so unbelievably lucky. It was wishful thinking, of course- she knew that- but it came from just a bit of faith in the tom’s great size and steady limbs; two treats that she so greatly envied, at times. Hopefully it was a warranted faith, but there was see. So, with a new hope to quicken her steps, she padded forth.
“Taras,” she repeated once more, a bit of sweetness detailing the curl of her voice as she dipped her mottled skull, and came to greet the tom. “I’m thinking of headed to the meadow and forest, if Hawke isn’t headed there first,” she stated clearly, her eyes travelling across the broad silver face of her new-found companion. Truly, he did feel new-found, sometimes. Where he’d come from and what he intended to do here, in this dark little mine of theirs… Well, Motya had never been clear on the facts, and if Taras wished for anyone to truly be clear on them, he hadn’t worked towards showing it. So she didn’t push; she kept herself at a respectful distance, and smothered her curiosity with a dose of silent regard. If Taras wanted to speak of past times, he would, and in the meantime, it wasn’t any of her business trying to weasel it out of him. “If you’d like to come, I’d really--”
‘Mange.’
Why it was that that single word came floating across camp to her, she didn’t know. Why it stung her even from a distance, she didn’t know either; but she did know that a flame of empathy sputtered into life as she turned her gaze to find it’s source- a source that she knew could only be Stark. How he could speak so cruelly to Yuliy was a damned mystery, along with how the apprentice could still keep his mouth shut, even if the wounds still shown clearly within his eyes. It caused an itch within her; a need, perhaps, to either bite down on that ash-hued fur, or to curl her tail around the apprentice that stood beneath it all. She couldn't do either of those things though; not now, at least.
“I’d really appreciate it.” With her words coming out as a quick dart of noise, she turned her face back to the tom, her expression tensed and plastered on. “We’d need to get some of the others to join us though.”
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Post by lozi on Aug 24, 2017 21:57:21 GMT -5
CLIFFE
Cliffe was curled up in his den, his long ticked pelt damp from the moisture in the air. It had gotten down to his bones, making him achey and stiff all over. He was lying near the opening of the cave, as the cold rarely bothered him through his thick fur. His tail was over his nose, his whole body curled up in his nest. The poor young cat nearly leaped out of his skin in surprise at his leader's yowl.
He had barely had the time to shake the sleep from his eyes and clamber out of the cave before orders were being given. What was going on? The groggy apprentice rose to all fours and dashed out of the cave to join the huddle of cats. Snow. That was what was going on. Pushing back a grumpy huff, he sat on the ground, shivers running up his spine as he came in contact with the freezing ground. He bent his neck to quickly clean himself up. Being late, he hadn't had time to look presentable, but hey, he wasn't in that bad of a shape.
Cliffe wasn't in the mood to deal with other cats today. Was he ever? Either way, he was especially not looking forward to today. His sore body was slowly losing heat as the snow fell, stealing away his body heat. No time to worry about that right now. For now, he had to find his mentor. Every muscle under his pelt begged to return to slumber, but Cliffe ignored it, allowing himself to stretch his weary form before searching for his mentor. He scanned the crowd for the Maine coon he had trained under for several moons, finally finding him. He raced over to him, the cold air stinging his face and melting on his warm ears.
"Good morning, sir." Cliffe's voice was gruff, but respectful, as was expected. "Sorry for keeping you, sir."
[ Ack awful starter. I promise I will do better when I'm not so rushed on time. ]
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Post by Deleted on Aug 27, 2017 14:42:10 GMT -5
stark
Stark listened attentively as the other cat answered his inquiry, keeping in mind to not let his eye contact waver for even a moment--it was a tactic he had learned from his mother ages ago, a cold-hearted queen (it takes one to raise one), who raised him alone in the wilderness. She claimed others would take him more seriously when he looked that way at them, that they would feel he meant business, even if the situation wasn't grave. Her advice did him well, for the most part; not only did the tom get what he wanted most of the time, but it solidified his position on top of this makeshift social hierarchy.
He didn't answer right away once Hawke finished delivering his reply. His eyes narrowed lightly in thought, one ear turning back as he considered the risks and rewards. Most of the light hunting Stark did himself was too local to even call a proper hunting outing, so he felt inclined to listen to the other tom's advice, perilous as it sounded. "The mines, then, hm?" He echoed, just a tinge of apprehension in his voice. The grey tom shook it off a moment later, his expression determined once more. "Let's go, then. As long as any of us have a shred of common sense, we should be fine."
And with that, he turned to lead the party--even if he technically wasn't the hunter that was supposed to be leading this party, his pride wouldn't have it be lead by anyone else besides him until it was absolutely necessary to have it any differently--out of the cave. He padded towards the mouth of the tunnel leading outside, carving a path through those still forming their groups for the day, and as he moved, his eyes flashed silent warnings to speed up their progress before they lost too much valuable daylight. Once he reached the tunnel entrance, Stark glanced over his shoulder to confirm that Hawke and Yuliy were on his heels, but what he saw instead only peeved him further.
Neither cat followed him as diligently as he had hoped, but rather, the hunter and his apprentice stood in the same place they had begun their discussion, talking. Talking, when there was hunting to be done! Not only that, but judging by the tone of his voice and the light encouraging expression on his face, Hawke seemed to be delivering some kind of reassurance to Yuily. Stark folded his ears back, tail twitching, quietly seething. What gave him the right to speak to his apprentice, much less in that way, preserving that juvenile softness that he so wanted to beat out of him?
Stark's ways of discipline were subtle, unpredictable--even cruel at times. So, he waited for them to finish their conversation, not moving a muscle, but maintained his intense, angry gaze on the back of Hawke's head. He hoped that the misfortune of bringing this look out of him, and meeting his eyes would be enough to scare Hawke from any nonsense like that in the future. When he was finally acknowledged, the grey tom nodded towards the cave mouth. "Winter isn't going to wait for us, you know," he warned lowly, then began heading out of the tunnel.
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Post by Deleted on Aug 27, 2017 15:16:31 GMT -5
kolya
For the first time in a long, long time, he was getting a decent night's sleep. Neverminnd the fact that he had donated most of his dry leaves and mosses away to the she-cats sleeping near him--perhaps he unknowingly preferred a harder place to rest his head. And Kolya was exhausted; the day before, he had made the mistake of setting out on his own in pursuit of a drink of water, and encountered a lone dog. Thankfully, it was a small one, but a yippy, excitable little fool that couldn't throw its weight around much, but it had gotten its fair number of hits in. The tom eventually drove it off with its tail between its legs.
So, the sleep was welcome, and much deserved after a day like that. Encounters with other animals had began to slow in the past couple weeks--it had been ages since the tom had caught a glimpse of a bear, ambling lazily in the distance, or a lynx, or, the more common household dog; the only reason he found one so recently was that he dared to wander close to the monster dwellings where they lived. Kolya knew what it all meant, but, since nobody had asked him about it (nobody asked him about much, in general), he hadn't shared his thoughts.
His blissful sleep was interrupted by none other than that pompous grey tomcat's paw on his tail. It woke him with a sudden jolt of pain and a soft hiss, merely out of reflex and fear of the unknown, but he forced himself to curb back his reaction when he recognized Stark's graceful figure. His deep blue eyes narrowed as he watched him move through the other cats and make his way up to the outcrop by his den, hanging over the whole lot of them. Kolya would never, ever dare to share his true thoughts regarding him with anyone else, but deep down, he had no respect for someone that carried such low regard for others.
Taking it as a cue to wake up, though, he stood and stretched his limbs, then moved to begin grooming himself. He continued smoothing out stray wisps of sleep-mussed fur as Stark spoke, and, sure enough, his suspicions were true: winter was coming, faster than any of them had expected. The tom felt the chill change in the wind weeks ago, seen the disappearance of most of their ravenous summer predators, and witnessed the days shortening for himself. But as Kolya listened, he could only think to himself how much better he could deliver the same message. Why sound so domineering, if they all had a common goal of survival?
When his little speech ended, and an assignment was given to them all, Kolya moved to the main group of cats to choose between the two hunters. He hesitated, feeling awkward; social interactions were never his forte, since he was quiet, reserved, and independent for the most part. Thankfully, though, when he saw the grey tom choose Hawke, it made his decision that much easier. Tail and head low, he padded over to Motya, secretly thrilled to be on assignment with her, of all cats. He could be called her secret admirer, of sorts.
"Do you have room for one more member?" He asked lowly. "I'd like to join you." Then the pointed tom offered a sheepish look. "I'd prefer to stay away from that other group. Seems like Stark isn't in the best mood." But when was he in a good mood? |
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Genderqueer
noble.
a damn fine cup of coffee
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Post by noble. on Sept 9, 2017 15:46:10 GMT -5
The large tom stood for a few breaths as the others mingled amongst themselves before he allowed his paws to carry him to the mouth of the entrance. His mossy pools drank in the lands that rolled before him. Soft misty snow blurred the lines of the land. From afar it may have appeared mildly romantic; delicate branches piercing the skyline like needles, the hazy glowing outlining of the two-leg dens shining full of wonder and promise. But the sheer curtain of the powder could only mask so much. Any creature living among these stretching lands knew of the hard times to come. On the bitter winter winds, claws unsheathed, Winter would come. Waves would wash over the lands, drowning everyone and everything in a sea of desperation and aggression. The musty tunnel air he now breathed will thicken with tension at the hands of his companions. And that awfully charming powder, damn it all, always tended to soak through and through any and all fur, slowly, but surely seeping coldly through to the skin.
Taras continued to watch as the snowfall began to collect at the peaks of the mountains. It was the first fall but that still didn't leave them with much time. Stark was right in his decision to double up on a hunting patrol, soon the prey would notice the icy fingers leafing through their fur and...
Casting his mossy green gaze he watched as the mismatch-rugged band of cats devised hunting groups amongst themselves. He had only known them for a few passing moons, still, damn his soft heart, he felt the need to protect them. Especially the young lad that had been appointed his apprentice. It wasn't hard to spot Cliffe as he groggily pulled himself from his nest of dreams. A weak smile managed to find its way through Taras' statue-face facade. Did he dream of the sea's breath pushing through his fur? Maybe perhaps his night was full of chasing hares through fields of wildflowers, their pungent fragrance clinging to his coat and lingering just a few moments longer as he pushed the sleep from his eyes. Or maybe, just maybe he curled into the warmth of a two-leg, into the strong arms of a lad like Grisha. He could only stand there and pray to the stars above that the young lads' night was full of sweetly fabricated fantasies. Taras knew more than anyone that there would be fewer of those sweet times with the coming winds. He couldn't help but allow his eyes to linger just a while longer on Cliffe as scrambled to his paws and fought off the sleep that threatened to drag him back to his nest.
A chilling wind pierced through Taras' coat and cast chilling thoughts. What if they don't find enough to eat this winter? What if they don't...
Taras' eyes locked onto Cliffe and couldn't help but imagine the youngling laying next to all the others he had to meet along his journey home. All the others with their sunken wild eyes, poking bones, frozen whiskers, they had all appeared before him like ghosts, lost in the sea of white. Closing his eyes, a chilling sight bloomed there. Cliffe's once peaceful emerald eyes become something like a wild dog, wide with desperation, sinking deep into his dulling facade. Ice crept over his body as he transformed into one of them. Into one of the unlucky ones.
No.
Flicking his eyes open the ungodly sight vanished and was replaced with a slightly disheveled Cliffe attempting to clean his coat before joining the others. He wouldn’t have it. He’d fight with tooth and claw, something that didn’t happen often, to ensure that they all watched the snow melt come springtime.
Taras sighed deeply, he needed to stop worrying, of course, they would all make it. Picking himself up he shook his thick coat out before swiping his tongue over it a few times to pat down the few tuffs that stood up. It was the sweet, chime-like voice of his companion, Motya that drew him farther from his thoughts. Turning towards her he greeted her with a meek smile and a dip of his head out of politeness. He liked Motya, she had a good heart and wasn’t at all afraid of it, unlike himself. You could say that he admired her strength. There had been countless instances that he damned his soft heart to the heavens and back, wishing that he had taken up the mannerisms of a cold brute. He couldn’t picture Motya cursing the stars let alone anything else.
He allowed Motya to have his full attention as he focused on her words, that was until Stark’s voice came traveling across the tunnel and caught his ear.
“You look like you’ve got mange.”
Even the word made Taras’ stomach churn with disgust. He had had the pleasure of seeing cats on his many journeys that had mange and it was anything but pretty. He had met a lass, Aulis, a beautiful thing really, along his travels who had had the misfortune of contracting the disease. It had saddened him, she had been such a pretty creature. A flash of her face consumed by mange and infection danced in his head before he shook them away. Taras’ green eyes found Yuliy and he could not see the resemblance that Stark had seen between his apprentice and a disease ridden cat. Fire boiled in Taras’ eyes as his fur drew up slightly, he respected Stark in the sense that he respected the efforts he had made to make this band of cats, but that's where he drew the line. The silver Maine coon did not personally respect Stark’s choices nor the way he carried himself. If anything he frowned upon Stark’s unnecessary harshness, especially when directed towards his meek apprentice. Taras knew that deep down Stark meant well and was probably trying to shape Yuily to become the tough apprentice he wishes he could have but anyone with eyes could see that Yuliy would never make the cut.
“I’d really appreciate it. We’d need to get some others to join us though.”
Taras’ eyes lingered on Yuliy and Stark awhile longer as he turned his head towards Motya. His eyes trailed along her face and could tell that she was just as equally unease by Stark’s treatment towards Yuliy. The young apprentice deserved a mentor like Motya, someone that would understand his nervous tendencies and worried about his well being in a less brutal way.
“He’ll be ok.”
It was the first words that he had spoke that morning, actually to be fair, it was the first words he had spoken in awhile, still the words came out like silk, soft and deep. Yulily had made it here on his own, he was strong. They had all made long, treacherous journeys across the unforgiving lands that rolled just outside the tunnel, they were all strong. Motya, Yulily, Cliffe, they were all strong and they would all make it to spring.
"Good morning sir. Sorry for keeping you."
It was the gruff-like voice that fished his unwanted thoughts back to the surface. The frozen ghosts lost in the sea of white danced in his head, taunting him with the inevitable fates of his companions. His green eyes fell upon Motya and Cliffe.
Stop it.
He forced a small smile to his face as he greeted his apprentice, his thoughts still lingering on the possibilities winter was going to bring. Taras appreciated Cliffe's apology but found it unnecessary, sleep was sleep and they all needed it. " t's quite alright, Cliffe, glad you got some rest, you're going to need it." He wasn't lying, they would all need to start valuing their rest with the incoming winds of winter. A tired cat does not survive. Taras again turned to Motya, his face softer this time, "Cliffe and I will accompany you," he spoke, offering her a small smile and warm eyes.
[finally finished this reply oh my goodness ]
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Genderqueer
noble.
a damn fine cup of coffee
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Post by noble. on Sept 24, 2017 8:00:11 GMT -5
this deserves a bump :')
miss you guys |
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Post by Deleted on Sept 24, 2017 16:16:17 GMT -5
let's be real--this is dead. it was nice while it lasted, though.
any one of you who want to keep roleplaying with me, shoot me a message. otherwise, see you around.
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