{For Echo!}
{Wasn't sure if you wanted to continue where left off or not so here's the last two replies of the roleplay!}
{Echos’ Post}Unsure of his words, the she-cat merely shrugged it off not wanting to go into details about his whole list idea. Whether he had a mental note who he disliked the most or not wasn't her concern. When her time came to meet his claws again, she'd simply accept this fate. It's just how this feline was. Sure she shouldn't go out without trying to defend herself... if she had the chance, but she wouldn't try to compromise her way out of it. Besides, there was no chance anyone could change Hannibals mind about something, was there? That was another unknown thing about the strange gray tom-cat. Hardly anyone knew anything about him. He was unpredictable from what she knew. "Very many possibilities, although I have an idea you'd chose whatever made me suffer the most. We both know very well that even with Hera around now, you wouldn't stop this time," Illusion was almost admitting she would die under this feline's claws. It was almost as if she were expecting it at any minute. But who wouldn't when you were facing such a menacing feline? It'd be a lie to say you don't at least let the thought cross your mind once. "No one would try to stop you this time. Dusk Syndicate in itself would just take it as an act to removing the weak after all, although I don't consider myself weak here. Unless you could say otherwise," she stated simply.

A new feline entered the clearing and her depths turned away from Hannibal and onto the feline and a kittypet. Simply staring, Illusion awaited the feline to do something. "Well speak of a weak link," she murmured almost directly to Hannibal. Who she was referring to was unknown. Why would a syndicate cat walk in and try to make himself seem strong by killing off a mere kittypet. Kittypets were toys in her eyes, but the worst way to show strength. Perhaps she was referring to the kittypet. They weren't worth keeping around and pratically useless when it came to combat. Her gaze drifted back to Hannibal almost as if she were waiting for an agreement or his own comment.

{My Post}Eerie gaze fixed on her as she shrugged, Hannibal twitched his tail a bit, wondering if she was thinking it over even if she had shrugged, part of him slightly wanting her to have the idea stuck in her brain to ponder and torture her thoughts, wondering if she was on that list even if there wasn't a list at all, psychological torture was very interesting to watch in Hannibals' opinion. To destroy a cats mind slowly, drive them to paranoia.. Oh he loved to watch it. But part of him knew that Illusion wasn't that easy to get into her mind, to toy with it. He didn't quite want to try harder, he'd pick here and there, but never try harder than that, perhaps one day he could chip that wall that surrounded her mind down, or perhaps not, perhaps he'd simply grow tired of waiting and end her once and for all. One of his ears swiveled slightly as he heard her respond. A hollow smile appeared on his lips, his muscles pulling the corners up but there was no emotion behind that smile, it was just an action without meaning really. "Everyone in this Syndicate is weak in their own regards including myself Illusion. Whether another cat will ever find that out, I'm not sure, but if I killed other cats because they were weak, then why isn't everyone here dead?" There was a burning of something unkown in his eyes as he focused his gaze on hers momentarily before slowly he swiveled his head at hearing the voice of some cat in the center of camp, his nose twitching slightly as he pulled in the two scents.

It was a Syndicate cat and a kittypet, Hannibal heaving out a quiet breath as he listened and watched the two, his interest plummeting immensely. Some cats really had no class did they? Or were they perhaps so desperate to show some sort of power that they had to do something as.. Simple as this. His ear swiveled slightly at Illusions comment, but he didn't utter a single word, in fact it almost appeared that he didn't even really hear her. Growing bored with the little scene, he began to groom his chest fur, deciding that if whoever that cat was ended up killing the kittypet, as he's sure what was going to happen, he would take the corpse for himself. It had been a while since he had tasted cat flesh, and it's only good if it's fresh.

Originally Posted by Suspiciousmindz (Post 4427) Illusion merely blinked at his response. This was true. Everyone had a weakness, some were harder to find than others -- Hannibal for example. Her blue depths were focused on the smoky tom-cat. There was so much mystery within this feline, it could drive a cat wild to not understand it. Especially when the other feline knows that he's tormenting them with his mind games. The transition is slow but noticeable. Maybe that's what drove Illusion to her deceptive ways? Who knew. The past is the past after all. The silky furred feline continued to watch him, thinking of what to say next. The kittypet and the Syndicate cat were nothing special to watch and sort of faded into the background. Background noise as one should say. "So Hannibal," she began. Once more her voice was light, soft, a sort of kittypetish tone. "Then what has kept you from added to your famous list of dead cats?" The words rolled off her tongue. It didn't phase her. Quite frankly, she found Hannibal intriguing. Whenever she noticed him strolling about Syndicate, questions always flooded her mind. What made him tick? What is he thinking? What is his next move? They'd all go unanswered, but asking never hurt anything right? And he didn't need to know she thought these things about her. She simply needed him to think she was scared of him. That she was nervous around him. Sure, the act was half true, but deep down Hannibal was just another cat. Enhanced function was just an add-on

Just like any cat, Hannibal the monster had a weakness, he had a chink in his armor like anyone else unlike what the popular belief was, yes he could be beaten. But unlike most cats, as Illusion has likely come to know, his weakness is exceptionally hard to spot, and it will likely never be spotted by another cat. As Illusion focused her gaze on him, his gaze was focused elsewhere, not on the scene that was happening in the clearing, but really.. At nothing in particular, his orange gaze clouded slightly as he thought about something, who knows what it was, no one could really tell what this stone of a cat thought.

But his former trainees voice brought him back out of his thoughts and caused him to focus his attention back on her, those emotionless orange depths settling to stare at her. That soft light tone that she was doing had no effect whatsoever on him, his ears simply swiveled to face her so that he could hear her better. The dark grey tom paused for a moment, simply looking at her, thinking of his answer and whether he should answer her at all, he wasn't obligated to share his reasoning, but he had no reason not to. Or perhaps he could just give her part of the truth and keep her wondering, or give her the whole truth and make it seem like he was lying, or simply lie straight out. Oh the possibilities. "Maybe because I enjoy watching them think about my next move. Maybe it's because I enjoy slowly degrading their minds and slowly pushing them towards madness, it will happen eventually Illusion if I keep picking, no matter how strong you believe your mind to be, there is always a breaking point and I'm slowly chipping away. Maybe I just want them to keep guessing and wondering if the next day is perhaps their last." Not a single emotion sparked on his face as he spoke, the words came out smoothly but without any form of emotion attached to them, it would be impossible to decipher whether this was a ploy or whether there was truth to it, nothing about him would give her any sort of answer. And as he spoke.. It almost appeared that he was also speaking about her, why he hadn't add her to that 'famous list'. It was up to her whether she wanted to believe this or not. His gaze never left hers and he simply watched, he watched very carefully.

Originally Posted by Moonfur (Post 2322) [ QUOTE=Ash;736]Ash padded out into the clearing and stretched yawning.

[[open post!]]

Lusk creeps from within the confines of the healer's abode, reeking of dust and decay, medicinal undertones stinging at the nostrils of the fellow syndicate cats that brush by him, never close enough to really touch his broad form. None of them are recognizable, all strangers under his warped gaze. It fails to unsettle him, regardless of how alien the surroundings are when your main source of navigation happens to be your sense of smell.

It's a brief, fleeting thought, but the faces of long-since passed cats burn their way into his mind, dissipating after a second. He can't smell them, isn't sure if he'd even be able to after so long. He tells himself it's fine. None of them were friends to begin with. Neomora, Hazel, and who was it...? He can't recall the name of the tom who'd spent moons alongside him within the healer's den, his only aid whilst the syndicate still had cats attacking others from clans, larger in numbers, and for what? Some sense of pride? He'd be having none of it.

He supposes, at the end of it all, his frustrations stem from the fact that he just doesn't find himself all that fond of fighters -- and likely never will.

Curling his tail over his paws, he settles into his own thoughts, basking in what's left of the early fall sun.

Originally Posted by mirefern (Post 7499) [[open post!]] Lusk creeps from within the confines of the healer's abode, reeking of dust and decay, medicinal undertones stinging at the nostrils of the fellow syndicate cats that brush by him, never close enough to really touch his broad form. None of them are recognizable, all strangers under his warped gaze. It fails to unsettle him, regardless of how alien the surroundings are when your main source of navigation happens to be your sense of smell. It's a brief, fleeting thought, but the faces of long-since passed cats burn their way into his mind, dissipating after a second. He can't smell them, isn't sure if he'd even be able to after so long. He tells himself it's fine. None of them were friends to begin with. Neomora, Hazel, and who was it...? He can't recall the name of the tom who'd spent moons alongside him within the healer's den, his only aid whilst the syndicate still had cats attacking others from clans, larger in numbers, and for what? Some sense of pride? He'd be having none of it. He supposes, at the end of it all, his frustrations stem from the fact that he just doesn't find himself all that fond of fighters -- and likely never will. Curling his tail over his paws, he settles into his own thoughts, basking in what's left of the early fall sun.

Originally Posted by Suspiciousmindz (Post 7483) The silky white she-cat listened carefully. Even though no emotion came from his voice, his words were rather threatening. It was unnerving. Illusion didn't know how to reply to such words, she was utterly speechless, his blue depths showing a sense of shock. Hannibal had not only confirmed her thoughts, but added to them. This feline was some type of evil she didn't know about. "Well..." She spoke quietly, her optics narrowing as she pushed away her sense of shock and unnerve. "The day you chip away my mind to nothing is the day you can make a holiday," she began to imply that her mind was hard to break. In reality, if you knew Illusion well enough, you'd know how to get through to her. Changing the subject, the she-cat turned towards the clearing. Her front paws finally tucked beneath his frame and her fluffy tail curled up around her side. "You'll never let anyone understand you, will you, Hannibal?" She asked calmly now. Her optics didn't waver from the clearing. His words echoed in her mind threatening to fester. [Writers block for some reason x.x I swear the next post will be way better]

That was one of the many things that Hannibal was good at, not directly stating a threat but fully intending it in his tone and in his words, he was a master crafter of language really, which was one of the many things that caused cats to become intrigued by him. Hannibal looked away after saying this to Illusion, the tip of his tail flicking lightly as he sensed the pause as Illusion drank in his words, surely noticing the hidden threat that was there, the hidden information intended for her to decipher. He didn't need to look into her eyes to feel that small sense of shock that rippled through her at his words. Good, she got the meaning. She's gotten more intelligent. Thought the tom quietly, but really, it wouldn't have mattered to him whether she had gotten it or not. Turning his head as he heard her finally gather her thoughts, he looked at her once more, ears focused in her direction. "Yes, well perhaps that holiday will come sooner than you believe Illusion." Was all he said and yet it was dripping with malice to the point where even the most idiotic and numb of cats could have heard it, and yet the words came out as smooth as ever, as if he were simply talking about the weather. It was clear her implication didn't matter to Hannibal, because what he said was true. If he wanted to break you down to nothing, he would.

The dark grey tom wasn't at all surprised that Illusion would want to change the subject, she had just gotten barely a taste of the darkness that was dwelling within this creature, most cats would have wanted to change the subject far before what it came to with Illusion. "Hm?" The question intrigued him, his gaze focusing on her fully now, before it appeared as if he was distracted. "I enjoy watching others guess.. But really, no. I would never let anyone understand me, mostly because I don't believe anyone is capable of understanding me. You may try, some have, and they've failed." His eyes flashed with a strange look, something unknown and yet.. It should have been clear what had happened to these cats that have failed to understand him, painfully clear.
{It's all good! :^D}

Originally Posted by mirefern (Post 7499) [[open post!]] Lusk creeps from within the confines of the healer's abode, reeking of dust and decay, medicinal undertones stinging at the nostrils of the fellow syndicate cats that brush by him, never close enough to really touch his broad form. None of them are recognizable, all strangers under his warped gaze. It fails to unsettle him, regardless of how alien the surroundings are when your main source of navigation happens to be your sense of smell. It's a brief, fleeting thought, but the faces of long-since passed cats burn their way into his mind, dissipating after a second. He can't smell them, isn't sure if he'd even be able to after so long. He tells himself it's fine. None of them were friends to begin with. Neomora, Hazel, and who was it...? He can't recall the name of the tom who'd spent moons alongside him within the healer's den, his only aid whilst the syndicate still had cats attacking others from clans, larger in numbers, and for what? Some sense of pride? He'd be having none of it. He supposes, at the end of it all, his frustrations stem from the fact that he just doesn't find himself all that fond of fighters -- and likely never will. Curling his tail over his paws, he settles into his own thoughts, basking in what's left of the early fall sun.

Originally Posted by Suspiciousmindz (Post 7972) Illusion's pelt seemed to crawl with the unease she felt. His words just echoed once more in her mind before she forcefully pushed them away for good. Although as she did this, they only seemed to be replaced with another threat. Hannibal was trying to get to her. She couldn't let that happen. This time she seemed to be more prepared and didn't react towards his words. Her pelt lay flat once more and her optics shifted towards the gray tom-cat. They held no more emotion and instead seemed to be studying the evil feline next to her. "Perhaps that would be best for you, but that only half answered my question," she spoke with a calm tone, watching him carefully. "Are you refusing to grow close... well let me reword that," she paused, thinking of the words she was going to say next. "Are you refusing to allow anyone to get to know you... to have someone that you can go to as an ally or a 'friend'?" she asked instead, allowing him some time to answer before she continued. "Or do you think you're better alone for your life?" she finished with her tail tip twitching beside her. The white she-cat simply waited for his answer now. Unsure of how he'd answer, although she expected something about how he doesn't need anyone or that he doesn't want anyone getting that close to him. It was a typical Syndicate cat answer, even though most were hypocrites about it. Perhaps Hannibal was different? Or gave her an unusual answer?

A slight breeze gusted through the rather quiet, dim-lit Syndicate camp, tugging at a few tufts of Hannibal's short grey fur, though he made no move to groom them down, not just yet, his head turning away thoughtfully as he dwelled on the conversation he was having with his former trainee. It was an interesting one for sure, much better than the simple, mindless speak that some cats come up to him with, and the fact that made it all the more interesting, not necessarily to him, but in general, was that it was the one cat who escaped his claws, even if barely. Did any cat even know that aside from the three that were there? Or had Illusion and Hera been smart enough not to talk about it? Hannibal would know if they have, whether cats know it or not, he listens to everything. Even if he looks like he's simply laying there, grooming, he's listening to the conversations, pulling out information that he wants to know.

With his head still turned, the only indication that he was still listening to her was his swiveled ears that were attuned to her. Whether he looked distracted or not, he was listening to her words very carefully, fully aware that Illusion was watching him just as carefully as he was listening. He thought about the question carefully, allowing her to fully finish what she was saying and then giving it some time afterwards, his head not bothering to turn back to look at her when he finally decided to answer. "You know what, you've been fair in answering my question, so I'll be fair in answering yours. I will give you an honest answer Illusion, hows that? "I don't refuse cats from getting close to me, they can try if they do so wish. They can think I'm their friend, but really. I have yet to find a cat that has caught my intention long enough for me to want to keep them alive. Or perhaps I have, but they ended up breaking the only rule I hold when interacting with other cats, one you should know very well." His orange gaze flashed back to her for a moment. "I'm rather indifferent about having 'friends', it doesn't matter to me. But I don't refuse cats from trying, though usually they just all end up the same."

Originally Posted by mirefern (Post 7842) "Oh, you've realized, have you? It only took you a fair few moons." There's no real bite in the large cat's tone; he simply sounds like he's pointing something out. Lusk turns his face downwards, glances over the smaller tom slowly -- almost judgemental. "...What is there to know?" It's rhetoric. He doesn't wait for a response, instead canting his head owlishly. "Are you still the syndicate's chew toy?" Lusk prompts, referring to Arrow's previous occupation of being a target for cats small and large. Lusk has been a healer for as long as he recalls, but he's never received trouble from the other members for it. He wonders why. Just kidding. He knows why.

Every day was the same for Wrath, every day appeared to be clouded in a red haze of anger, it took up everything he did, blinded his judgments and everything else, not that he was aware of this, but really, he was helpless to his nature. There was nothing that he could do to change this. He was born angry and he'd likely die angry. Really anger is an understatement of what it is, it's more like absolute, pure hatred, wrath, infinite and violent revulsion. There has not been a time in his life where he's even been remotely close to the soft term 'angry', much less anything close to this emotion that cat's call happy. It was almost as if he was cursed with only feeling one emotion, the one he was named after. One could look upon him with pity, the poor cat couldn't experience any sort of joy in life, any sort of love, all it was.. Was anger. But should you choose to pity him though, make sure you do it far from him, in fact, I advise you always stay far from him. Considering his strong hatred, he tends to be extremely volatile and has been known to violently lash out at others should they get too close and he's in one of his worse stages of wrath, once even killing a kit with a single blow to the head. He's just.. He's a very violent cat and should really be overall avoided.
Wrinkling his nose into a horrendous scowl, the messy-furred, large tom stalked out of the den for the fighters, his head lowered and his muscles rippling beneath his coat of long fur. He gruffly made his way to the tattered pile of prey, sifting through it roughly with one of his large paws before yanking out his choice of prey, a squirrel, and prowling off to a good spot to eat it, plopping down with an audible thud and beginning to rip into it, most of the other cats giving him a wide birth as they passed by, Wrath simply ignoring them.

Originally Posted by mirefern (Post 8856) @fenic! / @Hexict Lusk nearly finds the trainee unrecognizable for a second, up until Hamlet's form clears in his murky sight. He's still unable to put a name to a face, but it's the same with Arrow. He barely knows anyone by their names -- the ones he does recall happen to be cats long gone. Neomora is the first to spring to mind, a name he's unable to forget. The larger tom shakes himself out, his fur standing on end as Hamlet settles down beside them both, so different from how Lusk remembers. He doesn't question it, instead giving a tiny dip of his head in greeting. Better than nothing. His gaze lingers on the youngest of the group as he responds to Arrow. "If I recall, one cat was so bold. A fighter, perhaps." Those pale orbs of him slip closed, and for a moment, if's as if he's but a shadow. "...They're no longer around. You'd think they'd be wiser when spouting rude comments to the cats that hold their lives in our paws."

Originally Posted by mirefern (Post 8856) @fenic! / @Hexict Lusk nearly finds the trainee unrecognizable for a second, up until Hamlet's form clears in his murky sight. He's still unable to put a name to a face, but it's the same with Arrow. He barely knows anyone by their names -- the ones he does recall happen to be cats long gone. Neomora is the first to spring to mind, a name he's unable to forget. The larger tom shakes himself out, his fur standing on end as Hamlet settles down beside them both, so different from how Lusk remembers. He doesn't question it, instead giving a tiny dip of his head in greeting. Better than nothing. His gaze lingers on the youngest of the group as he responds to Arrow. "If I recall, one cat was so bold. A fighter, perhaps." Those pale orbs of him slip closed, and for a moment, if's as if he's but a shadow. "...They're no longer around. You'd think they'd be wiser when spouting rude comments to the cats that hold their lives in our paws."

Hamlet honestly shrugged at Lusk's story, not knowing the beginning of it nor the meaning of the end- he was growing bigger now, but he kept his own sense of ignorance towards different feelings as he got older, not caring much about what others thought of him- besides, he hadn't made any 'friends' in a long while, anyways. The tom remembered a few snippets of conversation between him and... another cat, in this same spot, moons ago.

Yeah. It is really bright. But isn't it beautiful?" Something prompted him to ask more questions, talk to this mysterious cat who seemed to be a healer; the occupation he had thought of being his only option in this community. Oh, the questions he had to ask were simply daunting for a kit his size, but he wanted to know everything there was about herbs and healing- everything. "Hey... What's your name? I'm Hamlet." He started off with, before continuing with a second question before he stopped to let Lusk reply. "You're a healer, right?"

Oh, they'd talked before.

Originally Posted by fenic! (Post 9159) Hamlet honestly shrugged at Lusk's story, not knowing the beginning of it nor the meaning of the end- he was growing bigger now, but he kept his own sense of ignorance towards different feelings as he got older, not caring much about what others thought of him- besides, he hadn't made any 'friends' in a long while, anyways. The tom remembered a few snippets of conversation between him and... another cat, in this same spot, moons ago. Yeah. It is really bright. But isn't it beautiful?" Something prompted him to ask more questions, talk to this mysterious cat who seemed to be a healer; the occupation he had thought of being his only option in this community. Oh, the questions he had to ask were simply daunting for a kit his size, but he wanted to know everything there was about herbs and healing- everything. "Hey... What's your name? I'm Hamlet." He started off with, before continuing with a second question before he stopped to let Lusk reply. "You're a healer, right?" Oh, they'd talked before.

Originally Posted by Duskflight (Post 9099) {For @Pandora} Every day was the same for Wrath, every day appeared to be clouded in a red haze of anger, it took up everything he did, blinded his judgments and everything else, not that he was aware of this, but really, he was helpless to his nature. There was nothing that he could do to change this. He was born angry and he'd likely die angry. Really anger is an understatement of what it is, it's more like absolute, pure hatred, wrath, infinite and violent revulsion. There has not been a time in his life where he's even been remotely close to the soft term 'angry', much less anything close to this emotion that cat's call happy. It was almost as if he was cursed with only feeling one emotion, the one he was named after. One could look upon him with pity, the poor cat couldn't experience any sort of joy in life, any sort of love, all it was.. Was anger. But should you choose to pity him though, make sure you do it far from him, in fact, I advise you always stay far from him. Considering his strong hatred, he tends to be extremely volatile and has been known to violently lash out at others should they get too close and he's in one of his worse stages of wrath, once even killing a kit with a single blow to the head. He's just.. He's a very violent cat and should really be overall avoided. Wrinkling his nose into a horrendous scowl, the messy-furred, large tom stalked out of the den for the fighters, his head lowered and his muscles rippling beneath his coat of long fur. He gruffly made his way to the tattered pile of prey, sifting through it roughly with one of his large paws before yanking out his choice of prey, a squirrel, and prowling off to a good spot to eat it, plopping down with an audible thud and beginning to rip into it, most of the other cats giving him a wide birth as they passed by, Wrath simply ignoring them.

[open post]

Originally Posted by mirefern (Post 9217) Lusk doesn't actually intend to imply that he'd been the demise of a cat (he hadn't, actually,) -- but then again, who hasn't? He turns his head away from the smaller tom, settling it upon his coworker, of sorts. His good eye blinks slowly, as if he's coming back down to reality. "Insulting?" It clicks after a moment. He recalls the topic they'd never left. "In the syndicate, yes. I joined sometime after Neomora was given her position." He feels he's oversharing, dropping his guard under Arrow's wide eyes. He snorts, catching himself -- Arrow hadn't asked. There's a little voice that gnaws at him, tells him to shut up and turn away from the both of them. Strangely, he does not. "Hamlet." Lusk addresses the younger suddenly, turning to stare blankly down at the cat. He recalls the same conversation, the same time, out under the glaring sun with a kit bold enough to approach him. "...Do you still enjoy the sun?"

@fenic!

Sparta tumbled out of the nursery, doing a forward roll accidently before landing on his back. The young kit sat up and looked around, his eyes wide. He saw many cats. Cats who seemed familiar, yet at the same time, complete strangers. This being the first time he had ever been able to escape the warm clutches of the nursery and mother and father, seeing many new cats filled him with wonder. "Wow! Do these cats all really live here?" Sparta exclaimed, to no one in particular. He scrambled to his paws, shaking his thick, dark pelt that was now covered in dust. His big paws carried him a little distance from the nursery, getting him closer to the middle of the clearing. He noticed his sister, Chiaki was talking to a strange cat. The big cat had a pelt that looked like him, but white paws and chest. The thought never came to him that that strange tom cat could be the big scary monster Lilith had told him and his littermates of.

@Duskflight

Tundra padded through the camp entrance. Her expression blank but her eyes shifted around uneasily. She walked off to a quiet spot where she was almost certain she would not be disturbed. She wasn't a fan of cats talking to her. She was much too shy. The siberian she cat sat down and started to groom her matted pelt. Through her rhythmic licks, she would occasionally glance up to see if any cat looked like they would want to talk to her. Feeling relieved that no cat seemed to be approaching she continued to smooth down her fluffy pelt for a little longer. Tundra soon started to drift off into another world. Dreaming about a world where everything was peaceful, no crazy cats, no death. A place where she could get out of her nest and not fear the cats she lived with. Everyday for Tundra was just a day where she feared someone would hurt her or her close ones. Of which she didn't have many of. As Tundra was floating around in peace, she hadn't realised she had been continuously licking the same arm for about 5 minutes. If anyone had been watching her for the past 5 minutes they would've noticed.
(Sorry it's not very long. I find it hard to make starters long)

Originally Posted by Empress Of Evil (Post 12644) @Duskflight Tundra padded through the camp entrance. Her expression blank but her eyes shifted around uneasily. She walked off to a quiet spot where she was almost certain she would not be disturbed. She wasn't a fan of cats talking to her. She was much too shy. The siberian she cat sat down and started to groom her matted pelt. Through her rhythmic licks, she would occasionally glance up to see if any cat looked like they would want to talk to her. Feeling relieved that no cat seemed to be approaching she continued to smooth down her fluffy pelt for a little longer. Tundra soon started to drift off into another world. Dreaming about a world where everything was peaceful, no crazy cats, no death. A place where she could get out of her nest and not fear the cats she lived with. Everyday for Tundra was just a day where she feared someone would hurt her or her close ones. Of which she didn't have many of. As Tundra was floating around in peace, she hadn't realised she had been continuously licking the same arm for about 5 minutes. If anyone had been watching her for the past 5 minutes they would've noticed. (Sorry it's not very long. I find it hard to make starters long)

{It's all good, I'm not too good at making exceptionally long starters either xD}

As Tundra padded through the entrance to camp, Hannibal settled down with a raven near the fighters den, his eerie orangish-red gaze focused on the she-cat, not for any particular reason as he began to neatly pluck the feathers from the bird of his choice. Analyzing her as he did most cats, it wasn't hard to decipher that she was fairly uneasy, about what, he didn't know, perhaps it was the place she lived in, it could tend to make many cats uneasy, not him, but many. Or perhaps something had happened out in the territory, maybe she did something that she was supposed to and was hoping that she had covered up enough of the evidence so no one would find out. There were many possibilities and quite frankly, Hannibal didn't care at the moment, his gaze settling back on his meal as he plucked off the last of the black feathers. Unsheathing his claws, the dark grey tom neatly drug one from the top of the birds throat down to it's tail end, a neat trail of blood flowing from either side of the incision and also coating the single claw that he had used to make the cut. With the incision made, the emotionless tom carefully licked the dark red liquid from his claw before edging his muzzle into the incision in the bird, meticulously pulling out the entrails and setting them in a neat pile off to the side before beginning to dig in, his gaze refocusing on Tundra again. She had settled down by now and was licking herself, her gaze distant, clearly thinking about something. And thinking about it deeply too it appears because she continued to lick the same spot, over and over and over. If he could feel amusement, he might have felt it then, but he was incapable of feeling anything so he simply stared as he continued to eat the plucked and disemboweled raven, not saying a word. Many cats found Hannibal much too creepy to want to uphold any sort of conversation with him, his unblinking gaze and emotionless stature, and the pure fact that they knew exactly what he did, and it would be surprising if Tundra would be the same as most of the others.

Originally Posted by Duskflight (Post 13608) {It's all good, I'm not too good at making exceptionally long starters either xD} As Tundra padded through the entrance to camp, Hannibal settled down with a raven near the fighters den, his eerie orangish-red gaze focused on the she-cat, not for any particular reason as he began to neatly pluck the feathers from the bird of his choice. Analyzing her as he did most cats, it wasn't hard to decipher that she was fairly uneasy, about what, he didn't know, perhaps it was the place she lived in, it could tend to make many cats uneasy, not him, but many. Or perhaps something had happened out in the territory, maybe she did something that she was supposed to and was hoping that she had covered up enough of the evidence so no one would find out. There were many possibilities and quite frankly, Hannibal didn't care at the moment, his gaze settling back on his meal as he plucked off the last of the black feathers. Unsheathing his claws, the dark grey tom neatly drug one from the top of the birds throat down to it's tail end, a neat trail of blood flowing from either side of the incision and also coating the single claw that he had used to make the cut. With the incision made, the emotionless tom carefully licked the dark red liquid from his claw before edging his muzzle into the incision in the bird, meticulously pulling out the entrails and setting them in a neat pile off to the side before beginning to dig in, his gaze refocusing on Tundra again. She had settled down by now and was licking herself, her gaze distant, clearly thinking about something. And thinking about it deeply too it appears because she continued to lick the same spot, over and over and over. If he could feel amusement, he might have felt it then, but he was incapable of feeling anything so he simply stared as he continued to eat the plucked and disemboweled raven, not saying a word. Many cats found Hannibal much too creepy to want to uphold any sort of conversation with him, his unblinking gaze and emotionless stature, and the pure fact that they knew exactly what he did, and it would be surprising if Tundra would be the same as most of the others.

(Sorry for late reply!)
Tundra suddenly fell out of dreamland and landed in reality as she felt a certain pair of reddish coloured eyes staring at her. She looked down, deciding to ignore whatever she though had been watching her, for the fear an angry cat might be staring at her and might get mad if she looked up. She worried about silly things, but that's the way this she cat worked. Tundra studied her arm which was quite wet from all the grooming. Much more damp then when she normally groomed herself. Tundra blew gently on her arm in attempt to dry up her fur, not liking the dampness. Obviously it didn't really work out. Tundra forgot about the strange feeling that someone had been watching her earlier and she looked up, scanning the clearing. Nothing really caught the attention of her amberish, greenish hues. Except for a pair of bold coloured eyes. Redish eyes. In other words Hannibal's eyes. Tundra kept herself from shuddering. She hadn't talked to Hannibal before. She had seen him talking to others but never her. In her opinion Hannibal had always seemed like a scary cat, that seemed violent but calm at the same time. But despite the fact she couldn't really prove her predictions, one thing she was sure of was that those rare coloured eyes would always send a chill down her spine every time her gaze past them. Tundra looked down near Hannibal's paws, hoping he hadn't noticed her studying him. Lying, scattered around his paws she caught a glimpse of a few feathers. Maybe he was eating a bird earlier?, She thought. Tundra squinted her eyes as she swear she had snatched a look of something red and dark. Something that wasn't his eyes. Was that....blood on his claws? With that, Tundra shuddered. It was too hard for her to hide it. Tundra knew she was being stupid. I mean, what kind of a cat is scared of blood when they see it every time they eat and fight? Still, blood gave Tundra the shivers. Tundra moved her gaze towards a spot next to Hannibal, wanting to stop looking at the blood splattered claws. Only to be horrified once again with a sight of bird entrails. She wanted to throw up. Sure. She saw entrails every time she ate a piece of prey but she would throw it into a pile of dirt and cover it up or some other option like that. She would never pack it into a neat pile. Tundra took her gaze away from there as well her face now looking even more uneasy and returned her sight back on the ground in front of her.

Originally Posted by Empress Of Evil (Post 16157) (Sorry for late reply!) Tundra suddenly fell out of dreamland and landed in reality as she felt a certain pair of reddish coloured eyes staring at her. She looked down, deciding to ignore whatever she though had been watching her, for the fear an angry cat might be staring at her and might get mad if she looked up. She worried about silly things, but that's the way this she cat worked. Tundra studied her arm which was quite wet from all the grooming. Much more damp then when she normally groomed herself. Tundra blew gently on her arm in attempt to dry up her fur, not liking the dampness. Obviously it didn't really work out. Tundra forgot about the strange feeling that someone had been watching her earlier and she looked up, scanning the clearing. Nothing really caught the attention of her amberish, greenish hues. Except for a pair of bold coloured eyes. Redish eyes. In other words Hannibal's eyes. Tundra kept herself from shuddering. She hadn't talked to Hannibal before. She had seen him talking to others but never her. In her opinion Hannibal had always seemed like a scary cat, that seemed violent but calm at the same time. But despite the fact she couldn't really prove her predictions, one thing she was sure of was that those rare coloured eyes would always send a chill down her spine every time her gaze past them. Tundra looked down near Hannibal's paws, hoping he hadn't noticed her studying him. Lying, scattered around his paws she caught a glimpse of a few feathers. Maybe he was eating a bird earlier?, She thought. Tundra squinted her eyes as she swear she had snatched a look of something red and dark. Something that wasn't his eyes. Was that....blood on his claws? With that, Tundra shuddered. It was too hard for her to hide it. Tundra knew she was being stupid. I mean, what kind of a cat is scared of blood when they see it every time they eat and fight? Still, blood gave Tundra the shivers. Tundra moved her gaze towards a spot next to Hannibal, wanting to stop looking at the blood splattered claws. Only to be horrified once again with a sight of bird entrails. She wanted to throw up. Sure. She saw entrails every time she ate a piece of prey but she would throw it into a pile of dirt and cover it up or some other option like that. She would never pack it into a neat pile. Tundra took her gaze away from there as well her face now looking even more uneasy and returned her sight back on the ground in front of her.

{Jeez, I'm sorry about this late reply!}
It was a reaction most cats had when they felt that hollow, searing pair of orangeish-red eyes focused on them from a distance, a feeling of dread creeping over them as they peered over their shoulder to find the dark tom seated a good bit away, calmly washing a paw, or eating, or simply sitting there or laying there, staring at them, observing them. Just as he was doing to Tundra now. His gaze never left her, even when she perked her attention up enough to look around the clearing to see who was watching her until meeting his eyes, he didn't blink, he didn't move his gaze, he simply stared as she continued to eat. It almost gave a sense of foreboding, as if a silent threat that the she-cat could end up just like the bird he was carefully eating now, or perhaps that could all be in your imagination. There was no telling with Hannibal. No one understands him and likely, no one will. Perhaps it's because he didn't want to be understood, or perhaps no cat was able to get close enough to understand him, or perhaps he lets cats understand him from time to time only to lead them to crippling insanity or lead them to an unspeakable demise. Again, no one knows. Only one thing was known about Hannibal, and that was that he was very dangerous. Many cats outright avoided him, some had the nerve to speak to him, and a very daring few had gone out alone with him in the forest, some to never return. It was rumored that he was a cannibal, that he ate some of his victims and hid the bones, some even saying that he's eaten kits before, and when you looked into his eyes, you could see the souls of the cats that had fallen at his claws and fangs. But this was all rumor.. Right? Nonetheless, one thing was for certain, this cat was extremely creepy and sent shivers down many other cats' spines.
Hannibal didn't miss a thing as he observed her from his position, he saw her studying him and he saw her look down as if to cover up that she had been looking at him, perhaps silently hoping that he wouldn't get up and speak to her about it. She was looking over his meal. His way of eating was strange and very particular, many cats were disgusted or creeped out by the way he ate, removing all of the feathers in a neat pile, disemboweling it and sometimes even beheading it before digging in. And it was clear Tundra wasn't too fond of it either, though he showed no sign at all of anything going through his mind as he watched her shudder, his face was as blank and emotionless as always. It seemed she had had enough of watching him eat and he simply flicked his tail, eyes still focused on her as he chomped through bones and flesh, occasionally using a paw to hold the carcass still as he tore neatly at the piece of prey.

Originally Posted by Duskflight (Post 22384) {Jeez, I'm sorry about this late reply!} It was a reaction most cats had when they felt that hollow, searing pair of orangeish-red eyes focused on them from a distance, a feeling of dread creeping over them as they peered over their shoulder to find the dark tom seated a good bit away, calmly washing a paw, or eating, or simply sitting there or laying there, staring at them, observing them. Just as he was doing to Tundra now. His gaze never left her, even when she perked her attention up enough to look around the clearing to see who was watching her until meeting his eyes, he didn't blink, he didn't move his gaze, he simply stared as she continued to eat. It almost gave a sense of foreboding, as if a silent threat that the she-cat could end up just like the bird he was carefully eating now, or perhaps that could all be in your imagination. There was no telling with Hannibal. No one understands him and likely, no one will. Perhaps it's because he didn't want to be understood, or perhaps no cat was able to get close enough to understand him, or perhaps he lets cats understand him from time to time only to lead them to crippling insanity or lead them to an unspeakable demise. Again, no one knows. Only one thing was known about Hannibal, and that was that he was very dangerous. Many cats outright avoided him, some had the nerve to speak to him, and a very daring few had gone out alone with him in the forest, some to never return. It was rumored that he was a cannibal, that he ate some of his victims and hid the bones, some even saying that he's eaten kits before, and when you looked into his eyes, you could see the souls of the cats that had fallen at his claws and fangs. But this was all rumor.. Right? Nonetheless, one thing was for certain, this cat was extremely creepy and sent shivers down many other cats' spines. Hannibal didn't miss a thing as he observed her from his position, he saw her studying him and he saw her look down as if to cover up that she had been looking at him, perhaps silently hoping that he wouldn't get up and speak to her about it. She was looking over his meal. His way of eating was strange and very particular, many cats were disgusted or creeped out by the way he ate, removing all of the feathers in a neat pile, disemboweling it and sometimes even beheading it before digging in. And it was clear Tundra wasn't too fond of it either, though he showed no sign at all of anything going through his mind as he watched her shudder, his face was as blank and emotionless as always. It seemed she had had enough of watching him eat and he simply flicked his tail, eyes still focused on her as he chomped through bones and flesh, occasionally using a paw to hold the carcass still as he tore neatly at the piece of prey.

Tundra's amberish and greenish coloured hues concentrated hard on the dusty ground in front of her. Feeling a gaze, once again, upon her. Frozen and not daring to look up, terrified of the fact she might catch Hannibal observing her. She had always thought that when Hannibal observed cats it looked as if they would be a worthy piece of prey for him to kill. She gulped at the thought and kept her gaze on the ground. It was liked she was trying to dig a hole into the ground with her eyes. Tundra's concentration was snapped as she heard a low rumble from her belly. Her ears flattened and she felt a wave of embarrassment wash over her. She lifted her eyes slightly, just enough so that she could at least look around, and not at the ground. Her eyes scanned the clearing. No one was near her, hopefully no one had heard her belly make that embarrassing noise. She hated being embarrassed. The attention would all be on her and cats laughed at her, not with her. Tundra thought for a moment. She realised she was fussing about being embarrassed over a rumble in her belly. It's not anyone would care. Would they? Everyone's belly would rumble at some point in their life. Tundra sighed and shook her head slightly and slowly. Remembering her rumbling belly she gulped. She didn't exactly want to walk up to the fresh kill pile. Afterall, what if a cat talked to her? She would probably stuff up and say something awkward....just like she always did. Oh come on Tundra! It's just walking to the prey pile and picking up a piece of prey! How hard can that be?, Tundra thought, scolding herself for her fears. But then what if Hannibal is observing me while I walk up and get a piece of prey? Then I'd probably slip and fall over. How embarrassing! Then he'd laugh at me and get others to join in. Wait, does Hannibal even laugh?, Tundra thought, many thoughts of how simply walking up to the prey pile could lead to public humiliation. Feeling annoyed with herself she finally got the guts to rise to her paws and started to pad reluctantly towards that pile of prey that lay in the middle of the clearing.
Tundra's eyes raked through the pile quickly while she used her paws to dig in deeper. Her gaze landed on a plump squirrel that lay on the very bottom. She bent down to pick it up, her head accidentally knocking the rest of the prey over and tumbling down. She grasped the squirrel in her mouth and straightened up. She looked down and say the toppled pile laying in front of her. Had anyone seen that? Her eyes nervously looking from one side of the clearing to the other. There was this small thing nagging at her, a thing that made her want to wail. She couldn't even get a piece of prey without knocking anything over! Why did Tundra have to be....well, Tundra? An awkward cat who was clumsy and couldn't even take a single piece of prey from the pile without humiliating herself. She really hated herself sometimes. She blinked away small droplets that started to form in her eyes and trotted off quickly to the spot she was previously in before, tail drooping and head down.

Originally Posted by Empress Of Evil (Post 30389) Tundra's amberish and greenish coloured hues concentrated hard on the dusty ground in front of her. Feeling a gaze, once again, upon her. Frozen and not daring to look up, terrified of the fact she might catch Hannibal observing her. She had always thought that when Hannibal observed cats it looked as if they would be a worthy piece of prey for him to kill. She gulped at the thought and kept her gaze on the ground. It was liked she was trying to dig a hole into the ground with her eyes. Tundra's concentration was snapped as she heard a low rumble from her belly. Her ears flattened and she felt a wave of embarrassment wash over her. She lifted her eyes slightly, just enough so that she could at least look around, and not at the ground. Her eyes scanned the clearing. No one was near her, hopefully no one had heard her belly make that embarrassing noise. She hated being embarrassed. The attention would all be on her and cats laughed at her, not with her. Tundra thought for a moment. She realised she was fussing about being embarrassed over a rumble in her belly. It's not anyone would care. Would they? Everyone's belly would rumble at some point in their life. Tundra sighed and shook her head slightly and slowly. Remembering her rumbling belly she gulped. She didn't exactly want to walk up to the fresh kill pile. Afterall, what if a cat talked to her? She would probably stuff up and say something awkward....just like she always did. Oh come on Tundra! It's just walking to the prey pile and picking up a piece of prey! How hard can that be?, Tundra thought, scolding herself for her fears. But then what if Hannibal is observing me while I walk up and get a piece of prey? Then I'd probably slip and fall over. How embarrassing! Then he'd laugh at me and get others to join in. Wait, does Hannibal even laugh?, Tundra thought, many thoughts of how simply walking up to the prey pile could lead to public humiliation. Feeling annoyed with herself she finally got the guts to rise to her paws and started to pad reluctantly towards that pile of prey that lay in the middle of the clearing. Tundra's eyes raked through the pile quickly while she used her paws to dig in deeper. Her gaze landed on a plump squirrel that lay on the very bottom. She bent down to pick it up, her head accidentally knocking the rest of the prey over and tumbling down. She grasped the squirrel in her mouth and straightened up. She looked down and say the toppled pile laying in front of her. Had anyone seen that? Her eyes nervously looking from one side of the clearing to the other. There was this small thing nagging at her, a thing that made her want to wail. She couldn't even get a piece of prey without knocking anything over! Why did Tundra have to be....well, Tundra? An awkward cat who was clumsy and couldn't even take a single piece of prey from the pile without humiliating herself. She really hated herself sometimes. She blinked away small droplets that started to form in her eyes and trotted off quickly to the spot she was previously in before, tail drooping and head down.

Just as her eyes bore into the ground, his eyes bore into her as he finished up eating the bird in front of him, the soft crunching and snapping of bones, the quiet ripping of flesh as he devoured the raven could be heard from where she sat, almost painstakingly certain that it was some sort of warning from the tom for his plans for her. But of course she wouldn't know that he doesn't kill random cats, no he kills very particular cats because he has only one rule and that one rule, whether you break it or not, can determine whether he'll end your life or not. There has only been one cat to escape his clutches and they were only able to because another cat just barely intervened. Perhaps he was planning his second and final ploy to kill that cat, perhaps not, perhaps he had settled for something that would end with a much more interesting result and that was causing her to slip into insanity. Or perhaps he would simply let her go. Hannibal was a very complicated cat as many cats would come to know. You could never tell what his next move would be, unless you knew that you had broken his rule.. But some cats had no clue about his rule, and that's a very bad mistake if you ever wish to speak to this tom. One slip up and you'll end up squirming in your own blood as he tears into you. Or perhaps he simply slits your throat and stands back to watch you bleed out. No one has lived to tell the tail of how Hannibal kills, except for that one cat, Illusion, his former trainee, but it would be doubtful she would tell you anyways. She was deceptive and you wouldn't be able to tell if she was telling the truth or not so really, she would be no use.
All of the bird except for the beak and part of the skull was now gone and the dark grey tom simply pushed that aside with a paw before turning to the innards, silently devouring them, taking his time, enjoying the flavor as they seeped into his maw, gaze still boring into Tundra as she got up and seemed to be padding towards the fresh kill pile and when she made it back to her original resting place (after causing the rest of the prey to go tumbling down, causing the pile to be scattered now, quite embarrassing for her), he had finished the rest of the bird that he had set aside and was washing his paws, his orange gaze not even seeming to blink, he had focused on her the entire time. What was going through his head? No cat would know.
After washing his paws and making sure his pelt was in check, he slowly rose to his paws and began to pad towards the white she-cat, his expression as blank and as emotionless as usual. "Greetings Tundra, mind if I join you for a little.. Chit-chat?" Inquired the tom, standing a foot or two away from her, the tip of his tail flicking back and forth slowly as he waited for her to answer. In all truth, he had nothing better to do and so he had decided why not.. Poke at her a bit? Probe her? See what her mind was made of. She looked weak, weak of mind and weak of spirit and could be an easy target should he ever want to.. Pick and push at that brain.. Send it tottering over. But he wouldn't do that now. No, he would simply observe her through conversation, as he did with some cats when he didn't quite feel like going for a stroll.