The dark grey Turkish Angora's eyes flickered angrily as he watched. "It's about time," he grumbled. Quinn was in charge now, the personality filled with anger and rage. His gaze was furious, as he'd been personally hoping that he'd become co-commander. Quinn would, not stupid little Jamie, not the flirty Lilith, none of the others. Especially Malcolm.
Malcolm was not at all fit to be a leader, never in a million moons. The cat, fueled by nothing but pain and anguish, turned his back to the other dusk syndicate cats. 'Idiots,' he thought. 'Every single one of them.' His lips were pulled back into a snarl as he padded away from the gathering. As he did so, his eyes fell upon the eerily smiling form of Hannibal, the infamous cannibalistic cat. Quinn narrowed his gaze at the cat, but said nothing.
A familiar tug was felt in the tom's chest, a tug that sent a bad feeling down his spine. Malcolm was coming, and when he did, it would end bloody. Quinn frowned, not wanting to go back into the dark. He loved being in control, being free, and when Malcolm was in control, things were bad. Panicking slightly, Quinn quickly ran away from the group, sitting in the shade of a tree, panting hard. 'No,' he thought. 'Not yet, please,' he begged internally, knowing he'd not get any sort of response. The cat may have been filled by anger and misery, but he had a heart, and didn't like it when innocent cats were killed.
Quinn glanced around quickly, his eyes wide as he internally fought with Malcolm. He gritted his teeth, before exhaling slowly, and his breath eased. Quinn's gaze flicked back to the group as he padded back, ignoring the odd looks he'd gotten. He sat down, wrapping his tail around his paws, as anger consumed him once more, but in a comforting way, as Quinn knew he'd beaten Malcolm, for the time being.