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Lawlipop
It was nearly noon-high and already Hannibal found himself desiring to go to the territory, all of his tabs on the cats in the clearing had been followed up on, leaving him with purely nothing to do. While boredom was a sensation that he couldn't really feel, it seemed he truly was growing bored and tired of the Syndicate. At one point in time, he had found it interesting, how it functioned, their ideals and what not, but now? They were nothing to him. They couldn't even hold their own in a battle with a clan, which they believed themselves better than; this made Hannibal come to a conclusion that he should move on from this wretched place. There was nothing more for him here. Some would be relieved of his disappearance, others would be indifferent, perhaps some would be angry and call him a traitor, but truthfully, as always, Hannibal felt complete apathy towards it. Other cats simply did not matter to him, perhaps he'd come back to visit, like a ghost in the shadows, to keep tabs on his sisters and some of the more interesting cats he wished to continue to keep tabs on. But he would not be returning to live here once he left.
It was set in his brain already, focused as the center piece in his mind palace not that he would be forgetting it anyways.
But currently, his active train of thought was rather empty, simply processing the scents, the sounds and the sights around him as his dark paws carried him silently across the territory he had been padding through nearly all of his life. It meant nothing to him and he would feel nothing when he left it. He wasn't sentimental, he didn't grow attached to this place as many might with their birthplace, but this was no new information.
As usual, the Dusk Syndicate territory was eerily quiet, only the occasional caw of a blackbird or shuffle of leaves as some creature went scurrying off into it's safety hole were the sounds that echoed. Even the bright greenleaf sun seemed to be dulled in this dark atmosphere, leaving a dim lighting to the territory. The air was humid and thick, it could nearly be cut with a claw it seemed, but it brought no hindrance to the shadow gliding through it, the fiery eyes occasionally glittering as a ray of sunlight hit them. His claws occasionally glinted as well as he passed through a patch of light, those claws having never been sheathed since the day he first unsheathed them. They had tasted countless blood, raked through countless fur and taken the lives of countless cats and yet? They were as clean as if none of it had ever happened. Just like that dark pelt of his, sleek, dully shimmering in the light, so well kept it was as if he lived his life in peaceful harmony every given day when in actuality it was a horrendous contradiction to his life.
Slowly his paws would bring him to a stop at the gnarled base of a tree, his ears angling forward to where he saw a murder of crows harassing a bush, likely trying to get at the birds eggs inside, but the two parents were bravely squawking and trying to fight away the larger birds to protect their clutch. Hopelessly outnumbered. As three of the crows distracted the parents, one of the large black birds was able to jut in and snatch and egg and carry it off to eat, that's when Hannibal lunged.
Just as the crow had hopped out of the bush, opened it's wings and took it's first launch into the air to fly off, the dark-grey tom came hurtling at it from the darkness, lunging at the bird and fixating his jaws immediately onto the birds head, canines sinking in, cracking, then piercing the skull. The rest of the crows squawked and screeched, taking off to the safety of the canopy in a flurry of feathers as the two parent birds retreated back into the 'safety' of their bush.
Releasing the twitching birds head from his jaws, he would take a small step back and lick his lips, watching it's death throes, the egg it had in it's beak rolling into the grass, not even cracked. Why had he chosen the crow that had gotten the egg? Why not one of the group that was distracting the parents? Why not the parent birds? The answer to that question was unknown, but just like everything, Hannibal did have a reason.
With the bird now still, the tom would settle down and begin to neatly pluck off it's feathers as it's friends watched with their glittering, beady eyes in the tree's above, hardly daring to try and go for the unprotected egg by the tom.