Dusk Syndicate Clearing

[Slash-GNR]

Originally Posted by Swiftheart

Fox silently thought,"yhea.we should.the clans would not let us join then.plus we could expand our territory..."

(U can't read my thoughts XD)

(Sorry, your 'thought' was in "" marks, which means that the person or thing is saying what is inside those marks. So I thought he was saying it xD. When u want to say something he thought use ' marks not " it helps a lot or says: he thought: after what he said.

Thorn frowned. "I'm going to go hunt," she mewed. She got up and began to pad out of the clearing.

[Static]

Fox watched her go and got up after she left.he left the camp and headed away Frome the other cats

[Slash-GNR]

Originally Posted by Swiftheart

Fox watched her go and got up after she left.he left the camp and headed away Frome the other cats

(Post in territory)

[Blackout]

Originally Posted by Cedar

"Ares," she stated simply. "You gonna put me on your hit list now?" she asked tilting her head.

Frost chuckled "perhaps I'll bet my gang would kill you for free" He meowed as he continued to walk

[Slash-GNR]

Originally Posted by Blackout

Frost chuckled "perhaps I'll bet my gang would kill you for free" He meowed as he continued to walk

"Oh really?" she paused, "I like to see them try," she mewed.

[Blackout]

Originally Posted by Cedar

"Oh really?" she paused, "I like to see them try," she mewed.

Frost shook his head "your so sure of yourself yet you don't know how many follow me" He meowed

[Slash-GNR]

Originally Posted by Blackout

Frost shook his head "your so sure of yourself yet you don't know how many follow me" He meowed

"Your right," she said simply. "Where are we going?" she asked looking up at him.

[The Cannibal]

Originally Posted by fire ♡

(for @honey.freckled and/or @Duskflight)
Imagine being trapped in a dark, claustrophobic box. Imagine not ever being able to escape from that box-ever. Imagine being forever alone stuck in that box, claustrophobic, and tight, dark, scary, and not alone. Which is truly more scary?
Now imagine that very box being opened. Clear, crisp, cold, and fresh air would flood into your lungs as you stepped outside.
That is what it is like for Jaime. Every day, being encased in the box that was his body-or their body-Malcolm's body. Jamie really didn't mind Malcolm. He respected him, actually. But that didn't mean that he wanted to be with Malcolm all the time. But when Malcolm was the one in control, Jamie felt safer, knowing that if the shared body was every attacked, Malcolm would save them all- even if it meant the death of another. Oddly, even though Jamie seemed to be as far opposite to Malcolm as the North Pole was to the South, they did not hate each other as much as one would have thought.
Jamie knew he was, in fact, least likely to ever hurt another cat, and he sometimes would wonder if Malcolm disliked him for that, as if he'd let him down. Jamie never truly felt safe when he himself was in control, honestly. As he wasn't strong enough to save himself from another. Not even if his life-their lives, depended on it. Although being in control had its not-so-claustrophobic perks and the feeling of sweet freedom, it was bittersweet.
Like a caterpillar emerging from a chrysalis, it was refreshing and beautiful. The butterfly could now soar above the trees, but, alas, the skies were also home to creatures bigger than it, and it's likeliness of being a bird's lunch were much higher than when the butterfly was only but a caterpillar.
Jamie was the butterfly now. Free, but defenseless. And anything could be the bird.

Deep thoughts such as these were often the sort of things that went on in this cat's mind, however, Jamie never showed it, as a cat at the mere age of six moons wouldn't ever understand such a thing.
The leafbare zephyr was the only thing to rouse the Turkish Angora from the sinking depths of his own mind. The bare branches of the nearby trees seemed to reach out towards him like long, clawed fingers, grasping for something unknown. Jamie's ears flicked as the sounds and scents of the forest beyond flooded through him. The cat flicked his pale gaze in the direction of voices from the others in the camp. He got to his paws, which seemed too big for him as well as his entire body. He glanced around, his gaze falling enviously upon the small forms of some kits. The forms he truly wished he'd been given. The middle twenty moon old cat looked down at his fully grown body in disgust.
This is not who I'm meant to be, he thought sadly. This isn't what I'm supposed to be.
Jamie stared at the kits a bit longer, wishing that somehow, some way, that could've been him.
Jamie sighed and shook his head, padding to the kill pile to grab something small to eat. As he looked around, his eyes fell upon a cat or two he'd never seen.
I suppose that cats are still being accepted into the Dusk Syndicate, even without a commander to lead us, Jamie thought as he thought about his own test.
He didn't remember much, as it had been Malcolm who'd killed the poor, innocent loner who'd done nothing but live his life. A flickering flame of a life, smoldered by the paws of a killer.

{It took me so long to reply to this, I'm sorry o.o"}

Imagine living inside of a husk, completely empty, no feelings of compassion, of love, of happiness, of caring, no feelings of sadness, of anger, of guilt, not a single emotion at all. Imagine living in this husk for every single day of your life without a chance of ever shedding the husk and experiencing the vibrant world of emotions there was to feel.
That. That right there, is what Hannibal was, some would barely even consider him a cat and would much rather prefer the term of monster, but he couldn't help that that was how he was born. And he certainly couldn't change the fact either, nor did he desire to because, quite simply, he saw emotions as irrelevant and things to be discarded anyways. Hannibal had no desire to feel emotions, none what so ever, he didn't care for feeling happy or sad, joy or anger, it just didn't matter. And this lack of emotion, it turned him into a stone, an eerie husk of a cat with eyes that burned like fire that could bore into any cats soul and freeze them to the spot until he turned his gaze away from them.
What he was, was a sociopath, some would call him a psychopath because he killed cats, but actually that was false. Psychopaths are unstable cats that lash out randomly to fill a desire and that, that was simply not him. Hannibal was in control of every one of his actions and he did not lash out randomly, but precisely, he knew who he wanted to kill and he always had a reason behind it, the most pronounced one that many of the Syndicate have come to learn was for the pure simple fact of another cat being rude to him. For whatever reason, it was one thing that Hannibal could not stand and it could bring about a vague sense of anger, and I mean truly vague, just a very bare inkling of it, but those cats that were rude to him.. Well, may Starclan save their soul. He was not a cat you willingly wanted to cross paths with because no one truly knew what his definition of rude was and they did not want to fall to the claws of this tom because they knew a most terrible fate would befall them. And there have been whisperings that this tom was a cannibal, no physical proof that he is one, just small findings, some cats say they've seen him eat others, but it could just be gossip, only a few cats truly know the answer to it. A few alive cats anyways.

Currently, Hannibal sat by the fighters den, a usual place for him throughout the day if he wasn't out on one of his strolls or wherever he goes when he isn't in camp or on duty as a fighter. He had just finished a meal it appears because there was a very neat pile of bones and a very neat pile of feathers, each of the bones licked completely clean and shined dully in the light that filled the camp. The tom was simply laying there, his forepaws stretched in front of him, a sort of sophistication to the way he sat, his fiery eyes slowly sweeping back and forth through the clearing, watching cats do what they normally do, making tiny mental notes for each one to store away into his mind for possible later use, a habit he had made long ago.
In case it wasn't already known, Hannibal had been born into the Syndicate, no one knows what happened to his and his sibling's parents, but there was a good speculation that he had done them in. And so he and Lucifren had grown up under the care of another cat, the cat more welcoming to Lucifren than the dark grey cat for obvious reasons, but nonetheless the two were raised. But Hannibal certainly wasn't new to the Syndicate that was for sure.

[meraki]

Originally Posted by Duskflight

{It took me so long to reply to this, I'm sorry o.o"}

Imagine living inside of a husk, completely empty, no feelings of compassion, of love, of happiness, of caring, no feelings of sadness, of anger, of guilt, not a single emotion at all. Imagine living in this husk for every single day of your life without a chance of ever shedding the husk and experiencing the vibrant world of emotions there was to feel.
That. That right there, is what Hannibal was, some would barely even consider him a cat and would much rather prefer the term of monster, but he couldn't help that that was how he was born. And he certainly couldn't change the fact either, nor did he desire to because, quite simply, he saw emotions as irrelevant and things to be discarded anyways. Hannibal had no desire to feel emotions, none what so ever, he didn't care for feeling happy or sad, joy or anger, it just didn't matter. And this lack of emotion, it turned him into a stone, an eerie husk of a cat with eyes that burned like fire that could bore into any cats soul and freeze them to the spot until he turned his gaze away from them.
What he was, was a sociopath, some would call him a psychopath because he killed cats, but actually that was false. Psychopaths are unstable cats that lash out randomly to fill a desire and that, that was simply not him. Hannibal was in control of every one of his actions and he did not lash out randomly, but precisely, he knew who he wanted to kill and he always had a reason behind it, the most pronounced one that many of the Syndicate have come to learn was for the pure simple fact of another cat being rude to him. For whatever reason, it was one thing that Hannibal could not stand and it could bring about a vague sense of anger, and I mean truly vague, just a very bare inkling of it, but those cats that were rude to him.. Well, may Starclan save their soul. He was not a cat you willingly wanted to cross paths with because no one truly knew what his definition of rude was and they did not want to fall to the claws of this tom because they knew a most terrible fate would befall them. And there have been whisperings that this tom was a cannibal, no physical proof that he is one, just small findings, some cats say they've seen him eat others, but it could just be gossip, only a few cats truly know the answer to it. A few alive cats anyways.

Currently, Hannibal sat by the fighters den, a usual place for him throughout the day if he wasn't out on one of his strolls or wherever he goes when he isn't in camp or on duty as a fighter. He had just finished a meal it appears because there was a very neat pile of bones and a very neat pile of feathers, each of the bones licked completely clean and shined dully in the light that filled the camp. The tom was simply laying there, his forepaws stretched in front of him, a sort of sophistication to the way he sat, his fiery eyes slowly sweeping back and forth through the clearing, watching cats do what they normally do, making tiny mental notes for each one to store away into his mind for possible later use, a habit he had made long ago.
In case it wasn't already known, Hannibal had been born into the Syndicate, no one knows what happened to his and his sibling's parents, but there was a good speculation that he had done them in. And so he and Lucifren had grown up under the care of another cat, the cat more welcoming to Lucifren than the dark grey cat for obvious reasons, but nonetheless the two were raised. But Hannibal certainly wasn't new to the Syndicate that was for sure.

(omg don't worry about it)

The smokey tabby lifted his head up, his pale gaze falling on the dark form of the infamous Hannibal. He, like all the others in the Dusk Syndicate, had heard the rumors. Jamie knew that the other cat was a sociopath, but he couldn't help but feel sorry for the feline. He knew from experience that it did not feel good to have rumors spread about you, but he also considered the possibility that the rumors weren't just rumors. As Jamie watched Hannibal, he noted the neat and organized way the tom ate his prey, each bone clean and shining, not a speck of flesh on them, and it almost made him smile, as it reminded him a bit of Hugo, another personality. It was then when Jamie realized he was staring, and he went back to eating the prey set in front of his dark paws, but he couldn't help but look at Hannibal occasionally. Something about him fascinated Jamie, as he wondered silently about how it would feel to actually feel nothing.
I suppose he doesn't even care about the rumors, he suspected. How could he?
The feline shook his head and finished his prey, the bones, unlike Hannibal's, were not completely stripped of flesh, and the feathers were everywhere, one particularly large feather stuck in Jamie's fur, the delicate thing was stuck in his chest fur, but it was clean of blood, and looked as though he'd put the feather there himself.
An odd feeling washed over him, one he so unhappily recognized. It was almost like deja vu, and in an instant, the cat knew that Malcolm was growing restless and would rise soon. It must've looked odd to any one who would pass by, the cat had very suddenly had a look of shock and horror drawn all over his face. Jamie blinked a few times, before looking around, looking rather shaken up. He'd been overcome with the feeling that he should warn others, warn them that soon, several could loose their lives.
But on the inside, Jamie knew that no one would listen. He was merely a kit trapped in an adult cat's body, and no one would listen, ever.
Seemingly in a daze, Jamie got to his paws and padded away from the clearing to get some air.

[The Cannibal]

Originally Posted by fire ♡

(omg don't worry about it)

The smokey tabby lifted his head up, his pale gaze falling on the dark form of the infamous Hannibal. He, like all the others in the Dusk Syndicate, had heard the rumors. Jamie knew that the other cat was a sociopath, but he couldn't help but feel sorry for the feline. He knew from experience that it did not feel good to have rumors spread about you, but he also considered the possibility that the rumors weren't just rumors. As Jamie watched Hannibal, he noted the neat and organized way the tom ate his prey, each bone clean and shining, not a speck of flesh on them, and it almost made him smile, as it reminded him a bit of Hugo, another personality. It was then when Jamie realized he was staring, and he went back to eating the prey set in front of his dark paws, but he couldn't help but look at Hannibal occasionally. Something about him fascinated Jamie, as he wondered silently about how it would feel to actually feel nothing.
I suppose he doesn't even care about the rumors, he suspected. How could he?
The feline shook his head and finished his prey, the bones, unlike Hannibal's, were not completely stripped of flesh, and the feathers were everywhere, one particularly large feather stuck in Jamie's fur, the delicate thing was stuck in his chest fur, but it was clean of blood, and looked as though he'd put the feather there himself.
An odd feeling washed over him, one he so unhappily recognized. It was almost like deja vu, and in an instant, the cat knew that Malcolm was growing restless and would rise soon. It must've looked odd to any one who would pass by, the cat had very suddenly had a look of shock and horror drawn all over his face. Jamie blinked a few times, before looking around, looking rather shaken up. He'd been overcome with the feeling that he should warn others, warn them that soon, several could loose their lives.
But on the inside, Jamie knew that no one would listen. He was merely a kit trapped in an adult cat's body, and no one would listen, ever.
Seemingly in a daze, Jamie got to his paws and padded away from the clearing to get some air.

The feeling of having other cats looking at you was not a sensation that Hannibal was unfamiliar with, in fact, he had gone rather accustomed to the feeling, there always seemed to be a cat casting a glance his way, looking at him thinking that he couldn't tell but they were always mistaken. Who is it this time? Thought the tom inwardly, not much interest given to the idea of who it was. As nonchalant as ever, he began to focus more, searching for the cat that had their head swiveled in his direction. He's had several cats that simply stood there as if paralyzed, staring at him until realizing what they were doing and promptly scurrying away as if he'd give chase to them and end them right then and there in the middle of the clearing. Which was most certainly not something Hannibal would do, he was not a reckless tom, not at all and he wasn't an idiot either. He would let those rumors stay rumors because they were harmless, the minute they started to get evidence and actually accusing him.. That's when he would have to start trimming the herd, then it would simply go back down to just rumors because no who actually knew would be alive to keep the accusations growing in momentum. But rumors were completely harmless, just gossip and truly, Hannibal could care less, he had more interesting things to focus his attention on.
It didn't take him very long to find the cat that was staring at him, it was a quick flash of movement, the cat must have realized they were staring and now? Hannibal was staring at him. Analyzing him just like he did with every single cat in this Syndicate. He saw the way he had eaten, certainly not clean and sophisticated, but that was like most other cats in the Syndicate, but then, something interesting happened. A seemingly random switch in emotion from the previously, what appeared to be, calm tom grew a look of utter fear. Oh?
And now the cat was leaving. Well that's rather intriguing. As Jamie got up and headed out of the clearing, the dark grey tom slowly rose to his paws, stretching slowly, flexing his claws before silently, and rather slowly, following the cat out, moving along the grass as silently as a ghost and making sure he gave the other cat a nice head start so that he couldn't be scented by the other. He wanted to know what this cat was up to.