Dusk Syndicate Clearing

[The Cannibal]

Originally Posted by woly

Large green eyes scanned over the grey toms pelt, searching for any source of injury. But there was none, giving a small nod and a smile. "Oh, sorry I assumed. I guess I should be used to blood all over the Syndicate now a days.." he never say the reason for so much brutality and violence in the group. Aggression was a common theme among personalities of these cats, but for some reason Hannibal seemed...calm. Not dismissing him just because of his lower rank, but being kind enough to even ask his name. "My names Percival, and Im guessing youre Hannibal?" Of course he knew the other toms name, regarding rather gorey things left around the territory or bloody paw prints hed leave constantly, there were bound to be complaints coming to the healers. He was no stranger.

As the cats green eyes searched his pelt, his orange-red eyes searched the toms face, reading the features to get a feel of what the tom might be thinking at the moment, as well as feeling. It was always intriguing for him to be able to read emotions, specifically because he himself had none. They were fascinating to him really, especially how emotions could generally directly link you to what the other cat was thinking at the moment. Of course he wasn't always right and the emotions could be misleading, causing a miscalculation on his end, but for the most part it was fairly accurate and lead to his success, whatever it was that he was using it for.
"Yes indeed. I would have thought the smell would be relatively bland to you at this point, what with it being a relatively constant smell not only in your den but simply around camp. Just mix in with the other smells you have in your surroundings. But then again it's a sharp scent that you can never really miss."
His tail flicked dismissively as if bored with the topic at hand and ready to move on to something different. He would never state this naturally, he would find it rude to state such a thing, but he would give plenty of body language to suggest it was time to move on to another subject.
"A pleasure to meet you Percival." He would pause to dip his head in polite respect, something he almost always did with cats he's being formally introduced to.
"Indeed I am Hannibal. I suppose my name carries a bit of weight in this group, it sure seems to travel a lot." Some might have said there was agitation in his voice when in all truth, the tom couldn't care less. Cats could talk all they wish, now when they started to believe the talk? That's when there was a problem. And a problem he would have to deal with quickly.
"How did you come across my name? Just out of curiosity of course."

[Clover]

Originally Posted by Lonestar23

Her growl had startled him, making the tom flinch; green hues staring shocked from against his sandy colored fur. It was more of a dust color, really... or perhaps the inner part of a tree. Light, and the friendly expression on his face made it impossible to view him as anything but light hearted, light colored, light - or good - natured, and just all around the almost ideal cat. Except for his tendency to trust. Which was, perhaps, Gavin's greatest flaw.
　
"Not all cats here are like that. I didn't kill you-- and I wasn't planning to, either." The firm way in which he spoke those words sounded like a father talking to a rebellious teenager. Firmness was not the tom's strongest point, and even he was surprised by the certain ring that his voice held... a ring that it hadn't in quite some time. When she moved away it hurt a little... everything that he centered around was based off of trust, care and love - and that made it feel like she held none of those things for him.
　
So yeah, it stung just a little. But in the next moment she was asking for help. He'd almost sprung fowards to catch her when her leg had twisted; but he hadn't. A least she hadn't fallen. But the crying was too much for him. "I'll... I'll help you... d-don't cry..." It was always awkward when he had to figure out what to say before he was able to gather his thoughts. In doing what needed to be done, he could be firm. This was just sense. This wasn't trying to order her around. He could do this, he could put his paw down. "You're going to see a Healer. Now."
　
The command came so unnaturally to him that even Gavin was surprised by it, but he held his ground firmly - with a command that was not to be ignored. Except for the slight waver of uncertainty showing in his green hues.

She didn't see him lurch towards her, ready to catch her, almost surprisingly quickly, but he had the good restraint to stay back; she probably would have nipped at him, not happy for help when she hadn't asked for it. She kept her eyes closed for a while more, not listening to him, not paying attention; how could she, when he treated her like a child? She was a young warrior, yes, but not a child or an apprentice. She growled softly at him, remembering the effect it had been on him; maybe he'd back off. Skipper desperately hated the chiding.

Tears still trickled down her cheeks, and her sides heaved slightly, but her sadness had quickly been overcome by the ever-flowing current of rage that moved just below her skin; her others emotions, kindness, and empathy, love, and compassion, were buried far below her traumatic and unforgiving past. Now she was rough and coarse, an unrefined specimen who lashed out at any moment.

She swallowed down the lump of guilt that had built in her throat; he had only meant to help her, only meant to show her a bit of care in a world full of uncaring beings. And she had rejected him, hurt him, slapped him in the face, practically. And she continued to spit in the face of Gavin's compassion. Her eyes opened, surprisingly dark and cloudy, and she looked up at him, huffing lightly. "No! I can't go to see them. They'll see me weak like this- they aren't as soft as you, kittypet! They'll kill me in an instant! They leave me for dead." Just like my parents. Her words were loud and brash, but the last part she left off; no one knew of her past because if they did, they would scorn her; if even her parents had left her, then she must be a waste of food. And her name was laughable, too; Skipper! A butterfly? How useless could she be!

That's why she had spent so long working against those stereotypes, becoming course and rude and rough, unkind to all, loving to few. But even with all of her roughness, Skipper could still be loving. Deep down, far past her exterior, was a gentle creature, a graceful, empathetic being who cared for others. Who loved. Who lived. But no one had seen this her in a very, very long time.

[graves]

Originally Posted by Duskflight

As the cats green eyes searched his pelt, his orange-red eyes searched the toms face, reading the features to get a feel of what the tom might be thinking at the moment, as well as feeling. It was always intriguing for him to be able to read emotions, specifically because he himself had none. They were fascinating to him really, especially how emotions could generally directly link you to what the other cat was thinking at the moment. Of course he wasn't always right and the emotions could be misleading, causing a miscalculation on his end, but for the most part it was fairly accurate and lead to his success, whatever it was that he was using it for.
"Yes indeed. I would have thought the smell would be relatively bland to you at this point, what with it being a relatively constant smell not only in your den but simply around camp. Just mix in with the other smells you have in your surroundings. But then again it's a sharp scent that you can never really miss."
His tail flicked dismissively as if bored with the topic at hand and ready to move on to something different. He would never state this naturally, he would find it rude to state such a thing, but he would give plenty of body language to suggest it was time to move on to another subject.
"A pleasure to meet you Percival." He would pause to dip his head in polite respect, something he almost always did with cats he's being formally introduced to.
"Indeed I am Hannibal. I suppose my name carries a bit of weight in this group, it sure seems to travel a lot." Some might have said there was agitation in his voice when in all truth, the tom couldn't care less. Cats could talk all they wish, now when they started to believe the talk? That's when there was a problem. And a problem he would have to deal with quickly.
"How did you come across my name? Just out of curiosity of course."

"With a healers nose nothing gets by me, as much as I try." but the other tom was right, blood was radiating from their camp at all time whether from fresh kill or prey itself. As a healer the scent of blood was a constant look out, wanting to see if any one needed healing. Most healers couldnt give a damn about who they healed, but Percival did care. Not in a mother type way,bit he just had a giving a nature. He was glad the tom infront of him was okay though, you can never be so sure. At the question of his name, he gave a smile and tried to brush it off,"You are a few of the unquie ones of the bunch, cats will chat about it all they want."

[NightWarrior4Life]

Originally Posted by Swiftheart

Fox looked at Fleck."Don't talk about dying Fleck.It brings bad luck." He said omniously. "You and Aria and great parents for the kits." He said,looking into Fleck's eyes with the same seriousness.

"I don't believe there's such a thing a bad luck...there's winning, or losing. In this case, we'd lose."

[Static]

Originally Posted by NightWarrior4Life

"I don't believe there's such a thing a bad luck...there's winning, or losing. In this case, we'd lose."

Fox nodded."I guess your right.It was our own fault we lost.We wasent strong enough." He said."And I was going to go hunting.Want to come?" He asked.

[Gusty]

Originally Posted by NightWarrior4Life

Fleck suddenly straightened himself up, ears pricked and eyes wide with curiosity. "So you're saying you may choose a co-commander soon?" he inquired only briefly before the commander finished. "R-right I see. Make sure every cat is happy and then when all has settled down..." but he couldn't be sure, trailing off midway through his sentence. "Oh yeas, many trainees. My mate actually gave birth to two healthy kits recently and I have more on the way! I assure you they will make fine trainees. So what do you look for in a co-commander? Certain genders? Body-type? Manners? Loyalty? Or perhaps you ought to start appointing some more guards?" Fleck added hastily changing the subject back to...himself. Or at least, to please himself as this entire conversation was for his own sly, ambitious gain.

"Uh, I suppose I may; I can't exactly be sure of the date yet however." The tom muttered. "And I am glad that you and your mate have gotten kittens. I'm sure that they will be good, strong members of the Syndicate when they grow up," he continued. It was sort of a half-lie, because Halite honestly did not care about Fleck's offspring, but as long as they were growing up to be Syndicate members, that was fine.

What I'm looking for in a Co-Commander? Fleck's question bounced back in his mine. Well, what am I looking for? "Definitely a good mix of characteristics," Halite said absentmindedly. "Loyalty is big; we obviously cannot have someone that is kind-hearted towards clanners or human-owned housecats. We need someone strong, diligent, passionate, and overall well-rounded, if possible." Genders certainly did not matter to him. He was well-aware that some cats preferred one over another, but he wasn't one of them.

[lone]

Originally Posted by Clover

She didn't see him lurch towards her, ready to catch her, almost surprisingly quickly, but he had the good restraint to stay back; she probably would have nipped at him, not happy for help when she hadn't asked for it. She kept her eyes closed for a while more, not listening to him, not paying attention; how could she, when he treated her like a child? She was a young warrior, yes, but not a child or an apprentice. She growled softly at him, remembering the effect it had been on him; maybe he'd back off. Skipper desperately hated the chiding.

Tears still trickled down her cheeks, and her sides heaved slightly, but her sadness had quickly been overcome by the ever-flowing current of rage that moved just below her skin; her others emotions, kindness, and empathy, love, and compassion, were buried far below her traumatic and unforgiving past. Now she was rough and coarse, an unrefined specimen who lashed out at any moment.

She swallowed down the lump of guilt that had built in her throat; he had only meant to help her, only meant to show her a bit of care in a world full of uncaring beings. And she had rejected him, hurt him, slapped him in the face, practically. And she continued to spit in the face of Gavin's compassion. Her eyes opened, surprisingly dark and cloudy, and she looked up at him, huffing lightly. "No! I can't go to see them. They'll see me weak like this- they aren't as soft as you, kittypet! They'll kill me in an instant! They leave me for dead." Just like my parents. Her words were loud and brash, but the last part she left off; no one knew of her past because if they did, they would scorn her; if even her parents had left her, then she must be a waste of food. And her name was laughable, too; Skipper! A butterfly? How useless could she be!

That's why she had spent so long working against those stereotypes, becoming course and rude and rough, unkind to all, loving to few. But even with all of her roughness, Skipper could still be loving. Deep down, far past her exterior, was a gentle creature, a graceful, empathetic being who cared for others. Who loved. Who lived. But no one had seen this her in a very, very long time.

Her words stung, once more. The light tom looked surprised for a moment, and then his ears went backwards. He wanted to leave. Run away and leave her there, but... it wasn't in his nature to leave someone in need. He should have been a Healer. What was he doing in the Dusk Syndicate, working as a fighter? That was a long and boring backstory, and one that Gavin chose not to reflect on at the moment... just because he needed to get her help. But she was trying to ditch him. Trying to say that she didn't need it, even while he could see that she desperately did. If she didn't get help soon, she would die. And no, he didn't know it would be because of injury - he had no way of knowing quite how severe it was, or if it could result in death.
　
The safest road was always getting help, but she seemed to think she would be tortured or killed if she did. "I'm not a kittypet. And just because I choose to help you doesn't mean I'm soft..." His voice trailed off, realizing that probably was the exact definition of "soft" according to some of the cats here. Perhaps her included. The idea sent chills down Gavin's spine, and the disturbing thought of what if it had been me? flashed through his head.
　
Would Skipper have left him for dead? Dragged him somewhere sheltered, then left him? Or killed him on the spot? Perhaps played with his mind, as he knew cats in the Syndicate enjoyed doing. "Okay, maybe it does. But if I were in your condition, I'd be grateful for help. I wouldn't be snapping at someone who's trying to help, and I would calm down to think of a solution." It sounded reasonable and logical to him. Then again, Gavin hadn't had as many bad experiences here. He'd been pretty sheltered for a while. It was as though he were choosing not to think about the fact he was surrounded by murderers at all times.
　
"Now will you please let me get you to help?" The tom asked, his voice soft. Once she was safely in the Healers' den, if they ever got there, he could go. Or would he stay? It would totally depend on how she continued to treat him. Because Gavin was not the type of cat to stay around when he wasn't wanted, nor was he one to walk away when others needed help. His urge to make sure Skipper got the help she obviously needed outweighed the urge to get away from being the object of her anger.

[NightWarrior4Life]

Originally Posted by Swiftheart

Fox nodded."I guess your right.It was our own fault we lost.We wasent strong enough." He said."And I was going to go hunting.Want to come?" He asked.

Fox just answered with a plain "yes" and they passed out of camp.

[NightWarrior4Life]

Originally Posted by Gusty

"Uh, I suppose I may; I can't exactly be sure of the date yet however." The tom muttered. "And I am glad that you and your mate have gotten kittens. I'm sure that they will be good, strong members of the Syndicate when they grow up," he continued. It was sort of a half-lie, because Halite honestly did not care about Fleck's offspring, but as long as they were growing up to be Syndicate members, that was fine.

What I'm looking for in a Co-Commander? Fleck's question bounced back in his mine. Well, what am I looking for? "Definitely a good mix of characteristics," Halite said absentmindedly. "Loyalty is big; we obviously cannot have someone that is kind-hearted towards clanners or human-owned housecats. We need someone strong, diligent, passionate, and overall well-rounded, if possible." Genders certainly did not matter to him. He was well-aware that some cats preferred one over another, but he wasn't one of them.

Fleck close his eyes, ticking off every trait in his mind as Halite said them. "Right, well, I must be going. Thank you for your time, Halite" and with that he stalked off into the shade.
(I think we can end it there.)

[The Cannibal]

Originally Posted by meraki

Maple's eyes tuned in closely as well as her ears as she heard her new trainer introduce himself. She'd never heard of the name Hannibal ever before in her life. It was an odd name, one she wouldn't forget as it was the sort to stick like glue. Hannibal seemed friendly enough, based only on his respectful nature and calm tone, but you never know. He could be doing the same as she- faking, Maple thought. If so, he was particularly skilled in that area, as his expression and tone matched perfect. Even his posture seemed to flow correctly.
Maple decided that if this cat really was missing something, he could easily hide it if he was as skilled at deception as she thought she was. But then again, he could simply be like that. She decided quickly that she was not going to let any sort of guard down, as she knew not much of these cats or their origins. Perhaps while they trained, she'd find a way to weasle into his mind a bit to figure out what he really was like, but a cat with the skill of him would be difficult to break or even crack. But, of course, before she did any sort of investigating, she'd ask around the camp. First starting out a normal conversation, then bringing up Hannibal.

It was always a good idea to figure out the weakest spots- if there even were any. If Hannibal turned out to be a psychotic killer, well then- they might just have something in common. If not, she might need to be extra careful with her words. Seeing the lowering of his head in respect sent a thought into her head once more. Seems a little sudden for respect, after all, he hardly knows me. A cat living in the Dusk Syndicate would likely be a little less trust worthy. But what do I know about these cats? Maple quickly put the though away, as she still had lots of investigating to do.
"Pleasure to meet your acquaintance as well, Hannibal." She meowed politely, returning the slight dip of the head, and looking at him in a relaxed manor as she tried to clear her brain of most thoughts. Maple knew from experience that eyes could potentially show more emotion than body language or even tone of voice at times, so keeping a blank mind was always a good idea in case there was another who knew of this. And seeing as this cat seemed to have a blank gaze as well, he was clearly protecting something. Thoughts, perhaps. Anything was a possibility. At his question, Maple recalled once more the feeling of that power she'd held at the very moment before she stole the light from the cats eyes.

"I was to kill a loner," she meowed calmly, not sounding to enthralled, but not sounding ashamed or horrified by what she did. Actually, she sounded rather relaxed, as though telling him that her favourite food was vole. Switching the question on him now, she asked, "If you don't mind me asking, were you born within the Syndicate? Or were you tested also?" Maple asked, curious to hear his response, as well as what his test was, if he was indeed tested like she.
As she awaited his answer, she took note of how he asked rather intelligent questions-good questions if he was trying to dig into her mind. Maple didn't take kindly to cats to asked much of her, but she was so interested in figuring out what he was missing that by this point, she didn't care. Maple was focused on figuring out him, so she decided to try to ask more questions about him than he asked about she. Of course, he could easily lie, but then again, so could she. But one thing she didn't know was whether or not he was good at lying, but she assumed Hannibal was, judging by his strong skill in pretending. Then again, she couldn't even be sure he was pretending. Maple'd just have to wait patiently and find out.

An interesting name indeed and one that, surprisingly enough, seemed to suite him perfectly while it was not related to an object or his appearance at all. It is said that his name means "grace of Starclan", but it was unclear why his mother deemed him this name and it wasn't as if she were alive today to give the reasoning behind it. And if it was his father who named him, he wasn't here to give the reasoning either. So the meaning behind his name was lost altogether and the world was simply stuck with Hannibal which, strangely enough seemed to rhyme with cannibal, something that many of the Dusk Syndicate believed that he was. But whether the speculations were true or not was unknown and no cat really wanted to try and find out the truth anyways. They were too scared of what would happen if they did somehow uncover the truth.
Some say that the cats who tried to really figure out Hannibal went missing, never to be heard from again, some cats say that they went utterly insane and others say that they just wind up dead. Another one of the horribly mangled bodies that occasionally show up in the territory of the Syndicate, mangled as if half eaten by a fox or badger. Some bold cats tried to tie Hannibal to the bodies, but nothing ever became of them, cats ignored them and soon enough ended up forgetting about the dead. It was all a mystery, a mystery no one quite wanted to solve, a mystery that no one was really brave enough to solve. And none of it, absolutely none of it phased the tom. He lived life as if nothing ever happened, as if it was just a normal day whether he was being accused of murder or not. And that's the tricky thing with Hannibal. You never know what's the truth and what's a lie, what's really going on with him. That's what made him intriguing to some cats and absolutely terrifying to others. No one really knew what to think of Hannibal.
They just knew his one rule. And that was to not be rude.

She appears to be slightly taken aback by the sign of respect, that friendly face doesn't show it, but her eyes do. Still so young, so much to learn about the ways of deceit and masking of emotions and thoughts. Is she even worth teaching? Eyes remaining friendly, polite even, they continued to stare into the younger cats eyes, searching as subtly as ever. Few could stand that hard gaze of his, they would squirm as if they were an ant beneath a magnifying glass.
Good she's polite. I wouldn't stand an impolite trainee, no no no, it wouldn't work. But she's polite so that won't be a problem. Or rather, she's polite in my presence. I wouldn't want to make an assumption about her behavior as a whole, I don't have enough information for that. But she is indeed polite in my presence. There was a pause in his thoughts. She's attempting to create a fog, a barrier between her eyes and her thoughts. Smart. Perhaps she's even trying to figure me out, smart also. How intriguing for such a young cat.. Perhaps we'll get along. There was the slightest flick of his tail and he seemed to sit up straighter. Whatever it was that he had been thinking about, was no dismissed, removed from his mind until it needed to be brought up later.

"A loner you say? Was it a kit? A young one? An adult? Where they picked for you or did you get to chose them yourself?" There appeared to be curiosity in his voice and his head tilted to further give that feeling of him wanting to know the answer to these questions, but truthfully, he was only interested in the way she responded, just as he had with the first question. Killing doesn't phase her, but that doesn't surprise me. If it did phase her then she wouldn't be a fighter, she'd be a healer. Or perhaps even a hunter. But she doesn't seem overly eager, nor excited about it. Apathetic almost. That's good. And she doesn't appear to hold remorse either, which is also good. This one certainly has potential.
What happened next was to of no surprise by the tom, in fact, he expected it. A question for him. Quid pro quo. She had given him a truthful answer, he was obligated to give her one. Had she tried to fake a response, seemed overly eager about it in order to mask her distaste for killing, then he would have given her an untruthful answer. But she hadn't, so she would get the truth. It was only polite.
"I was born into the Syndicate with four other siblings, however I decided that I wished to take the test anyways. My test was to end the life of a litter of kits. Their mother had bedded with a clan cat, a Riverclan cat to be exact,
and so their spawn was to be terminated." Just as Maple had responded to his question, he had responded in the same tone. It was unclear whether this was acted, or how he truly felt about his answer, but she wouldn't be able to tell, his face and eyes were as blank as a stone. Impossible to read. Just that polite, friendly look that he had worn since they had begun their conversation.
Oh how she wants to figure me out. Unfortunately enough, she's not the only cat. I'll give her little bits now and again but she will never receive the full thing. She doesn't seem deserving of it. His mind thought as he awaited her response.