Dusk Syndicate Territory

[Cosmo]

Originally Posted by Bad Wolf

[ @Little Bird ]

Horseradish was on his way back from the border after a first encounter with who he hoped to be one of his romance victims, and stopped to wash off the SkyClan scent, which he now reeked of after hanging around the border so long, and he'd prefer to keep his fur from smelling so strongly of SkyClan. He didn't want any cats to get suspicious, so he sat down and started grooming his mottled pelt, wincing at the disgusting reek that he tried his best to tolerate, although it was sometime quite difficult, and he rarely could stand it for very long, so he took his time, making sure every inch of his fur had been ridded f the reek, whiskers twitching in disgust. How can they stand that smell all day and all night? He wondered, almost angrily, since he held a great resentment for SkyClan ever since they'd been disgraced in battle by the treacherous thieves who obviously came to wipe out the Syndicate and everything it stood for. Grunting, Horseradish stood up and shook out his pelt, hoping that scent was at least unnoticeable, then looked around, realizing that the smell of Syndicate fatwas growing ever stronger.

[Sorry it's short]

Pippa was skipping along. Well, skipping for a cat. Everyone knows that cats can't skip that well. Anyway, she was moving along happily when a scent hit her nose. Pippa, being the curious and optimistic cat that she was, followed it. Her gaze fell upon a Dusk Syndicate fighter. Instead of going away, it was just one of her kind, Pippa approached the tom in a most optimistic fashion. Now, what should I say first? Despite being one of the most optimistic cats, she wasn't one to start conversations. In fact, she was terrible at it. What to say? What to say!? Finally she just decided to introduce herself. "I'm Pippa." she stated, with a dip of her head, not caring it was lame-sounding.

[doghouse]

Originally Posted by Little Bird

Pippa was skipping along. Well, skipping for a cat. Everyone knows that cats can't skip that well. Anyway, she was moving along happily when a scent hit her nose. Pippa, being the curious and optimistic cat that she was, followed it. Her gaze fell upon a Dusk Syndicate fighter. Instead of going away, it was just one of her kind, Pippa approached the tom in a most optimistic fashion. Now, what should I say first? Despite being one of the most optimistic cats, she wasn't one to start conversations. In fact, she was terrible at it. What to say? What to say!? Finally she just decided to introduce herself. "I'm Pippa." she stated, with a dip of her head, not caring it was lame-sounding.

Horseradish watched the cat approach with mild confusion due to how she moved. He'd honestly never seen a cat look as happy and cheerful as that, it it sort of intrigued him. He dipped his large head and shot her a smile, already slipping into his fake self. “Horseradish,” he replied, that being one of the few words he could say and actually pronounce properly, since he had a hard time with "h"s, and often left them out. It was simply because of his mild Russian accent. He looked her up and down, then slowly lowered himself into a comfortable crouch, tucking his large alabaster paws under his chest and looking away. “So, what's up?” he asked in as casual a tone as he good, wrapping her feathery tail over his paws as he spoke. He wasn't going to flirt with her, yet. Not until he'd seen a touch more other personality, seeing as she'd only spoken two words, but this was what came naturally to Horseradish, and he would do what felt best, and that just so happened to be flirting, deception and betrayal. And that was what he had planned for many cats.

[Cosmo]

Originally Posted by Bad Wolf

Horseradish watched the cat approach with mild confusion due to how she moved. He'd honestly never seen a cat look as happy and cheerful as that, it it sort of intrigued him. He dipped his large head and shot her a smile, already slipping into his fake self. “Horseradish,” he replied, that being one of the few words he could say and actually pronounce properly, since he had a hard time with "h"s, and often left them out. It was simply because of his mild Russian accent. He looked her up and down, then slowly lowered himself into a comfortable crouch, tucking his large alabaster paws under his chest and looking away. “So, what's up?” he asked in as casual a tone as he good, wrapping her feathery tail over his paws as he spoke. He wasn't going to flirt with her, yet. Not until he'd seen a touch more other personality, seeing as she'd only spoken two words, but this was what came naturally to Horseradish, and he would do what felt best, and that just so happened to be flirting, deception and betrayal. And that was what he had planned for many cats.

Pippa thought about his words for a moment. What was she doing? How was she feeling? Pippa didn't really know. Other then her strange yet optimistic walk, nothing. So, what was she doing. This cat, Horseradish didn't know. Well, guess what? She didn't know? Correct. Pippa was unsure what she was doing. As she was so positive, it was hard for her. Often she would do things with no actual meaning except to be happy. Pippa was good at being happy. It was something she excelled at. Far more than excelled actually. Pippa was the best at being happy. It was just her nature. "I'm going for a walk." she stated, though it was more of an open comment than directed at Horseradish. She had said it as soon as she realized that must have been what she was doing. It was a rather plain answer, "Other than that, not much." but it was true. Pippa really wasn't doing much. Nothing if that helped. "Though currently I'm talking to you."

[ShiningFern]

@TheBread

The dark red colored tom exited camp, eyes scanning around the territory. It was a nice day, so naturally, he wanted to be out in the territory. Sunlight reached the ground around him, warming up his fur and making shadows fall in different places. The muscular tom sat down, grooming his fur. Kovu's yellow eyes never left his surroundings, he always wanted to know what was going on and who was close by. Perhaps someone he had met would come along so he would have someone to talk to.

[~Breadsticks~]

Originally Posted by Fern

@TheBread

The dark red colored tom exited camp, eyes scanning around the territory. It was a nice day, so naturally, he wanted to be out in the territory. Sunlight reached the ground around him, warming up his fur and making shadows fall in different places. The muscular tom sat down, grooming his fur. Kovu's yellow eyes never left his surroundings, he always wanted to know what was going on and who was close by. Perhaps someone he had met would come along so he would have someone to talk to.

The grey and white molly was padding through the territory, not quite sure of where she wanted to go or what she wanted to do. She decided to head back toward camp but instead stopped when she saw the dark red tom. The fighter smiled and padded up to him, putting on a little smile, "Hello Kovu. Haven't talked in some time huh?" Maia asked, her head slightly tilted, "How have you been?" Her words were smooth and honey-like as she sat beside him, her ears perked.

[The Cannibal]

@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.

[Lawlipop]

Originally Posted by Duskflight

@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.

The area around the tom smelled of recently spilt blood. The evidence so messily painted around his maw and claws, dirtied with the work he did. He thought not so much about the blood only that he expected to clean himself before heading back into camp. This was not the first time he has soiled his paws with another's blood. Not the first time he has licked away the metallic tasting liquid from his body. To him, nothing made him feel more alive feeling his fangs and claws pierce the skin of a cat's neck and the thrill he would get at times when he was granted to be given a fight. He remembers the first time he killed another, though the event becomes more vague in his mind the older he gets and the cloudier his memory gets. His mother praising him greatly as he stands over the cat's body and his paws were so red, his golden fur couldn't be seen clearly. Those where the days he idolized his mother and did what he could to please her. Now, he wants nothing to do with her and always gives her a cold shoulder. If the opportunity came, he would not hesitate to drive his claws through her rotten body. She was the reason he is the way he is now, but he does not blame her for it, for he does not regret the cat he has turned into.

The body of his current victim hangs from his maw, lifelessly swaying with each movement the large tom makes. This cat belonged to a clan, he could tell by the cat's scent. He usually never does much about bodies after killing unless they belong to a clan. Clans get annoying with missing cats, so he is forced to get creative with disposing of it.

He perks his ears up to the sky as he witnessed crows flying off somewhere in a hurry and hears rustling nearby. He stalks his way around to investigate, but to get spotted immediately. His yellow eyes illuminate down on the sight of a grey cat hungrily devouring the body of a bird. He growls to himself. He has the faded scent of Dusk Syndicate, but still thought it necessary to confront the tom.

He makes no haste revealing himself. The blonde tom flattens his ears across his head and glares down at him. "What are you doing?" Nero growls, his voice mumbled. He hasn't placed down the body and it continues to slowly swaying off the ground.

[The Cannibal]

Originally Posted by Lawlipop

The area around the tom smelled of recently spilt blood. The evidence so messily painted around his maw and claws, dirtied with the work he did. He thought not so much about the blood only that he expected to clean himself before heading back into camp. This was not the first time he has soiled his paws with another's blood. Not the first time he has licked away the metallic tasting liquid from his body. To him, nothing made him feel more alive feeling his fangs and claws pierce the skin of a cat's neck and the thrill he would get at times when he was granted to be given a fight. He remembers the first time he killed another, though the event becomes more vague in his mind the older he gets and the cloudier his memory gets. His mother praising him greatly as he stands over the cat's body and his paws were so red, his golden fur couldn't be seen clearly. Those where the days he idolized his mother and did what he could to please her. Now, he wants nothing to do with her and always gives her a cold shoulder. If the opportunity came, he would not hesitate to drive his claws through her rotten body. She was the reason he is the way he is now, but he does not blame her for it, for he does not regret the cat he has turned into.

The body of his current victim hangs from his maw, lifelessly swaying with each movement the large tom makes. This cat belonged to a clan, he could tell by the cat's scent. He usually never does much about bodies after killing unless they belong to a clan. Clans get annoying with missing cats, so he is forced to get creative with disposing of it.

He perks his ears up to the sky as he witnessed crows flying off somewhere in a hurry and hears rustling nearby. He stalks his way around to investigate, but to get spotted immediately. His yellow eyes illuminate down on the sight of a grey cat hungrily devouring the body of a bird. He growls to himself. He has the faded scent of Dusk Syndicate, but still thought it necessary to confront the tom.

He makes no haste revealing himself. The blonde tom flattens his ears across his head and glares down at him. "What are you doing?" Nero growls, his voice mumbled. He hasn't placed down the body and it continues to slowly swaying off the ground.

The scent of blood was not a strange one for anyone in the Syndicate, some might distaste the smell, others might crave it, and some are indifferent to it, not noseblind to the smell, but very much one to not take it as significant. To Hannibal, it was a minor detail that could jog memory if he needed to do so. Such as if he were to use the smell of it on other cats to decipher their pasts, those with harsh pasts would react a certain way to it, while those with more.. Dare I say 'normal' pasts would react. It can also tell what a cats personality is like, their morals, their way of thinking. The scent of blood and a cats reaction to it could tell Hannibal a lot of things, along with how the other cat registered pain. Some cats were hardened to it, while others were extremely sensitive to it. It could again give him insight into their past, but also about their physiology, how their unique pain system held up. At least that's how Hannibal thought about it because to him, other cats were just objects. Things to be studied, books to be read, food to be eaten, sounds to be quieted. Some of the time, he hardly saw them as living, they truly were objects, but some of the more interesting ones he's come across, they are indeed living and very much worth his attention, even if it may be fleeting.
But I digress. The scent of blood changes, it depends what blood has been spilled, crow blood had a different smell than cat blood, just as rodent blood had a different smell than fish blood or toad blood. It was faint and only the strongest of noses could really pick out the unique teller, but a trained nose could very well tell what kind of blood has been spilled.

And as Hannibal finished plucking his bird, the feathers in a neat pile off to his left, he picked up on the soft smell of cat blood. He paused, letting the smell linger in his nostrils for a moment before he dipped his head forward and carefully began to savor his meal. Not eating in a ravenous manner, or a violent manner, but in a civil, delicate way. He enjoyed savoring his food, truly tasting what the prey was, what their life had been, relishing the flavors it gave off for each prey was unique tasting in it's own slight difference.

Once again, the tom paused, licking his lips carefully and flickering his fiery gaze up to the crows which seemed to have focused their attention on a being in the darkness perhaps a foxlength behind him. Drawing in a careful smell, he could most certainly tell the scent of catblood was with whatever being it was that the crows were staring at.
It's another cat, any other creature would have come racing out, this one is much too cautious for that. The blood smell covers their own scent so that means it can either be a loner, or a Syndicate member. A shame that I've already caught my food.

Hannibal didn't bother turning to look in the direction the crows were or even swiveling his ears in the direction, he'd let whoever it was believe they were sneaking up on him as he went back to quietly eating.
He hardly had to wait more than a few minutes before the other tom revealed himself, prowling up with a body hanging from his jaws. Licking his lips clear of the bird flesh, the dark grey tom would sit himself up and look at Nero directly in the eyes.
"Enjoying a quiet meal in the territory. I assume you're busy trying to find a way to dispose of that?" His gaze barely flickered to the body hanging from the toms jaws.
I don't think that's quite so, if he was busy doing that, he wouldn't have bothered confronting me. Well. Unless he's reckless, though it was reckless of him anyways to come to another cat with a body dangling from his jaws.
Oh recklessness... I would almost consider it rude, an insult to the intelligent. But I'll forgive him on this.

[Burnpaw]

Burn stalked through the Dusk Syndicate's territory. He had grown since he was a scared kit lost on Shadowclan's border. He was now seven moons old, but showed no signs of being a kit other than not being full grown. Physically, he had become sinewy and ragged, and had gained a few scars from skirmishes over food. His reddish eyes had a new ferocity that no cat his age should have, and he was bristling and limping, his teeth constantly bared with anger. He should have known that they would have never taken care of him. It was the Clans after all who killed his mother in the first place. how naive he had been... He froze and sniffed the air, he could tell that other cats lived here, much like the clans, but... Different... I'm tired of living alone and scared. I'm going to convince them to let me join them. He stretched out his stiff limbs and kept trotting along, making a bit of racket to see if the cats would notice him. If not, He decided, i'll just find my way to their camp and introduce myself then.

[Lawlipop]

Originally Posted by Duskflight

The scent of blood was not a strange one for anyone in the Syndicate, some might distaste the smell, others might crave it, and some are indifferent to it, not noseblind to the smell, but very much one to not take it as significant. To Hannibal, it was a minor detail that could jog memory if he needed to do so. Such as if he were to use the smell of it on other cats to decipher their pasts, those with harsh pasts would react a certain way to it, while those with more.. Dare I say 'normal' pasts would react. It can also tell what a cats personality is like, their morals, their way of thinking. The scent of blood and a cats reaction to it could tell Hannibal a lot of things, along with how the other cat registered pain. Some cats were hardened to it, while others were extremely sensitive to it. It could again give him insight into their past, but also about their physiology, how their unique pain system held up. At least that's how Hannibal thought about it because to him, other cats were just objects. Things to be studied, books to be read, food to be eaten, sounds to be quieted. Some of the time, he hardly saw them as living, they truly were objects, but some of the more interesting ones he's come across, they are indeed living and very much worth his attention, even if it may be fleeting.
But I digress. The scent of blood changes, it depends what blood has been spilled, crow blood had a different smell than cat blood, just as rodent blood had a different smell than fish blood or toad blood. It was faint and only the strongest of noses could really pick out the unique teller, but a trained nose could very well tell what kind of blood has been spilled.

And as Hannibal finished plucking his bird, the feathers in a neat pile off to his left, he picked up on the soft smell of cat blood. He paused, letting the smell linger in his nostrils for a moment before he dipped his head forward and carefully began to savor his meal. Not eating in a ravenous manner, or a violent manner, but in a civil, delicate way. He enjoyed savoring his food, truly tasting what the prey was, what their life had been, relishing the flavors it gave off for each prey was unique tasting in it's own slight difference.

Once again, the tom paused, licking his lips carefully and flickering his fiery gaze up to the crows which seemed to have focused their attention on a being in the darkness perhaps a foxlength behind him. Drawing in a careful smell, he could most certainly tell the scent of catblood was with whatever being it was that the crows were staring at.
It's another cat, any other creature would have come racing out, this one is much too cautious for that. The blood smell covers their own scent so that means it can either be a loner, or a Syndicate member. A shame that I've already caught my food.

Hannibal didn't bother turning to look in the direction the crows were or even swiveling his ears in the direction, he'd let whoever it was believe they were sneaking up on him as he went back to quietly eating.
He hardly had to wait more than a few minutes before the other tom revealed himself, prowling up with a body hanging from his jaws. Licking his lips clear of the bird flesh, the dark grey tom would sit himself up and look at Nero directly in the eyes.
"Enjoying a quiet meal in the territory. I assume you're busy trying to find a way to dispose of that?" His gaze barely flickered to the body hanging from the toms jaws.
I don't think that's quite so, if he was busy doing that, he wouldn't have bothered confronting me. Well. Unless he's reckless, though it was reckless of him anyways to come to another cat with a body dangling from his jaws.
Oh recklessness... I would almost consider it rude, an insult to the intelligent. But I'll forgive him on this.

The dark grey's calm and steady tone was in contrast to Nero's irritated and rising one. He stared directly in his eyes, a clear nonverbal gesture meant to intimidate. His chilly ways did not phase the blonde tom and kept his composure, his yellow eyes remaining to glint down at him. The odd tom gestures to the body that was still attached to his maw. "I am not too busy to investigate potential trespassers to add to the pile." he mumbles. "I have no use of this body other than to keep it away from the clans to avoid pesky confrontations from them." He remembers the battle with SkyClan not too long ago. The battle that took their Co-Commander's life. That battle claimed SkyClan the victors and the Syndicate as the bitter underdogs of the whole skirmish. Even moons after, Nero can tell both groups are doing there best to nurse the wounds they afflicted on each other. "I am not merciful towards those who trespass on Syndicate territory." he adds, flexing his claws that are still painted with another's blood.