Warrior Cat Clans 2 (WCC2 aka Classic) is a roleplay site inspired by the Warrior series by Erin Hunter. Whether you are a fan of the books or new to the Warrior cats world, WCC2 offers a diverse environment with over a decade’s worth of lore for you - and your characters - to explore. Join us today and become a part of our ongoing story!
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11.06.2022 The site has been transformed into an archive. Thank you for all the memories here!
Here on Classic we understand that sometimes life can get difficult and we struggle. We may need to receive advice, vent, know that we are not alone in our difficult times, or even just have someone listen to what's going on in our lives. In light of these times, we have created the support threads below that are open to all of our members at any time.
"It'd be a shame if one fell off and bumped his head," hummed the tom, whose eyes tracked the Warden. They didn't have much interaction besides in passing, but Cezra decided it was time for a change--and what better way to get acquainted than some good ol' fashioned aggravation?
He was splayed out on top of a dumpster, hidden in the shadows of the neighboring building, and waited till his victim was drew closer before he flicked a pebble off its perch. Beside him, a pile of said pebbles rested in wait, their solid little bodies surely rendered motionless by anticipation and not chemical composition or sentience (or lack thereof). One by one, he continued to flick them off, stifling giggles as he heard them resound off Bermondsey's shiny, begging-to-be-pelted-with-rocks, silver head.
dm me if you want to listen to me ramble about the interstellar soundtrack
2,314 posts
Post by achromatic on Aug 14, 2021 16:46:14 GMT -5
There was a time when he was a kit, when he asked his mother what the secret to power was. She had turned to him, a gleam in her golden eyes, and spoken something about keeping one's friends close, and one's enemies closer. There was a time when he was a trainee, when he asked his father what the secret to power was. He had scoffed, and told him in that arrogant, self-assured drawl, to never let anyone see that anything bothered them. If you didn't care about anything, they'd never get to you.
Try as he might, Bermondsey could never learn that lesson fully because the moment the pebble landed on his head, his eyes flashed and every emotion, from irritation to straight out murder, seemed to flash across his expression, his claws immediately glinting in the faint light as he turned to the direction it had come from, and from that idiot cat who was flicking pebbles at his head as if he was Quirrel disguised as Voldemort.
"What the fox do you think you're doing," he snapped, already bounding up towards the other cat. It was a wonder how Alistair had ever struck any type of emotion in a cat because Bermondsey certainly didn't have the same air or puffery in that long, gangly frame of his.
