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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The city was his home of glitter and gilded gold, and he prowled the city like a casanova. Where a kittypet might often hide their collars in shame, Edom wore his like a crown, separating the rich from the poor, the metal tag glinting like the finest Cullinian diamond, a scepter to rule the masses. It was clear to all who saw him that he believed himself to be of something. He held the divine right to rule, at least in his head, and with a bark to a group of rogues, they immediately scampered off to do his bidding.
He wasn't an unkind king. After all, one must bribe their subject with gifts and promises, of bread and circuses to placate them into a bitter contentedness. Alas, he wasn't guarding the dumpster in which the best food of the city was thrown into, at least not tonight. The pale moon and cloudless sky was a sign that tonight was too good to waste on something as silly as the rats in the alleyways. No, tonight he had sauntered into the park where new cats often found themselves, silver eyes scanning the grounds for anything new, any piece of gossip or news of the groups that had left the city for the rogues once more.
After all, a king needed his messengers and servants, and who knows what one would find in the cultural mixing pot?
Kier frequented the park, a meeting point of all different passers-through and lowlifes and bitter disgraced eager to share Clan information to spite their banishers or carry out a task for tuppence, and right now he was crouched down with a rogue in the centre of the shambolic mess of cats. The air was filled with the low voices of many cats and many accents, smelling of smoke and spice and distant starvation. On these outings he always carried a little travelling purse of trinkets, just a small hessian bag tied around his scrawny waist from which he’d draw little scraps of gold or jewels or dried food — whatever little item useless to him but addictively valuable to them would make them speak. Whatever they craved, whatever they hungered for, he always had it. Despite the clear silver sky, Kier’s black fur still looked like molten shadow in the night, his demeanour perfectly calm and congenial and harmlessly, beguilingly confident — he spoke quietly and intimately and with a smile, laughed at the right times, flattered and sympathised and charmed, and when at times they dropped the very gold coins he’d given them, he’d be there to swipe them back towards him across the ground with a smile as they walked obliviously away. There were always questions about how Kier knew the things he knew; this was it.
When his latest business deal wandered away with a self-satisfied, cocky grin, thinking he’d gotten the most out of the deal, Kier sat up with a smaller, quieter smile and readjusted the bag against his hip, pulling back the cover without looking and subtly dropping a few more trinkets into it. They always were so wonderfully stupid. Standing, done with his usual informants and knowing with a single look all he needed to know about the rest, he slipped through the late-night crowd and headed in the direction of home. It was only at the edge that he neared someone he’d never seen before — but he was a kittypet, and they always had little to offer; many half a night had been wasted smiling and nodding in numb, seething disinterest when they trapped him in a conversation he couldn’t get out of no matter how hard he tried (“well, that is fascinating — but really I must be off” “oh well if you think THAT’S fascinating, you’ll love this!”; and sinking back down with a barely-contained, shackled-psychopath sigh). So, as he passed him, Kier only gave him a look up and down, pausing briefly, and teased cruelly, with a sadistic grin, “nice collar.”
dm me if you want to listen to me ramble about the interstellar soundtrack
2,314 posts
Post by achromatic on Dec 14, 2021 6:13:32 GMT -5
Edom had seen this cat in the distance as he sauntered by, silver eyes narrowed briefly in observation as he watched this newcomer chat with others. This scrawny rat-looking creature didn't look like much at all; in fact, from the scars on his pelt, he seemed like the kind of cat that'd easily fall in line, but he knew better than to assume. He could smell it on him, a wildcat, not unlike the one he had met years ago, with that pretty silver coat of hers. She carried the same scent too; he knew it was one of those groups out in the forest, perhaps even the same one too. Forest cats were so fun to play with; they came into this space thinking they knew how the world worked, that everyone would simply be a follower of theirs, that they could just fight and slash their way to what they wanted like spoiled little rats with nothing to offer. They sauntered here as if they owned the damn place, when in reality the locals only tolerated them for their amusement, like one would tolerate the local fool for the amusement they brought.
The creature had the same sardonic smirk as the last one he had met. Edom's eyes flickered from his face to his toes, as if looking at the world's biggest flea rather than an actual cat, before his eyes narrowed into that half-lidded look of knowing, his lips holding a thin smirk that looked so out of place on the innocent kittypet appearance he often meant to keep.
"Thanks," he replied smoothly, "I didn't think wild cats from those crummy little clans out there still crawled into the city you know. You don't look like much compared to the last one I saw though. You new?" The cat's eye caught onto the little bag he held. Intriguing, so he was a seller of wares perhaps? There were traders around here, travelling from all around, with strange new items they stole from all around, with plenty a story to tell too. This cat seemed a little young for that sort of life; after all, traders needed experience around here, no?
Then again, no one came in or out of this park without him knowing, and he matched the description of a few of the loners' stories, of a cat from the forests with a bag of trinkets, offering them to tellers of stories but when they left, the trinkets disappeared too, like a ghost.
"You don't happen to be the ghost cat with the disappearing jewels?" he asked, curiosity now written across his face, as if he had the distinct expression of someone who had met a local legend, if the legend was more on the 'bigfoot' side rather than the Tony Hawk side.
"Why, THANK YOU," Kier replied with mock cheer, his voice a relieved sigh that descended in register towards the end. "It's always so nice to know that in this changing world, one thing I can always rely on is being called rat or rodent or 'not very much at all.'" He smiled, tilting his head with his eyes narrowed hatefully. You new? The smile faded and his eyes narrowed further. "New-ish," Kier replied a little guardedly, eyes flicking up and down the tom once again, distrustful as he tried and failed to get the measure of him. He asked the questions; he didn't like people probing into his own affairs, not when he had no clue who they were or what they wanted.
You don't happen to be the ghost cat with the disappearing jewels? Kier laughed, relaxing ever so slightly; it was clear what this would end up being, two egotistical toms trying to assert their dominance with veiled words and charms and competitive flattery. "I don't put much stock by ghosts," he replied, not answering the question. He peered up at him. "Isn't it a little past your bedtime, kittypet? Oughtn't you to run along home to your twolegs and their little pellets? They might worry."
Grinning crookedly, he kept his eyes locked with the tom's for a moment longer, willing to leave this little contest there and chalk it up to a draw, before turning back the way he was going and slinking past him.
dm me if you want to listen to me ramble about the interstellar soundtrack
2,314 posts
Post by achromatic on Dec 17, 2021 5:19:53 GMT -5
Frankly Ezekiel had no idea what the other cat was talking about. Of course in his head, he was certain this cat looked more like a rodent than a cat, but it wasn't like that was something he'd speak aloud. Strange little tom with an overactive imagination; were all of those clan cats so beaten down that they'd find solace in the city like this? Were they all so devoid of any real contact with the outside world that they believed themselves right, they saw themselves somehow as some saviour, higher being chosen by whatever pathetic gods they believed in, to see themselves set apart from the apparent low lives that dwelled in lives separate from their little groups?
"You really shouldn't talk about yourself like that you know," he replied smoothly, "it's not very nice. Sounds like you should take it up against whoever called you a rat instead of taking it on everyone else around you."
There had always been whispers, that those 'clans' were more like cults, that those cats out there were so brainwashed into believing in whatever systems they allowed to run their lives, that anything outside of that system was strange and disorienting. Perhaps that was why it was so easy to manipulate that little silver kit that had come crawling to his home years ago. Surely this wasn't much different.
"You don't?" he purred in amusement, "well guess we're in the same boat." The non-answer was a good enough answer for everything. Still, these wildcats had such an entertaining idea of what kittypets were like. "Bedtime?" he chuckled, "evenings are my hours, my dear. I don't have to supervise my servants during these hours, well the human ones at least."
He allowed the naivete to slip into his voice. "I don't know what pellets you're talking about," he pondered thoughtfully, "if a kittypet's servants are feeding them bad food, that's their fault for not training their servants well enough. Me? I know how to do my job; I only get the best-cooked chicken they can possibly afford." He had a pair of millennial, child-free servants who would buy him a Gucci collar and Aesop body wash while using store brand and wearing tote bags and tattered converses to work, after all.
"You've ever met a human?" he chuckled, "you know, it's not hard to get yourself a servant, even with...your lovely disposition."
