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!
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lil flash rp for the sibs! <3 woofchilde @starkravingmad
Brat sat with her siblings at the back of a trial, every bit the street urchins who collected bloodied hair from the guillotines to sell as morbid souvenirs to the bourgeoisie with ready money. She was utterly desensitised to the cruelty, lounging beside King and throwing her head back to laugh madly when one of the accused lost the trial and lost their head. “That was a good one,” she crowed to her siblings, looking from side to side. She pointed to where blood was blooming beneath the accused’s throat; the crowd around them roared in celebration, the ones at the very front — the prime seats everyone vied for — spattered with blood. “Look at his eyes! They’re bulging like bugs.” Brat wasn’t wicked; she was just a kit who’d never known any other life, who’d had a prison for a playground and treason trials for entertainment since the time she first opened her eyes. She looked from side to side at her siblings again, smiling and holding out her shell filled with food best left unnamed. “Snacks?”
King, freed from Kier for the time being, sat with her back to the events. While her littermates grappled for half the things she was naturally afforded, the trials and executions and giddy judgments from a jury more interested in penalties than forgiveness wore on her; they bored her. Sitting in the gallows, close enough to taste the clotted air, just wasn't as interesting the ten-thousandth time around as it was the first.
Her eyes flitted open, slowly, as Brat began to bristle at her side, and King groaned, rolling away. "Oh, yes, yes!" she slurred with force enthusiasm, sounding more like Duskpaw had when reciting the forced narrative than someone at all interested in what Brat was cheering for. "Isn't it just lovely how the executioners can turn cats into literal fountains? Have you been up close enough to see the muscles in their necks constrict? Have you caught a head yet? Maybe we could catch one and use the leftover braincells to supplement the ones you obviously lack," she finally snapped. The drug-addled haze began to fade from her eyes, and all that was left of King was the apathetic vessel, lifeless and hollow.
