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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It was the kind of day that in small town neighborhoods would have had all the children running around outside, flying kites and racing around and causing who knows what trouble. The kind that made up 1950s small town americana asthetic and equally perfect victorian england afternoons; the kind the entire world across the ages seemed to agree was the definition of beautiful and vibrant, of youthful joy and fond nostalgic memories. Bright blue skies dappled with white clouds, a soft spring breeze, the flowers blossoming with mid-spring vigor. It was perfect, near artistic, almost out of a picturebook. And it was hard to believe that anyone could not be enjoying it, least of all the kits of Summerclan.
And yet, curled up in a small moss nest, a tiny cream puff of fur against the emerald green, was Marigoldkit. Quietly, inattentively, in a sort of half-awake half- dreamy sort of way, he was tracing pictures in a small patch of dirt right in front of them, paw outstretched over the lip of their bedding and barely reaching out far enough to be able to fully touch the earth to make anything that wasn't heavily constrained by his short, stubby legs -- but he seemed perfectly content in that. In staying soft and warm and safe in bed, where nothing bad could possible happen. The outside world, whatever it held, was a distant afterthought.
If Summerclan was the perfect picture, suburbian summer day in a white picket-fenced neighbourhood, Monsterkit was the dark storm cloud lurking in the far horizon, vaguely noticeable, vaguely threatening. He was unreasonably bitter, staring out the exit of the nursery with a twisted, angry expression, thinking of every way possible he could ruin someone’s day for the sheer fact that they were having fun and he wasn’t. But he’d been death glaring all morning and nobody had noticed, let alone approached to ask what was wrong, so with a huff he turned and stalked back into the nursery.
It was nearly empty save for one of the newer kits, who he sneered at as he passed. “What are you doing here, newbie? This is my moping place.” He flopped into his next, paws outstretched in front of him. He had built it himself in the corner, with moss stolen from other nests and twigs he’d picked up off the ground, all woven together in a mess that hardly resembled anything at all. He always got poked awake in the middle of the night by odd sticks, but they were a good alternative to chew on when he really had the urge to bite people. Which happened a lot.
His two amber eyes, already like twin little red moons on a good day, somehow managed to widened even more at just the sound of the snear. It took them jerking their head up to even get a sight of the other kit, but once he did he just froze, like a trapped deer in the headlights. Paw still straight out, stuck and frozen, as if somehow, some way, if they didn't move they'd just ignore them, they'd just forget that they had ever even existed. As if somehow, freezing up would make them go invisible.
But then a soft, small sense of shame and awkwardness burned through them, and even more fear at being so exposed, so outstretched. It was almost a primal sort of feeling, of being so exposed and open to attack, and so slowly, like a cord being carefully winded in onto itself, he began to pull himself together, in a tiny, small, round little thing that was all collapsed in on himself; only his head, still tucked into his body as much as possible, could be seen. He was like a tinsy cream tortoise, and even his eyes softly fell to the ground submissively, trying his hardest not to make eye contact.
"Sorry. I didn't mean to." It was a soft, hoarse little reply, and it truly did sound sorry. Not apologetic, just sorry, just pitiful and as scared as it was confused. He had just been sitting there, in his own nest, not trying to make any scene at all, and somehow, some way, he had ended up in the wrong place at the wrong time. And he believed Monsterkit, he truly did believe in some way he had intruded on the other's place; he always felt like he ended up in the wrong place at the wrong time, it wasn't hard for him to believe he had somehow managed it now. Was there ever a right place to be? Would he ever find it? The questions mattered little right now, he just wished he hadfound the right place, or at least the one that had been far away from Monsterkit's ire.
With his nose tucked into the moss of his nest, he didn't notice Marigoldkit's plight, only catching a whisper of a spoken apology, softer and more sincere than anything he had ever experienced before. He was always surrounded by kits too loud for their own good, himself included, and the genuine, quiet dismay almost caught him off guard. "It's. . ." he wanted to say something meaner, something that stung, something that hurt, but he couldn't find it in himself. He had woken up tired. The bad tired. The kind of tired that brought not anger at the world, but anger at himself, bad moods but no energy to take them out on anyone, and so they festered instead, only making the situation worse. He felt weak and lonely, and those were both some of his least favourite feelings in the world.
"It's whatever." He mumbled, but it was quiet enough in the nursery that Marigoldkit would have caught his words. After a few seconds, he turned over on his stomach, lifting his neck to catch a glimpse of the ginger ball the other had tightened himself into before letting it flop back. Monsterkit tore a piece of moss off the edge of his nest and massaged it into a ball, pulling at it with his claws.
"Your sister is annoying." He commented, voice holding a certain bored drawl to it. "Why'd you just show up one day with your dad or whatever. Where's your mum?" He wasn't asking because he was exactly interested, but silence always sounded too loud, too overwhelming for him, which was why he never seemed to stop talking.
He wanted to defend his sister, he wanted to say she was not annoying, that she was kind and nice and that she was wonderful. But those words wouldn't have come out even if he had wanted them to; he could feel the resentment at the statement rise, then the fear at daring to say a rebuttle, and then the low, burning shame at the fact he knew he wouldn't dare contradict the tom. It was humiliating, it was heartbreaking, it made him more mad at himself than he was at the other kit. He was half aware of the way his lower-lip seemed to stiffen and quiver with all the emotions he wanted to unleash into the world, but each was too caught in his throat, held by fear and chagrin, and so his emotions just stewed.
"Why'd you just show up one day with your dad or whatever. Where's your mum?" The question shook the tiny kit, it took his mind off of his prior feels just a bit, and he rose his eyes just slightly, just enough to see Monsterkit's paws and the moss he was massaging, before he softly lowered them again. It hurt. He was too young to know truly why it hurt; the lantent sense of abandonment, the sense of being the other in the room. But feelings didn't answer questions, and fear was a good motivator to swallow all their odd subconcious emotions down and to try and find the most simple, logical way to respond to the other tom's inquiry.
"Grandfather." Was the first quiet, gentle correction. It was followed by a wary pause, another small lift of his eyes to see how Monsterkit responed to the implication he was wrong, before continuing with a short, soft, "And she's gone." That too was a pathetic litle response, shy and filled with some solemn mix of emotiosn. It was sadness, of course there was sadness, but it was uneasy in another way too. The uneasy way that only tiny, frail life that still should have been relying on their other's love could sound; it was desperation.
"Oh." He didn't sound too sincere at all, no hint of symapthy or sorrow in his voice, no regret at asking the question in the first place. Perhaps it was childhood naivety, or perhaps it was his own foolishness, his apathetic nature mixed in with his own experiences, the loss of his own parents. To him, it was just a thing that happened sometimes; he couldn't understand the sadness of it, the weight, even if the problems that came along already took root. "Mine too. Like," the moss ball caught on his claw, and he flung it across the room, lifting his head as it hit Marigoldkit, "bam. Now she's dead. My dad's probably somewhere, don't know where though. I'm not sad though." Finally, he sat up in his nest, yellow eyes peering curiously at the other kit. Monsterkit was as accustomed to abandonment at he was. One of the few differences between them, aside from the fact that he had actually known his father before he left, was the fact that he had no other support system — he wasn't easy to be friends with, he hated talking about his feelings, he had no other family and he was too old to have to nurse. His fierce independence drove everyone else away.
He scrunched his brows. "And I don't think you should be either. You seem like you never have any fun around here. I mean, maybe that makes sense with Sunrisekit and Moonrisekit around, because nobody can have fun around them. They're the worst. But, like, doesn't it get boring?"
"Mine too" At that his eyes slowly started to rise up again, this time shakely rising to, although not-quite Monsterkit's gaze, at least where he could see Monsterkit clearly nevertheless. For a moment, there was something like pity, something like a mutual understanding. The sense that this other kit understand what it felt like to be odd and exposed and alone, that he was someone who might, secretly, in spite of of how scary he sounded, feel as lost and insecure as he felt. And then Monsterkit said he wasn't sad, and that entire little cardhouse of illusions came tumbeling down on him. He felt a prickle of embaresment as he let his eyes fall a little more in a slow return to their prior position; as if to have hoped at all was shameful thing.
He only barely knew how to answer Monsterkit's next question. He had resolved long ago that not saying much was something of a safety net, but saying too little made people think you were brushing them off. And so he paused, because he knew he did have fun, at least, what he thought was fun. But he had already realized, from his siblings alone, that his version of fun seemed to very rarely be anyone else's version of fun. At some point though, he knew he would have to respond, and so, softly as ever, he spoke up. "I have fun... What I think is fun... What do you consider fun?" He rambled, and the question came out with an evident fearful hesitance that rose from daring to ask anything from the other tom. But it seemed like good deflection for now.
If Monsterkit felt any sort of understanding with Marigoldkit, he didn't realize it — though perhaps he would with time, when enough of it had passed to allow him to be completely open, completely honest about his feelings, his hurt. He regarded him with a squinted gaze for a moment, not noticing the way his face fell, ashamed, at his words, only saw the same, sad face he'd put to his same, sad voice. To him, crying about his lost mother was the same as crying over a toy being stolen or being called a mean word or being pushed.
What do you consider fun? He thought for a moment. What did he consider fun? Whenever Monsterkit tried to have fun, everyone always told him to knock it off, or they were rude about it, or he got in trouble. His idea of fun was as strange as whatever Marigoldkit's was. "I like putting bugs in Sunrisekit's nest — she really hates it. 'Cuz she's a little pretty princess or whatever. And. . . the other day I pretended to hunt a mouse, but it was actually just freshkill and I was told to stop playing with my food. But I wasn't hungry enough to eat it. Going outside is fun, but I'm not allowed to do that alone yet. But nobody takes me. But I asked you first."
There was a long pause after Monsterkit threw the question back at them, but after a while of uneasy, lingering silence, Marigoldkit spoke up. "I like playing with bugs too." It was another soft, barely above a whisper response, and with a definite hesitance. Because they were fully aware that really, Monsterkit had neither said he played with bugs, and nor did Marigoldkit really consider what he did with bugs playing -- at least, not in a similar sense to what Monsterkit was explaining.
He liked watching bugs, he liked following them around with wide, amber eyes, taking in their every feature with a tiny pink nose just inches away from them. He liked quietly observing them, learning everything about them, making a quiet catalogue of all the different ones he could find. Really what he was doing was studying them, but Marigoldkit was too young to fully understand that. It was fun to him, so it was "playing", though even they knew it wasn't fun or playing in the way most kits had fun or played. It made them feel odd and uncomfortable to admit even now because of it, because it made them feel somewhat outlandish. But it was just another wave of awkwardness and shame that chocked them up, and it was hard to really feel like it was some new thing or something to even take much account of, when they always felt an underlying feeling of being odd, or different, or out of their element. The only thing notable about it this time was that it just felt stronger in that moment, being so close to one of their peers.
"Okay. Well I'm bored. Let's go find cool bugs." It was as close to a friendly request as anyone was going to get out of Monsterkit, and truthfully he wasn't exactly sure why he had said it in the first place. Bugs were bugs. He didn't like studying them or watching them or following them around, he only used them for the sole purpose of annoying someone else, and if he wasn't doing that he was squishing them under his paws. His boredom had just gotten too intense. He'd been cooped up in this stupid, dark den all day with nobody to hang out with, and Marigoldkit just happened to be the closest poor sap he could find that would, probably, go along with whatever he wanted. Whether out of pure interest or fear, Monsterkit didn't care. He stared at the other kit expectantly — not hopefully, not that he would ever admit to wanting to hang out, he would have asked just anyone, right? Certainly it didn't really matter who.
"O-okay...?" He accepted quietly, because there was no way that Marigoldkit would have ever actually told the other kit an outright no. In fact, even though they were stunned at the request, slightly terrified by it, the fact that he could have said anything else never crossed his mind. So, even though the very idea of moving, of getting up, of going anywhere beyond his warm nest with anyone other than a member of his family was utterly horrifying to him, he still agreed, because what else could he do?
Of course, agreeing was one matter, actually standing up and doing what he had just agreed to was another. There was a long, achingly drawn out span of time in which Marigoldkit did nothing, just stayed there in quiet, awkward silence, until the fear of what would happen if they didn't do something outweighed the fear of moving from where he laid. So slowly, steadily, he started to un-furl himself, like a small cream-colored ball of yarn slowly turning into a living thing once more. His tiny paws slowly poked out from under him as he, in the most painfully slow manner possible, rose to his feet, and inched, like a snail (but with decidedly less urgency), towards the edge of his nest. He hovered there a moment, tossing his gaze over at Monsterkit once more, slightly terrified to see his reaction to how clearly drawn out he was making the process. And, out of fear of what he was going to see when his eyes quickly, briefly met Monsterkit's, he gave a small, sheepish hop out of the nest. He had probably made what most kits did in a second take about over half a minute, but by some grace of god he had actually, finally left his nest.
O-okay...? He looked as bored as he did before, straight-faced, eyes hooded, and even though it didn't show, he felt somewhat. . . better, that Marigoldkit had decided to come along. "Cool." The word was quick, as Monsterkit was already making his way towards the exit of the nursery, stomping out with an aggressive sort of laxness to him, pausing just outside to look around. First, his gaze found the exit tunnel, tempting and beckoning in its mystery. Then, he looked towards the hill and the garden on top of it.
Begrudgingly, he waited for Marigoldkit, giving a sour look as he finally caught up, though he didn't give any sort of snide remark. His tail, a short, half-stubby little thing, jabbed in the direction of the hill. "We're going up there. There's got to be bugs, 'cuz there's lots of flowers and and grass and stuff." As if the camp wasn't the same way, but truthfully, Monsterkit wanted to get as far as he possibly could without warranting attention from the adults — if they went too far, they'd get in trouble, and as much as he didn't care for trouble or for the rules, he didn't feel like being heckled, especially with someone as soft as Marigoldkit at his side, who surely would give in the moment he heard the start of a reprimanding. He marched off once more, towards a break in the gorse wall around camp that allowed entrance to the garden.
