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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Brookclan was by far the most challenging of his few assignments. Most clans were easy, straightforward and rather accepting of the ‘loner’ Skye, who was tired of the solitary life and seeking to join a clan. Never before had he explained the truth- that he was merely performing espionage as a spy for Renegade Regime. After a while, he simply decided clan life wasn’t for him, returning to the Regime. Most cats were quick to trust the small gray tabby tom; his bright presence was disarming, his frenetic energy charming, but none of this mattered much in Brookclan. They were so serious, so structured, not unlike how the Regime could be.
So for now, the new ‘member’ of the voiny was laying low, hunting for the monarchy and keeping an eye on the rest of the group.
He's lost track of how long he's been away from home now. Well, not home - this is his home now. This... wonderful, cheerful place which suits him just perfectly, populated by the kindest of cats and not at all by violent, status-hungry monarchists. Just like every other decision in his life, this had been a sensible, well-thought out plan that hadn't at all been a spur-of-the-moment mess influenced by a BrookClan tom with a pretty face and cruel eyes. Not at all. And, oh, it's gone well! He hasn't had his chest torn out yet, so, really, everything isn't really all that bad at all! He can imagine how smug his brother must be back in NightClan - oh, yet another romance didn't work out for little Doefreckle? We are all so very surprised. He hopes that's all Flickerflame is feeling, wherever he is on the other side of the border, past the rotten, misty marsh and the scent markings that still make the back of his neck prickle with the feeling of... not right.
He doesn't like to think about the alternatives, about all the worry and grief.
So, he doesn't. He pushes them down with all the other feelings he doesn't like to linger on, all the other feelings he pretends he doesn't know the names of, all the ones that aren't happy and positive and nice.
He limps through the marshland without paying much attention to where he's going, damp paws carrying him unthinkingly through tall grasses and patches of yellow-specked gorse, his injured leg sticking out awkwardly and forgotten to the side. Moisture turns his underside dark, brown water dripping from the wet fur and sending rivulets pulsing outwards across the surface of the bog. He ducks beneath one of the bushes-- and loses himself in a spiderweb. He shrieks and leaps around madly, batting at his face with his paws, rolling through the sodden grass, wailing frantically-- and ends up at the paws of another cat. He looks up from where he's sprawled in the grass, eyes wide, sticky strands of web dangling from his ears and stirring in the breeze. Oh, he's cute. Oh, yes. Oh, Lord, me-likey. He stares for a moment at the other tom before breaking into a crooked, self-deprecating grin. "Hullo," he says, still lying at his front paws. "Good hunting?"
Skye watched the tom with bright jade eyes, amused by the spectacle that Doefreckle had caused. His past as a Scout meant he had gone through extensive training in hunting and tracking, and he had heard the tom's approach before he had begun shrieking. "Yeah, pretty good hunting." He shrugged casually, tilting his head at the moderate pile of mice and birds beside him. "Did you, ah, have a good trip?" He couldn't help but crack a joke, despite the fact he wasn't supposed to make too many friends. Serious had never been his style.
This tom was unfamiliar to him, though he had only been in Brookclan for a few days. He seemed nice so far- attractive, and not too uppity about falling over himself in front of a stranger.
"Oh, you're a funny one, aren't you?" Doefreckle play-growled, looking up at the tom with a half-glare and a sharp grin. After a moment, he relaxed back into a warm, cheerful smile, pushing himself into a sitting position and shaking out his fur, sending droplets flying through the air. "No, see, it's all about technique - listen closely, you might learn something - and my signature move--" Here, he flashed a proud, self-effacing grin and sat up taller, shaking out the fur on his cheeks. "--is frightening all the prey away to make it more difficult for everyone else. But where's the logic in that, you might ask - and good question, my pretty, unnamed friend who I am very soon going to introduce myself to, don't worry, I might reply. But the beauty of it is that everyone else gets to hone their hunting skills trying to catch prey that absolutely cannot possibly be caught, and I get to not do anything that I absolutely do not possibly want to do - which, in this case, is hunting. I'm a terrible hunter - I know, I know, very surprising, try not to gawp. My brother would call it selfish, leaching off everyone else's catches, but I don't really think these lovely paws of mine were made to be ruined with physical labour and someone has to take care of the burdensome task of being the most eligible bachelor in the forest, don't you think? And, yes, I am a bachelor, in case you were wondering, and I rather hope you were." He grinned and eyed the tom admiringly for a long moment before snapping back to the moment. "So, yes, the point I'm getting around to is you're very pretty and I'm an utter failure at hunting. Failed my test three times." He let out a warm, bubbly laugh. "I think, in the end, they let me graduate just because it was so horribly embarrassing for us all."
He tapped his forepaw against the other tom's chest, looking him up and down for a moment and hoping that his pleased grin isn't too lecherous. "Anyway - you are BrookClan, aren't you? I don't have a terribly good track record of putting border-crossers in their place and I'm starting to fear for my life." He laughed, feigning a nervous wince. He wasn't joking. They really might kill him at this point if he continued flirting with trespassers instead of butchering them. He'd never been very good at butchering. Talking, he was very good at. Bloodletting? Not so much.
Skye's eyebrows had risen slowly while the other tom spoke, thoroughly amused by his ramblings. Skye was energetic and impulsive, but he didn't have quite the talent for talking on like Doefreckle did. So he listened, and laughed heartily at the end of the speech. "Yeah, yeah, I'm Brookclan. Kind of new, actually. And no, I don't have a mate. My name is Skye- you didn't tell me yours, yet." His green eyes sparkled like jades set in his small, sharp-featured face.
Doefreckle’s ears pricked up at the other tom’s laughter, a delighted grin spreading across his face, dazzling in its innocence. Living in BrookClan, it had been quite some time since he’d heard such genuine laughter, without any of the malice or deceit laced through it like fine lace. Realising he was still grinning, he forced his face back into a smile, eyes shining with warmth and heart as light as sunshine, and let out a purr.
“Good! Good. Skye. Very pretty. The name. And you. The name and you. Both, uh,” he let out a flustered breath of a laugh, smile melting into something lop-sided and bashful, “both very pretty. Oh! And I’m Doefreckle. If we’re doin’ the whole one-name-thing, though, you can call me Doe. Or Freckle. Or… Doef. Maybe not Doef. Uh—where are you from, then? I’m new, too, really. Well, new-ish. I grew up in NightClan but I’ve been here for… a few moons now.” He edged a little closer and leaned in to murmur, eyes darting around playfully like he was committing treason, "not terribly good at introductions, are they? I don't know half their names and at this point I'm too embarrassed to ask."
"I must say, I've never been called pretty before. It's very flattering," Skye stood up and sank into a deep stretch, letting the tension in his shoulders pop and relax. This tom was rather charming, and this was the first time he was truly pleased with a conversation since he'd gotten here. "I grew up as a friendly loner-" a lie, but necessary. "But I've always been intrigued by clan life. Brookclan is fine, sure, but you're right about their social skills. And they got some strange deities, that's for sure. It sure is nice to meet you, Doef." Skye shot Doefreckle a bright smile, whiskers twitching. "If you're not so great at hunting, I could walk you around the forest and show you my signature moves. Maybe you'd get better."
Doefreckle should have said something funny, something witty, something charming to seal the deal – should have said something like well, that’s the real crime, then, isn’t it? Maybe he should have said something sweet, something sappy, like if you let me, I’d never stop flattering you. But he didn’t say either of those things. Instead, he just smiled, a little dumbfounded at having said something right, and very much dazed as he watched the other tom sink into a stretch. He stared for a long moment, dreamy and almost drooling, before he realised Skye was speaking again.
Doef. He tittered giddily, feeling the tips of his ears redden as his smile widened and his eyes crinkled. He didn’t much like to speak ill of other cats’ deities, but he silently agreed; when it came down to it, he’d never truly relinquished his belief in StarClan. “Signature moves, ey?” he echoed, getting to his paws and nudging the other tom with his shoulder, a gesture that was as playful as it was questioning – he didn’t particularly mind flirting with toms who were more interested in she-cats, but he’d also been turned on by enough of them to be wary. Some certainly didn’t like the affront on their masculinity, and he had the scars to show for it. “You think a loner knows something about hunting that a Clan cat, born and raised in the blood of sacrificial squirrels, doesn’t? You think you can possibly teach me something that my illustrious mentor did not? You think there is any possible way you could be better at hunting than me? Well, you are absolutely right! Lead on, pretty.” He flicked his head in some vague direction, looking Skye up and down once more before locking eyes with him and offering a lop-sided grin that was far friendlier than the impure, far less innocent thoughts flitting behind his gaze.
Skye grinned at the tom's italics once more, before rolling back his shoulders. "You have to warn me if I get too close to the border, you know," he said as he moved towards the woods and away from the marshlands. "I've never been great with border markers." He walked a few paces into the sparse trees and turned to Doefreckle. "Show me your hunting crouch. I know a few tips and secrets that some clan cats don't." As a former scout, he was accustomed to hunting below and above ground, and had been drilled in keeping silent as he moved. He didn't mind sharing a few pointers, even if it was technically Regime knowledge.
"Oh," Doefreckle laughed, a little bashful, a little boastful, as he limped along at Skye's side towards the shelter of the woodland. "Me? Borders? Never heard of 'em. I've always thought they're more bother than they're worth, quite honestly - might frighten some cats enough to keep them out, but they certainly frighten cats within one's own Clan enough to keep them trapped in. And, I mean, at what point does a border become a prison, y'know? Don't tell anyone I said that," he added quickly, laughing guiltily and flashing Skye a shy half-grin. "Genuinely worried they'll chop my ears off at some point."
It was cooler beneath the shadows of the trees, the air damp and sweet-smelling; a stream trickled nearby and birds chattered and sang over their heads. He soaked it all in happily. Show me your hunting crouch. Doefreckle tipped his head to the side, smiling mischievously. "Please," he replied teasingly, eyes glittering, but dropped obediently into a crouch. "I haven't been an apprentice for some time, m'lord." His hunting crouch was awkward and lop-sided, too high on the side of his injured foreleg and too low on the other side in an attempt to over-compensate; he was under no illusions that it was terrible and smiled up at Skye like he was waiting for the inevitable uncomfortable comment that usually came from cats trying to help him whilst tip-toeing around the obvious problem. It came from a good place, really - they didn't want to offend him. But, soft as his heart was, he had thick skin, and he'd learned very quickly to laugh at his own disability. "Told you I was bad," he purred, ready to stand back up.
Skye nodded seriously as he assessed the crouch, thinking to himself. "Your leg is messed up, and you're not adapting your crouch properly," he informed Doefreckle, walking in a slow circle to take in the whole crouch. "Does it hurt to put pressure on your leg? And if it does, how much?" Skye needed the information to properly adapt the crouch. He genuinely enjoyed teaching hunting, one of the few things he was good at, and Doefreckle was a unique student, giving him a unique puzzle to solve. "If you're bad, it's not your fault. You just need someone who knows what they're doing." He broke his serious expression to give him a reassuring grin, already feeling comfortable with the other tom.
Doefreckle stayed where he was, ignoring the way his leg wobbled unsteadily beneath his weight. He watched the other tom with a faint smile as he padded around him, thoroughly enjoying watching the way he transformed before his eyes into a detached tutor, all efficiency and commitment. He loved watching others work, loved seeing them solve problems and lose themselves in the things they did best; those who can't do, teach, was how the old saying went. In his case, those who couldn't do, watched - and he loved every moment of it. Your leg is messed up. Doefreckle's smile widened; he wasn't used to his injury being spoken about so frankly. Most others just tip-toed around it and tried so very hard to look like they weren't staring. The honesty made for a nice change. He nodded along, feeling his skin prickle under Skye's serious gaze.
"It hurts, yeah," Doefreckle replied softly, suddenly shy about discussing it himself; it made embarrassment crawl under his fur like a thousand nervous little spiders, as if just admitting any sort of truth about it would bring the reality of how it was fractured into the light. He wasn't quite ready to talk about that night - wasn't even really ready to think about it. He didn't consciously try to repress many things; that memory was one of the few. "Quite a bit, actually." He tried a smile; it dissolved into a wince when he shifted a little more weight onto his foreleg. Ordinarily, he could simply forget about his injury and block it out behind a screen of bright smiles and positivity. If he were to let himself think about it, he'd hardly get out of his nest in the morning. The pain was a dull, constant ache most of the time; now, it was white-hot and sharp as teeth. "It's made my hind-legs quite strong though," he went on more cheerily, offering a big smile that only felt half-forced, "so, I can sort of... push off first and worry about whether or not I fall on my face later."
If you're bad, it's not your fault. You just need someone who knows what they're doing. Doefreckle grinned. "Oh, you're a flatterer, aren't you? Know exactly what to say to make someone feel special." He rose a little in his crouch, grin melting into a softer sort of playful that was almost earnest. "And, so, you're what I need, are you? You're gonna make me blush with all this sweet-talk."
"Me telling you that your leg is messed up and that you need improvement is flattery?" Skye's concentration broke, and he made eye contact for several long seconds with Doefreckle before laughing. "You're cute. Kind of confusing, but cute. Maybe a steady head like me is what you need." With that comment, he moved forward, deciding to adjust his position as if he didn't even have a front leg.
"Keep more of your weight shifted back, and off your injured leg. If you balance between your hind leg, you won't be so lopsided." Skye prodded him- gently- into position. "From this position, if you get close, you can still use your back legs to jump a longer distance and catch the prey with your teeth, or under your good leg. I'm not really a fighter, but in battle this position works too- you'll have a hard time lashing out with just one of your front legs, so your teeth are your best bet."
Skye adjusted his balance once more, then showed him how to move semi-quietly, extending his front foot and then shimmying forward. It wasn't a perfect solution, but there wasn't an ideal fix. This, though, would work better than his starting position. "Just practice the crouch and movement, and you should get better at catching prey."
