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.
Music blared in her ears, pounding bass that seemed to shake her to her very core. The beautiful tortoiseshell wreathed around the bodies behind the nightclub, lights spilling out of the open door and splashing against the bloodstained ground. Nearby, cats had made a ring, and in the center were two fighters. It was always like this at Noceur's parties. They turned quickly into bloodbaths, with cats taking turn fighting others to various stages of injury, whether to surrender, unconsciousness, or death. The last was naturally the most popular, and the rogues in particular loved to bet on winners. Currently, the former Regime Sentinel himself was in the ring, and his opponent, a scrawny little tabby, though the rogue had an cunning intelligence in his gaze, and was quick on his paws, was truly no match for the trained Mercenary. Noceur seemed to be making quick work of him, ripping the poor tom's tail, what was left of it after being in the streets anyway, clean off. He tossed it to the crowd to wild cheers, cats clamoring to be the one to take such a trophy home, even fighting each other to try and get at it.
For her part, she lounged atop one of the dumpsters, watching the scene with something similar to boredom. She liked the fights without the tom better, if she was honest. He made for a good show, but it was far too predictable. He hadn't been beaten yet, and Lastaffair truly doubted anyone really wanted to best him. After all, that would mean the end of the parties, and who wanted their source of entertainment to die?
Her eyes roved over the party, iridescent gaze looking for something a touch more interesting than this battle.
Eshek was at her most chaotic. The thunderous bass leeched under her skin and engulfed her, her heartbeat thumping wildly against her chest like a thick, half-numb fist; she could feel herself vibrating, her paws moving without her telling them to, her eyes darting, her hearing muffled and crackling like they'd been stuffed with static and cotton. She felt herself shrieking, laughing, screeching, falling over strangers, confessing imagined secrets to fawning toms and disappearing into the crowd with raw-throated laughter a moment later. The world was out-of-focus and dark around the ages; everything was just streaks of light and the sickening sweetness of blood. She stumbled around the party in an over-stimulated stupour, grinning at nothing, staggering over paws and tails, losing herself in the symphony of voices and darkness and pounding music.
Somewhere along the way, she started telling a blood-specked tom some sort of story she couldn't remember the beginning of once she'd started, and a small audience gathered, and before long, she was thrilling them with some tale she was making up as she went, rowdy and sloppy and half-out of her mind. Carnage. Murder. Torture. The atmosphere of the party was infectious, and she was sick enough to fall victim. "—over bridges, over rivers, over walls," she continued, as the little tabby in the circle was torn apart and the crowd screamed in feverish delight, gore raining down upon them, "oh, I chased that cute little kittypet as far as his little, smooshy baby legs would take him. Such a little trooper — these big eyes, y'know, so cute. When..." Her gaze caught on a she-cat lounging on a dumpster over the shoulder of the cat in front of her, all boredom and apathy and better than this. Eshek opened her mouth to continue - forgot what she was saying - closed it again. "I'll uh—" She still couldn't take her eyes off the other she-cat. "I'll..." Glancing at the nearest cat in her little audience, she offered a quick, meaningless smile, and shouldered past them with a quick little, "bye."
She jostled through the crowd towards the base of the dumpster, shook out her legs and her head with a brrr sound, and leaped up to join the she-cat. "Hi," Eshek purred— and slid back off the dumpster with a comically alarmed look at the other cat, her front claws scrabbling uselessly at the lid and leaving shallow scores in the plastic. She thumped back down onto the wet, glossy pavement, shook herself out, and tried again — she still misjudged the distance and landed with an awkward stumble and unsheathed claws, but she covered it with an amused purr and a sharp, crooked grin, one paw raised daintily in the air. "Hi," she tried again, sitting down beside her and wrapping her tail around her paws. Up here, it was a little quieter, the bass lost to the teaming crowd below. They looked like a swarm of blood-crazed rats. Her smile grew; she flicked her head around to look at the other she-cat. "Come here often?"
Her gaze settled on Eshek as the feline recounted some tale, passed over her a moment later, until the crowd seemed to break up in bewilderment when she left it. The warrior's whiskers twitched in what might have been amusement as the League cat made an utter fool of herself when trying to climb up beside her. She seemed particularly intent on meeting a random SunClan cat, and Lastaffair couldn't imagine why. All the same, she couldn't help a slight, senseless laugh at the actions of her new companion, intrigued in a way that stole her breath away, nerves suddenly rippling through her pelt. It was a terrible odd feeling, and the she-cat immediately squished them, chiding herself internally. What was wrong with her? So a cat fell off a dumpster, what's so funny about that? Why in the hell are you nervous? You don't even know her. But I'd like to.
Shoving her internal monologue into the deepest recesses of her mind, Lastaffair found herself looking over Eshek on instinct, internally pleased, for whatever reason, with what she found. It's nothing, I'm just admiring a pretty she-cat. "Often enough that I'm surprised I don't know you." She commented, tilting her head in expectation. "Not to say I'm surprised that a League cat has joined in on this blood fest."
Eshek felt her skin prickle under the eyes of the other she-cat. There was something about this other cat — aside from the stench of SunClan — that was so... untainted. New. Eshek stared at her as she spoke, eyes flicking over her body and drinking in the faint curiosity in her eyes, before her face split into a pleased grin. She's never been with a she-cat, she realised, shivering with delight.
"Oh, well, you know what they say," Eshek chirped, voice hoarse and blood-high. "Never pass up a little fun, even if the host is a bit—" The crowd below them broke into a roar, female voices rising higher than the rest into a cacophony of raw-throated screams and cheers; Eshek shot to her paws, pelt half-rising with feverish excitement, and peered over the edge to see what was happening, claws digging into the rim of the dumpster, before glancing back over her shoulder at the other she-cat and offering a feral, hooked grin, "—extravagant."
She let out a shrill burst of laughter. "Maybe they don't say that, who knows?" With a grating purr, she slunk around the other she-cat, stepping carefully over her tail, and lay down carefully on her other side, forepaws dangling carelessly over the edge of the dumpster and claws glinting in the dim lighting. "So, what's a little Clan kitty like you doing so far out of your territory? Don't you know it's dangerous out here?" She leaned closer, eyes glinting and whiskers brushing the other she-cat's, and grinned, her purr traveling through her whole body and momentarily making her fur rise. She spoke tough but there was something about she-cats that made her so extraordinarily weak — they simply had to look at her and she was putty in their paws, a reverent little fool worshiping at their alter for a scrap of affection and more than happy to do it. Goddesses, as far as she was concerned; and she was so very ready to take up the cloth for any religion that centred around pretty faces and permanent scars.
