Post by Storm on Sept 8, 2018 17:21:13 GMT
A hunger had been growing in his belly for a few days now. The young self-taught tom had a few unsuccessful hunts in the past three days, but what had made the kicking in his belly turn sour was the fact that it could have been satisfied. The messy white furred feline had made two kills and found some edible twoleg trash in town, but all three meals had been swiped away from him. The 10 moon old simply didn't have the confidence to face the rouges that had appeared at the smell of blood. So the nameless tom had stealthily slunk away as they came to investigate before they noticed him. The cat had taught himself how to fight and had even been in a few, but the skinny cat knew his chances were poor against the bigger aggressors. He didn't bother to run away with the kills or finds either, the rouges were less likely to follow him if he just left what they wanted. So that's what he had done and he'd gone hungry for it.
He had wandered nearer to the twoleg dens today, away from the bulk of the rouges, with the hopes of catching a bird flittering through the twolegs gardens. Worst case he wouldn't find anything, but at least the air was nice and clean here and he could figure out the different terrain. The walk took his bored mind off the thought of how hungry he was. The adventurous lank was enjoying his silent stroll as he catwalked across the top of a wooden fence, separating the back yard of a den from a street. His brilliant yellow blue gaze scanned the bushes and grass for birds hunting worms, big ears alert. But they didn't catch the flapping of wings and prodding through grass, instead a crude hiss snapped his attention down the road to his other side. Quickly after a shrill yowl echoed into his ear before fading into a whimper. The cat hustled down the fence and turned the corner to spot two cats on the hot pavement farther up. The unnamed tom held his position as he watched.
A large orange tabby stood, unbothered, as another black cat laid out on the ground, a collar around his neck and blood seeping from his flank. The young cat stood with a cold blank expression. Rouges attacking whomever they wanted - this unfair hunger in his belly, this was just the way of the world he lived in. His emotions were blank, heartless as he watched. He was far enough away to safely watch the show, if the tabby saw him he'd have plenty of time to clear out before she could catch him. He examined the situation as the tabby crept forward lashing her tail. The kittypet hadn't even risen yet though, he cowered and pedaled his forepaws to push away from her advance. What is he doing? The young tom thought, why won't he stand and fight? That’s what all the cats did in town, rouges and loners would duke it out until someone ran, couldn't continue or died. This cat though… He had heard things about the kittypets but had never actually seen one fight. It seemed the rude whispers were true, the twoleg toys were weak and cowardly from being cared for by the twolegs. The rouge slashed playfully at the cats shoulder now as it pitifully swiped back from the ground to back her up.
The white feline's claws twitched from their sheaths as he looked down at his paws. A feeling of guilt mixed with his hunger as his thought process worked. Honestly, who cared if the kittypets were twoleg toys... If they were weak and they had found a way to survive by being fed by the twolegs didn't that actually just make them survivors? It seemed almost smart to the tom, who himself was going hungry. It was similar to his philosophy on the clan cats, they needed numbers to survive, but hey they were surviving. If it worked for them what did it matter to one rouge on his own as long as they didn't bother him? Transparent whiskers twitching he drew in a breath and looked back to the scene unfolding. The tom didn't want to get involved, but she'd toyed with the cat enough, there was no reason for her to kill the innocent tom.
The lanky creature leapt down and landed on soft paws before slinking along the fence line from behind the she-cat. He was shurly in for a fight now, but he simply couldn't watch any more even if this was his way of life. The cat waited until he was close enough to strike as the rouge tormented the tom and then forcefully lunged at the she-cat, forepaw outreached with sharp white claws spread. The kittypets focus had been on his attacker while the nameless cat approached, but at his final step the cat had noticed and given away his position with his eyes. As the white cat launched to scrape up her flank and side the she-cat whipped her head around to follow her toys eye. She had turned directly into the toms attack and his claws missed their target, instead slicing up from her shoulder, across her throat and up to the other side of her chin. The nameless tom was stunned, but turned to face her as the she-cat stood in shock for a moment. Then after a gargle she collapsed on limp legs and lay dead in the street. A pile of bloody orange stripes.
The black kittypets eyes filled with horror. He again tried to push away but simply couldn't stand. The white tom stared at the body for a moment and briefly shot his eyes down to his bloodied claws, he should have felt bad... right? He hadn't meant to kill the cat, in fact he was pretty sure he was about to get a beating himself for interrupting, but he didn't feel anything. No, that wasn't it, he did feel different. Not good, but almost better... The hunger in his stomach almost seemed filled... maybe he did... enjoy that?
The tom turned to face the fear in the other cats eyes and offered a chuckle as if nothing had happened, "Don't worry, I had to do that to her so she wouldn't do it to you." He joked as he moved closer to nudge the cat to his feet. The tom had flinched, but slowly excepted the help to stand. The lanky cat allowed the injured tom to lean on him, "So where to?" He asked as he started to walk the cat back to it's twoleg nest.
He didn't clean the blood from his paw that night, it had dried and hardened, but he rather liked the feeling he had adjusted to. Today he was lazing in an alley in town as some other cats walked by. His attention peaked as they spoke of a white tom killing some rouge that had attacked his buddy. Someone had seen him. He listened as they discussed the blurry details incorrectly. Already the rumor had spread that a well known rouge near the twolegs nests had attacked a cat, not a kittypet in particular, and the cats white friend retaliated by killing her. The passing cats gossiped how they wanted to meet the rouge that killed the cat... the rouge? He was a rouge now? The nameless tom stood a little shaken at their words, a cat that hadn't made a ripple in the balance of their world was now the center of current rumors, a white rouge. They'd all know it was him, their was no hiding his pelt. The moment of panic washed away though as he glanced down to his reddened paw, his claws unsheathed a dug into the concrete. He'd done no wrong, he defended someone weak from someone unjust and he liked the feeling, even the feeling of taking the life of the terrible cat.
"I bet he's all scarred up and ugly," one of the cats mewed as the tom stepped from the side alley into their view. His mixed gaze held on them with a blank stare as they fell quiet and nervous now with the young cat there. They had made the connection quickly and the smell of blood on his fur washed away any of their doubt. He'd have to make a name for himself now so no one would try him again and if they did now he knew he could trust in the skills he learned on his own. He could play the role of a rouge, he already wandered as he pleased so why shouldn't he kill as he please... anyone that were scum to the area. "The name's Raptor." The messy white cat broke the silence, "I'd appreciate it if you didn't bad mouth me as if that fool could get a scratch on." He turned after his tough guy bluff and padded away. Raptor, that's what those white-tailed birds that dove from the sky when they hunted were called right? That seemed like an appropriate name, tough enough for a rouge too.
He had a name now, a rank among the outsiders too. All for doing what he thought was right, for finally acting and now he knew he was more skilled that he thought. He had learned quick and learned well. Raptor would do just fine living this way. Enjoying his time spent wandering and inflicting pain on the cruel. He would never think back to regret saving that kittypet as he grew older and more fierce.
He had wandered nearer to the twoleg dens today, away from the bulk of the rouges, with the hopes of catching a bird flittering through the twolegs gardens. Worst case he wouldn't find anything, but at least the air was nice and clean here and he could figure out the different terrain. The walk took his bored mind off the thought of how hungry he was. The adventurous lank was enjoying his silent stroll as he catwalked across the top of a wooden fence, separating the back yard of a den from a street. His brilliant yellow blue gaze scanned the bushes and grass for birds hunting worms, big ears alert. But they didn't catch the flapping of wings and prodding through grass, instead a crude hiss snapped his attention down the road to his other side. Quickly after a shrill yowl echoed into his ear before fading into a whimper. The cat hustled down the fence and turned the corner to spot two cats on the hot pavement farther up. The unnamed tom held his position as he watched.
A large orange tabby stood, unbothered, as another black cat laid out on the ground, a collar around his neck and blood seeping from his flank. The young cat stood with a cold blank expression. Rouges attacking whomever they wanted - this unfair hunger in his belly, this was just the way of the world he lived in. His emotions were blank, heartless as he watched. He was far enough away to safely watch the show, if the tabby saw him he'd have plenty of time to clear out before she could catch him. He examined the situation as the tabby crept forward lashing her tail. The kittypet hadn't even risen yet though, he cowered and pedaled his forepaws to push away from her advance. What is he doing? The young tom thought, why won't he stand and fight? That’s what all the cats did in town, rouges and loners would duke it out until someone ran, couldn't continue or died. This cat though… He had heard things about the kittypets but had never actually seen one fight. It seemed the rude whispers were true, the twoleg toys were weak and cowardly from being cared for by the twolegs. The rouge slashed playfully at the cats shoulder now as it pitifully swiped back from the ground to back her up.
The white feline's claws twitched from their sheaths as he looked down at his paws. A feeling of guilt mixed with his hunger as his thought process worked. Honestly, who cared if the kittypets were twoleg toys... If they were weak and they had found a way to survive by being fed by the twolegs didn't that actually just make them survivors? It seemed almost smart to the tom, who himself was going hungry. It was similar to his philosophy on the clan cats, they needed numbers to survive, but hey they were surviving. If it worked for them what did it matter to one rouge on his own as long as they didn't bother him? Transparent whiskers twitching he drew in a breath and looked back to the scene unfolding. The tom didn't want to get involved, but she'd toyed with the cat enough, there was no reason for her to kill the innocent tom.
The lanky creature leapt down and landed on soft paws before slinking along the fence line from behind the she-cat. He was shurly in for a fight now, but he simply couldn't watch any more even if this was his way of life. The cat waited until he was close enough to strike as the rouge tormented the tom and then forcefully lunged at the she-cat, forepaw outreached with sharp white claws spread. The kittypets focus had been on his attacker while the nameless cat approached, but at his final step the cat had noticed and given away his position with his eyes. As the white cat launched to scrape up her flank and side the she-cat whipped her head around to follow her toys eye. She had turned directly into the toms attack and his claws missed their target, instead slicing up from her shoulder, across her throat and up to the other side of her chin. The nameless tom was stunned, but turned to face her as the she-cat stood in shock for a moment. Then after a gargle she collapsed on limp legs and lay dead in the street. A pile of bloody orange stripes.
The black kittypets eyes filled with horror. He again tried to push away but simply couldn't stand. The white tom stared at the body for a moment and briefly shot his eyes down to his bloodied claws, he should have felt bad... right? He hadn't meant to kill the cat, in fact he was pretty sure he was about to get a beating himself for interrupting, but he didn't feel anything. No, that wasn't it, he did feel different. Not good, but almost better... The hunger in his stomach almost seemed filled... maybe he did... enjoy that?
The tom turned to face the fear in the other cats eyes and offered a chuckle as if nothing had happened, "Don't worry, I had to do that to her so she wouldn't do it to you." He joked as he moved closer to nudge the cat to his feet. The tom had flinched, but slowly excepted the help to stand. The lanky cat allowed the injured tom to lean on him, "So where to?" He asked as he started to walk the cat back to it's twoleg nest.
He didn't clean the blood from his paw that night, it had dried and hardened, but he rather liked the feeling he had adjusted to. Today he was lazing in an alley in town as some other cats walked by. His attention peaked as they spoke of a white tom killing some rouge that had attacked his buddy. Someone had seen him. He listened as they discussed the blurry details incorrectly. Already the rumor had spread that a well known rouge near the twolegs nests had attacked a cat, not a kittypet in particular, and the cats white friend retaliated by killing her. The passing cats gossiped how they wanted to meet the rouge that killed the cat... the rouge? He was a rouge now? The nameless tom stood a little shaken at their words, a cat that hadn't made a ripple in the balance of their world was now the center of current rumors, a white rouge. They'd all know it was him, their was no hiding his pelt. The moment of panic washed away though as he glanced down to his reddened paw, his claws unsheathed a dug into the concrete. He'd done no wrong, he defended someone weak from someone unjust and he liked the feeling, even the feeling of taking the life of the terrible cat.
"I bet he's all scarred up and ugly," one of the cats mewed as the tom stepped from the side alley into their view. His mixed gaze held on them with a blank stare as they fell quiet and nervous now with the young cat there. They had made the connection quickly and the smell of blood on his fur washed away any of their doubt. He'd have to make a name for himself now so no one would try him again and if they did now he knew he could trust in the skills he learned on his own. He could play the role of a rouge, he already wandered as he pleased so why shouldn't he kill as he please... anyone that were scum to the area. "The name's Raptor." The messy white cat broke the silence, "I'd appreciate it if you didn't bad mouth me as if that fool could get a scratch on." He turned after his tough guy bluff and padded away. Raptor, that's what those white-tailed birds that dove from the sky when they hunted were called right? That seemed like an appropriate name, tough enough for a rouge too.
He had a name now, a rank among the outsiders too. All for doing what he thought was right, for finally acting and now he knew he was more skilled that he thought. He had learned quick and learned well. Raptor would do just fine living this way. Enjoying his time spent wandering and inflicting pain on the cruel. He would never think back to regret saving that kittypet as he grew older and more fierce.
