[ti]Open[/ti]Winging It

[Fireflake]

Vulture stretched out, hiding a wince as he did so. Aches followed him with every movement now, and it was getting harder not to look weak in front of the others. Unfortunately for him, efforts to hide the effects of the illness were mostly futile now, as he'd had to move to the medicine cat's den full-time over a moon ago. Now he was just trying his best to make his eyes focus like usual, so he could see what everyone else was doing. This wasn't to fit in so much as it was to glean some insight on what they were talking about, to see if he could get any information on what they planned to do with him, though understanding their ways would certainly have been a sensible idea as well. He'd been given a new name, Vultureswoop, and a brief explanation on the warrior code a bit later, but beyond that he was still no more a MothClan warrior than the pigeon on top of the fresh-kill pile.

Vultureswoop stared at the bird hungrily for a few moments. With one last stretch, he prowled out of the den and began to circle the clearing. His sky-blue eyes darted from side to side as he stumbled slightly. Once he had determined that nobody else was looking at him, he continued to stalk around. He stayed out of everyone's way, as usual, and eventually padded over to the fresh-kill pile. In the back of his mind, Vultureswoop was aware that the name fresh-kill pile could pose an issue for him if he did end up living, and staying in MothClan for any length of time afterwards. He'd been a hunter back in the rogue group, but his prey had commonly been scraps and other unidentifiable dead things he'd come across. In the more conscious part of his mind, which was the only part not currently covered in a fog of mild disorientation, he was far more concerned with grabbing that pigeon. The tom sat by the fresh-kill pile, hooked the bird toward himself, pinned it between his paws, and started to lick the thing, feathers and all, while watching out diligently for anyone that might like to challenge him about it.

[gingersnapsdacat]

     TickStorm was padding up out of the nursery, just having visited the new litters of both her mother and sister. It was crazy to think that all that time that Mantisclaw had been ill, she had really been carrying the kits of not one, but two toms! Tickstorm just wished that EveningStar had been around to see them. The real EveningStar of course, not whatever...mad state he had been in before his disappearance. Sometimes, Tickstorm still had nightmares of the cold, soulless way he had looked at her. And the constant presence of the former rogues, or elites, as her father had called them, served only as painful reminders of that time.
   One of those former rogues, a sickly Tom who had been named Vultureswoop, was right beside the fresh kill pile right now. Tickstorm stared at him for a moment, trying to decide whether or not getting some food was worth it. She was hungry, but going over there meant she ran the risk of getting trapped in an interaction with him. But before she could decide one way or another, his shifting eyes landed right on her.
   Oh Foxdung, she thought, realizing that she had been caught staring at him for the last few heartbeats.

[Fireflake]

Vultureswoop had managed to get his germs over almost all of the pigeon before he caught sight, out of the corner of his eye, a MothClan she-cat... standing still... watching him. Her yellow eyes seemed to bore into him. Vulture continued to lick the underside of the wing almost aggressively, expecting her to just look away. When she didn't, he froze mid-lick and snapped his gaze over to her. Immediately, she seemed a little ruffled by his cold stare, but Vultureswoop himself looked far more displeased.

His fur, sloppily groomed but still better than he liked to keep it, prickled. His ears flicked to the side yet again. As he was looking at her, dark spots flashed in his vision and sent chills to his gut, but he refused to break away. Now, Vultureswoop had always been a cat of few words, whether that meant dropping half of the words in a sentence, squashing several together into one, or just expecting everyone else to be able to read his mind and deduce what he wanted from them. He had also always been overly defensive. It made for a bad combination. Vultureswoop spat out a feather and repeated, unknowingly, one abrupt word that he'd learned very young from his now-gone brother. "What?"

[gingersnapsdacat]

    Tickstorm could not back away now. Had she realized what was happening a few heartbeats ago, before Vulture was staring back, she could have easily shook it off, and dismissed him like an annoying thorn. Something painful and out of place, yes, but not a real challenger. But as it was now, with him facing her, eyes locked, she could not look away. If she broke away now, she would be submitting to this...thing.
    "What?"
    Tickstorm’s ears pinned back against her head. How dare he question what she waas doing here? Granted, she was caught staring at him like some kind of confused kit, but still, she was within her right to look at whoever she wanted in her own camp. The multicolored she-cat walked stiffly towards the fresh-kill pile giving the sickly tomcat a wide berth. He was not going to keep her from eating in her own home. She cast a distainful glance over his slobbery pidgeon.
    “Do you always spread your filth over everything you eat?”

[Fireflake]

"Yes," the tom answered sharply. He scowled and summoned a cough to add for emphasis. It hurt his muscles, but it was worth it. At that point, it might have been a good idea to ask if Tickstorm always stared at cats while they were eating, so, of course, Vulture didn't think of this. Instead, he decided to dole out an insult that could easily be launched at him any day, and mumbled, "Weird starer."
With this, Vultureswoop looked away and started to tear the feathers from the pigeon, to tuck them under his paw.

He had pulled his prey defensively closer as the she-cat padded forward, guarding it as if she might snatch it out from under him despite the distance she put between him. The bird beaks that loosely covered his short claws had poked out from their sheathes, and remained that way as he looked back at the warrior now. It was an uncomfortable position. He couldn't actually fight her, or he'd likely lose, get thrown out, and die on the streets, but he couldn't just let it go. "Got a problem?"

[gingersnapsdacat]

Tickstorm screwed her nose up in disgust at the tomcat’s cough, and made sure to pull her prey far away from him. She was not going to get any f his filth on her food.
Weird starer."
Maybe just to spite him, or maybe just because she had nothing more important to do, Tickstorm did not stop her staring. In fact, her gaze became more intent, fixating on his claws, which had been covered with what looked like tiny thorns. No, not thorns...beaks? Tickstorm had many questions. How were those things staying on? Did all rogues have those things? Most of all, why? They didn’t look as if they could do much damage in the state they were in. Tickstorm opened her mouth, intent on asking these questions, but the tomcat beat her to it.
"Got a problem?"
Tickstorm blinked, oddly caught off guard. It was not that odd of a question, especially from a surly cat like Vultureswoop, but for some reason, it made Tickstorm think of another prickly cat she used to know. He sounds like Hornstrike, she thought to herself, before pushing the idea far away. No, this thing was nothing like her brother! Her brother was good, and kind and...just as much of a thorn in her paw as this cat. But she had also learned something else from another important brother of hers. She was not going to let this cat win at this conversation.
“Not at all,” she huffed, “You are the one who looks like rejected crow food.”

[Fireflake]

Vultureswoop's fur began to prickle, and a low growl rumbled in his throat, only to falter out a few moments later. Winning a conversation against him had always been a bit like winning a race against a rock, and he was well aware of it. To make up for the lack of words, he unsheathed his short claws fully and started to drag them against the side of his fresh-kill, ripping out the feathers. The whole time, his eyes stayed fixed on the she-cat.

Once he was finished, the ex-rogue quietly slipped one of the claw covers back on, tugged a feather out from between his toes, and rolled the plucked bird on top of the feathers so that his paws were free. He left his claws half-unsheathed, now slightly bloody, and kept his blue eyes on Tickstorm. That ought to do it, he decided. "You're the one who looks like rejected crowfood", my tail!

Unfortunately, the words got under his fur once more as he repeated them in his head, and Vultureswoop was back to square one. He frowned and flicked the tip of his tail. For a moment the tom paused and tried to figure out what he was supposed to do next, then he grumbled, "Hmph. You'd know. Wasteful clanners."
He fixed his eyes on Tickstorm once more, bit into his prey, then resolved to ignore her.