Post by Fireflake on Jun 26, 2019 5:18:13 GMT
Early in the morning, Scorpio had gone into Aster's den without injuries and come out with them. There were two very deliberate slashes down each side of his pelt, and a deep V shape that ran between his eyes onto his muzzle. He'd been in and out of the building numerous times since, bringing back mouthfuls of small stones and, on one occasion, a dead bramble branch. The pebbles were lined up by a large, flat rock in the corner, and the pointy brambles were sandwiched between the two. Scorpio stepped back for a moment after he'd finished to groom his perpetually-bristled pelt. By this point it was impossible to miss that something was going on, and some cats had started to linger inside to find out what it was. At Sunhigh, Scorpio finally deemed it appropriate to address.
The tom leapt over the thorny branch he'd brought, onto the flat stone near the corner. "Cats of the Alliance! Everyone!"
Once enough cats had gathered, Scorpio dipped his head to them as a collective. His tail, curved in its characteristic position over his back, swished sharply at the sight of the gathered crowd. "Is this everyone? Hm. I suppose it's everyone that matters."
He stood up straight to get their attention, then gestured to the brambles and pebbles below. "If you're not blind, you've probably noticed the odd set-up today. Some of you know what this means. Some of you, I suspect, don't."
The rogue turned so that the slash down the right side of his pelt was clearly visible. "I'll start with myself. Not because I'm the most important part, but because these marks are a good starting point. This one here, for example, means that I have won a fight during my time in the Alliance."
He turned in a small circle to display the other side instead. "This one means that I have killed a cat. A MothClanner that refused to save herself."
He finished by facing straight ahead. "These ones on my face mean that I'm on the council, as you hopefully already know."
Hopefully being the operative word. The tom's presence had been notably missing in recent moons. He would go out almost every day and come back covered in scratches and MothClan scent. Even to those that didn't know of his reckless fighting style and vendetta against that clan, it was obvious what occupied his time. Now, as he stood speaking to the Alliance, there was no indication that he might want to be anywhere else. "So why am I telling you?" he continued after a short pause. "These customs, along with many of our cats, have fallen away in the wake of my mother's murder."
He nodded pointedly to the pile of fourteen stones near the flat rock. This was the mark used to remember Honeyheart. "But they don't have to. This was never about her, and her death should be a catalyst, not a conclusion. We're the ones that get to choose how this plays out now."
Scorpio glanced at a few of his half-nephews.
"So, speaking of choice, it's time for some overdue rituals. When I was four moons old, I pricked my paw on a thorn and swore my loyalty during a ritual called the Ritual of Growth. Two moons after that, I chose to be a scout in a ritual called the Ritual of Choosing."
He turned his paw to show the scar from his thorn prick. "I don't expect any of you adults to be quite as enthusiastic as I was, but now I'd like to invite our younger members to continue the traditions. Belial and Batibat, Zephyr, Stargazer, Vulpes, Vestia, and Blitz. Will you be a scout, a fighter, or a hunter?"
It felt vaguely foolish to ask them now, given that they had already been serving the group for moons, but he had to start somewhere.