[ti]Private[/ti]The Pot Calling the Kettle Black

[Fireflake]

"It's Black-something, isn't it? RootClan's deputy?"
Buckleap had been halfway to the waterfall, out to hunt alone on the fields as he often liked to, when he recognized the other tom. He slowed to a halt. "Over here on your own."
The MistClan warrior left a short space for a response, then decided against it and continued voicing his thoughts in his, thus far, one-sided conversation. Once the novelty of the other clans setting up camp within his had worn off, life had returned mostly to the same motions. His apprentice had trained hard yesterday and he worried she'd sprain something if they did that again today, so life was boring. Why not add some variety? "I would have expected you to have a patrol of cats around you."

Buckleap glanced at the nearby fresh-kill pile, a sorry stack of scrawny little animals. "A hunting patrol, preferably. Are our lands not up to a RootClan cat’s tastes?" he prodded. Though clearly a comment on the prey drain Sablestar had mentioned in his recent ceremony, his words weren't barbed as one might expect. He wasn't mouse-brained enough to blame RootClan's leadership for MistClan's territory not sustaining three times the usual inhabitants. While he wasn't overly welcoming to the guests, he didn't mind it much. It was a chance to get to know these strangers better, if nothing else. That's why his words now served more as an invitation than an insult. "Or do you just need a MistClan cat's expertise?"

[noctemq]

Blackmoon’s ears perked up when he heard half of his name being called. He was usually just referred to as “Black” in the days of the tribe, so it caught his attention rather quickly. He lifted up his head to face Buckleap. The Rootclanner didn’t know much about the other tom, as he was not very social during the gatherings and had been pretty brain-dead during the last one due to having searched (and found) for the missing Bearpaw in the two-leg lands and scouted the remains of the Rootclan territory to see if it was inhabitable. He had felt a twinge or guilt for staying in Mistclan so long and also tried his best to stay active on their hunts. His previous role as a home-guard left his hunting lacking during these trying times, especially for catching any prey that could wiggle fast enough. ”That’s me,” he responded, not bothering to fill in the rest of his name. Maybe the latter would substitute a bunch of different sufffixes and give him name ideas he could pass to Screechstar. ”You’ll have to forgive me for now knowing your name.”

He got up as Buckleap continued to talk, realizing this wouldn’t be the classic “how do you do” that he was getting from the other warriors. The words the other tom was saying could have been interpreted as testy if it wasn’t for the calm nature of his voice. He spoke familiarly, and it was somewhat refreshing to Blackmoon. Ever since he had become deputy, he felt as if cats had to put up a formal facade around him, so this was nice.
”We’re not a terribly picky bunch.” Well, beggars couldn’t be choosers. The prey Mistclan had to offer was certainly different, but it will never be as bad as the weird stuff he had to eat while recently traversing back from the two-leg lands. He shook his head to the side with a slight grin at Buckleap’s last comment. ”Small prey eludes my claws. I didn’t grow up hunting, so you can imagine the learning curve I had to make as a warrior.” Blackmoon was surprisingly more open that he usually was, probably because of all the forced socialization he had to get used to over the past few moons. It was much better for Buckleap to meet him now than see the quietly awkward to-be he was before.

((Part of me wanted to say “Baby, I AM the patrol” though it’s so violently ooc LMAOO))

[Fireflake]

[LMAO thank you for sharing that image with me]

"Sure, you're forgiven," the tom replied breezily. If Black-whatever wasn't going to offer up his full name, neither was Buckleap. He held in a snort of amusement at Blackmoon's explanation of his learning curve. It would seem mean-spirited without the context of Buckleap's own bouncing between loner and clan cat, and there was no use stirring up trouble. Instead, he responded with a dismissive, "Nope. No idea what that might be like."

The MistClan warrior stretched out his legs and glanced toward the waterfall. "Ever tried hunting a rabbit?" he asked. "Some of them are kit-sized."
For a moment it seemed as if he was going to leave it there, but where would be the fun in that? Instead, he carried on, "I'm guessing you're not in the practice of attacking kits either, but it might be closer to your comfort zone..?"

[noctemq]

The corners of his mouth turned upwards ever so slightly. The mystery Mistclanner could keep his secrets. Blackmoon assumed the reaction might be from some sort of inside joke he didn't understand yet; he didn't pry, maybe it would come up later. This warrior seemed to harbor no ill will, so he was slow to come to a judgmental conclusion. Sure, first impressions were important, but Blackmoon usually allowed time to let him develop an adequate verdict. He hoped other cats would do the same for him.

Kit-sized? The deputy tilted his head to the side. That seemed like a dark comparison, but maybe that's just how Buckleap rolled. Blackmoon had seen rabbits before, but usually bigger, juicier ones. They were annoying to catch, and he left that for the more skilled warriors while he'd grind down on the easier prey, like voles. The last time he tried to hunt a rabbit, he had barely caught it by one of its back legs and he had never been kicked so many times in the face. Blackmoon had no idea something so small so fight back so hard. Sleeping in the Mistclan dens came to a close second, now that he thought about it.

"No, I haven't. Well, not recently at least." He started, internally shaking out the memory of being a kickboxing mitt for a rabbit so many moons ago. "And they don't call me the nursery raider for no reason," he said flatly, his humor dry as ever. He'd never been called that in his life.