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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Harley flexed his claws into the earth as he waited. He had told Kier - Kier-kun, now, he reminded himself - to meet him at the ruins at sundown. It had been precisely three days since he had brought his children to Primal Instinct, and in those three days, he had pretty much left them to their own devices, apart from meals, which they still took together. It was unclear if this was intentional. On one hand, being back in the League had made the tom quite busy; there were plenty of things that he had to re-learn that would make his time more beneficial. Perhaps, in this way, it was unintentional. On the other hand, though, he needed his children to adjust. It was no longer just the four of them taking on the world; they needed to recognize that and break away from his side. This didn't mean that he was abandoning them to their own volition, necessarily. It just meant that he believed in branching out a bit.
He flicked his tail. He wasn't sure how Kier-kun had used his time, although he'd heard chatter that he was just as slimy to the other members of Primal Instinct as he was to his mother. He had watched his son's interactions with Rhiannon with abject horror, although he had kept his mouth shut. Harley could only hope that his son calmed down before he had to have the talk with him. He truly preferred not to, though, so the black tom had already decided that he'd only bring it up if it became necessary. Was avoiding problems the best parenting strategy? Probably not, but no one said the tom was a good dad.
Harley's baby blue eyes danced across the ruins, the place that he had once lived and grown. Today, instead of talking about his son's Oedipal complex, they were going to discuss how Kier-kun would survive in the group. His son was a pacifist, or at least, he was more than willing to let his ass get kicked by anyone who wanted to. Although that hadn't caused problems yet, other than the occassional scat with his siblings, such reactions were not okay here. No, if Kier-kun wanted to survive this place, he would have to change. Harley would teach him what it meant to be a cat of the League if it killed him. Today would be his son's first lesson in becoming a viable member of the group. The choice of training at the ruins, then, was no accident. This was where Harley's journey began; it would now be where Kier's did, too.
He was lost in plans on how to teach his child how to be a man when Kier-kun approached. "Son," he greeted from his position on one of the stone structures, "I'm glad you finally made it."
“Little bit of a dump, isn’t it?” Kier said by way of greeting in his slightly high-pitched voice, looking around at the ruins with what was mostly disinterest but also a healthy amount of disdain. All his life, he’d never given Harley any reason to believe he wasn’t the loving, fretting, obedient son he made sure he saw him as; but since joining the League and becoming swept up in the fact he was no longer just the second-born son of his father - there was now a whole world for him beyond the tom who had raised him - he was acting a lot less and just letting himself be who he actually was. It would certainly make a change from the young tom Harley had known for the past seven moons - a change even from three days ago, when he’d first grovelled at the paws of his mother. That, like everything else about Kier, had been false.
So now, the son who trotted up lazily to join his father was far calmer, far less highly-strung, and far less melodramatically toady. He just seemed tired, vaguely bored, and above whatever this summons was. He seemed a great deal cleverer, too, with all the layers peeled away.
Still, as Kier jumped up neatly to sit beside his father and look out over the gloomy ruins before them, he wasn’t entirely dismissive. He could have just sat straight down like he was detached entirely from his parent and disinterested in what the ageing cat had to share with the younger generation soon to usurp him. But he was a daddy’s boy at heart, fond of still being groomed like a kit by him at his older-than-perhaps-normal age when anyone else’s touch made him dry-heave, and he still brushed his cheek along Harley’s jaw in greeting before settling down a little further from him than he might normally have and curling his tail around his bony little paws. “Sorry for my tardiness. Kate wouldn’t stop pulling my tail. Why are we meeting here?” He glanced around before looking up at his father expectantly.
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POSTEDOct 3, 2021 17:18:11 GMT -5 TO primal instinct
"Watch it," the tom meowed with narrowed eyes, his tail flicking across the ruin he sat on. "This is my home, and whether or not it is a roaring trash fire, you will respect it." There was an edge to his voice that hadn't been there before they had returned to the League, one that was very faint yet still ever present. It wasn't that Harley didn't see the flaws in his group; no, there was a great part of him that resented everything about his home. All the same, it was his home. Just like his children would respect him, they would respect his home.
He softened slightly at his son's touch, offering a nod to him as he sat. No matter what, his children were still his top priority. That's why they were here, after all. Harley himself was becoming stronger, the cough in his chest lessening with proper care. There was a part of the tom that wanted to re-locate the children as soon as he was fully prepared to take care of them again. However, the more he watched Kate and Mal, the more he realized that this wasn't an option. Where as he was concerned about Kier, his two other children were thriving in their home. They would have to stay.
He let out a bemused chuckle at his words. "Kate has been even more irritable than normal," he agreed with a blink, his tail flicking back and forth. "I can't tell if I should be concerned, or if it's just growing pains." Not that he should be discussing that with his son, he realized with a blink. No, they had bigger things to do than consider his daughter's growing deviance from her role as daddy's girl.
"We are here, son, because I'm afraid you're going to get your ass kicked and you won't know how to deal with it. I didn't prepare the three of you for life in the League, and I'm concerned that you will need a little bit of extra prep before you wind up irritating the wrong cat," your mother, he almost added, "without being able to properly defend yourself. This was where I learned to fight, so I figured it would be as sound a place as any to teach you what it means to be a man of Primal Instinct."
He flicked his tail-tip in placating acknowledgement of his father's warning, however dismissive.
I can't tell if I should be concerned, or if it's just growing pains. At the concern in his father's voice, Kier had to stop himself from twitching, his claws curling out into the moss growing on the ruins for just a moment before he drew them back in. He always wanted to believe he was his father's favourite, what with all the fussing and cuddling up to him he did. But whenever he spoke of his sister, he knew he wasn't. The grating unfairness of it scraped over Kier once again. He loved his father; he was loyal to him; he had groomed him when Harley wasn't well enough to groom himself, had slept close beside him to check on his breathing through the night, had brought him whatever food he could find, even if it was just a skinny little lizard when Kate brought him a plump mouse. But it was all for nothing. He kept hoping, and hoping, and hoping - maybe this week. But it was never this week. It would never be this week. He would never be his father's favourite.
As Harley went on, Kier just stared straight ahead, his skin crawling and his shoulders stiffening with humiliated stubbornness, before he finally snapped his head around to meet his father's gaze. "I know how to deal with it," he replied quietly, and his voice was silkily slimy. "I've been hanging around the Mage's quarters. There's plenty of poison in there. She doesn't know, but I'm already getting good." He killed a bat with it yesterday. Poor thing, almost the same size as him and the same colour, had thrashed about and cried and screamed, the claws at the ends of its wings flapping through the air where it lay on its back and coming so close to scratching his cheeks. But each time he'd ducked out of the way, standing over it as it frothed at the mouth and the light finally faded from its eyes. That familiar feeling that always came from killing things had fluttered so addictively in his chest, making him feel big and strong and invincible. Powerful.
