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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Elizabeth couldn’t explain it, but she’d always had a numb curiosity about that shadowy wing of the mansion: the soundless place where the healers resided. Moons had passed without grounds to venture over, or even cross through it on the way to the one she shared with the Warden (the two towers stood perpendicular to each other). A mental note to visit was logged and forgotten each day, and with each her curiosity ballooned, but the days fluttered by endlessly. Finally, a torn claw had certified her indecision.
It was late – gentle moonlight filtered through the widows as she walked the halls, and the crescent moon could be spotted hanging high in its place. If the healers were sleeping, they wouldn’t appreciate being woken up in the dead of night. But she was more than willing to take the heat if it meant a less fretful sleep. She silently wondered if the littler one, the mage, slept at all. In the few times they’ve been in the same room, she always seemed to be watching, with her dichromatic eyes…
The assassin came to a sudden holt, as she stood right outside their lair. The door was a crack open, so she poked her head through and surveyed the dark space beyond. “Hello?” she whispered, her eyes scanning the dark for movement.
Reynardine would've resented being called the littler one, seeing as she was two years old- but relatively speaking, it was true. Her mother was several years older than that, though they were about even in size, Rey was thinner- a willowy wraith slipping through the night. A wraith was the closest word to what she resembled, white and flitting and always watching, rarely involved herself.
Her mother was sleeping, in the next room over, but Reynardine was awake, sitting in the pool of moonlight by the window. The mansion was an interesting change of pace from the city, that was for sure, and the view wasn't bad when the insomnia hit. She turned at the sound of footsteps, watching with her split-color eyes as the assassin's head appeared in the doorway.
"Good evening, Elizabeth," Reynardine greeted cordially and coolly, stepping down from her perch and moving over, her paws barely seeming to touch the ground. "What brings you out here?"
“Workplace hazards,” she quipped wryly, trying for a lighter disposition to distract herself from the pain in her paw. The ashen assassin rarely suffered injuries, and wasn’t quite used to bearing the pain – she was all lean muscle, with four wickers for legs, and owed much of her success in combat to the speed her lightness afforded her. Her haunches and hindquarters did hold more bunched muscle, though, and an overzealous leap had been the catalyst of her injury.
Her eyes briefly scanned the room – half looking for a magical remedy to her ailment (not that she could identify what she needed if she did see it), and half hoping to glimpse something unexpected or outlandish. She’d never needed medical attention in her life; curiosity pricked her heart and flooded her veins – veins that already gorged on the unfamiliar on the worst of days. Reynardine’s room was perfectly ordinary though, from the looks of it, so her sapphire gaze swept over to return to the mage’s wholly out of the ordinary eyes.
She extended her leg for the mage to inspect, and meowed a polite, “I hope I wasn’t interrupting anything?”
"Only a rather riveting view of the moon," Reynardine responded, a faint smile ghosting along her lips as she moved forward to inspect the paw. The ailment was immediately obvious, and she nodded towards the corner where small piles of herbs were stacked. "If you don't mind sitting over there, I can get this treated pretty quickly."
The mage followed, poking through her supplies as Elizabeth sat. "How'd it happen?" She asked, more out of curiosity than necessity, as the answer wouldn't affect the treatment.
“I do my best brooding in the witching hours, too,” Elizabeth quipped, gazing at the luminous crescent face through the window. She enjoyed her share of late-night conversations with the moon, especially as of late with all the turbulence of recent events. The grey assassin maintained an opaque shield about her, even amongst her closet associates: few were let into her inner thoughts and feelings, and often times only the heavens were left to vent to. Reynardine’s command cut through her distracted thoughts, and all at once she was swooping back to her paws and shuffling as gracefully as she could to the spot the mage had pointed to.
She kept her paw extended for Reynardine to inspect, and as the mage went picking through her stores, the assassin responded to her question: “I was honing my skills on a willing victim… and let’s just say I got too eager,” a little sly smirk blossomed on her face. Then her mind turned as she wondered, “what do you think of my profession? We seem to be standing on opposite ends of operation here. I put cats in the hospital, and you put them out... what a conundrum.”
Reynardine raised her eyebrows at the question, chewing the herbs she'd selected into a poultice as she thought it over. Her paws worked quickly when it was ready, smearing the glop onto a leaf and then scooping a bit up and onto the wound. "It'll sting for a minute, and then it'll feel better," the mage said, pushing over some poppy seeds. "Take these too, to help with the throbbing in the paw. Don't go anywhere until the poultice is dry."
The wraith-like she-cat sat, tucking her tail over her paws. "I don't think about it much," she confessed. "I leave others to do their job and I do mine. Besides, don't you mostly... you know, finish the job? How many of your victims have enough life left to make it to a hospital when you're done?"
“That true enough,” she tittered lightly, but her breezy emission plunged into a half-suppressed grunt as Reynardine’s poultice began to work. It took all she had not to snarl at the Mage as the foreign substance shot pain up her paw, so she resigned to standing rigidly still, save for her paw that shook tenuously, and her pretty face which contorted to translate all the foul words that swam in her mind at that moment.
A few seconds of pained silence followed, and then she continued through bared teeth, “I like to think… I’m a thorough person… but sometimes…” – and all at once the pain subsided, as the poultice absorbed into the wound, meeting at an agreeable pH balance – “… sometimes it’s all about sending a message.” Her face eased into an wilted smile.
The ashen assassin let out a sigh. “You weren’t lying… about the sting,” she arched forward to lap up the poppy seeds… and then decided to just... stay down there, lowering onto her belly to give her paw a rest. Her sapphire eyes rose to meet Reynardine’s mismatched ones, a devious light already returning. “Surely you were audience to the message Nightclan left us? You treated Eshek’s wounds? Doubtless they didn’t break her spirit or any of ours, but I think we’ll all think twice before messing with them again.” Nightclan had their own brand of assassins... the Loyal Guards.
"I don't tend to lie," Reynardine said casually, with a shrug. "You'll find that despite my mysterious reputation, I'm usually an open book. It's just that nobody gets up the courage to ask." She watched as the pain shot through Elizabeth's face and then eased away, fascinated as she always was by the healing process.
"I did treat Eshek's wounds. Though she seemed to get herself into that scrape without thinking about the repercussions. So they have you working not only as an assassin, but as a mobster? Do you go around threatening cats for their prey and territory- and do you find that easier or harder than killing them?" Rey asked these questions with no judgment, just a pale curiosity.
“That’s good,” her tone was as reflective as a midnight pond, a quiet account shifting in her mind as she got a measure of this ghostlike she-cat. People that were closet to her could attest the same – despite the sly demeanor she often adopted in her leisure, she had no appetite for liars. Pretty birds weren’t so pretty when they sang a false tune.
“The truth takes courage,” she was suddenly opining, in a voice that was growing increasingly light and airy. The poppy seeds were taking effect – mellowing her out even more than the soft shafts of moonlight that shone down on them. “It’s cowards that have to cloak themselves in lies and deceit.” Her words tapered away into pensive thoughts – she lay her head on her paws (well, one paw) to consider them, and then casually glanced up at the mage. “And what if I had the courage? What would I find in those pages of yours…”
And then Reynardine was calling her a mobster. Elizabeth laughed at that. “It’s all the same to me, to tell the truth. A job is a job.” She’d never struggled to find justification in the orders that Bermondsey gave her, anyway. “In any event, I can’t go around killing everybody. That’d be bad for the ecosystem. So what else would I be doing the rest of the time?” She found the casual way they were discussing this amusing – at least the narcotic Reynardine gave her did – as dark humor flitted through her sapphire eyes. “I’m more of a mercenary than a pure assassin, if the precision of language is your thing.”
"You only need to ask to find out." Reynardine watched the other cat thoughtfully. She'd never taken a life personally, never saw the need for it, but she wondered if she could ever have the same mindset as Elizabeth. The kind that allowed her to follow orders without question, to kill for the sake of it being a job.
After a moment she raised her eyebrow, a faint laugh on her features. "They should change your title, then- though I suppose mercenary isn't as frightening as assassin. Did you grow up here?" The question came suddenly, as Rey found her interest in this other she-cat piqued by their conversation.
“No, mercenary doesn’t have the same ring to it,” she agreed with an easy smile, but then her face melted to faint surprise at the sudden question. She was an honest cat – sometimes to an extreme degree – but she wasn’t nearly the open book Reynardine purported to be, especially regarding her past. But the question was harmless, so she didn’t waver in answering it: “No, I didn’t. I’m glad it isn’t obvious,” she added, with a light toss of her head – a sort of whimsical gesture that didn’t disguise the genuine appreciation in her expression. She wasn’t insecure about her heritage by any means... but the league was her home now, and she was resolved to belong in it. She’d risen to the loftier ranks of the league only to find it was chiefly housed by cats with more venerated heritages than her own; no matter how steely one was (and she was one steely b*tch), it was impossible to ignore a spot of difference, and the urge to rub it out was practically instinctual.
Seeking out Reynardine’s gaze with curiosity, she asked, “I assume you did? What’s it like studying under your mother?”
Reynardine smiled at the toss of Elizabeth's head, glancing down at her feet, awash with moonlight. "You assume wrong. I didn't even step foot in League territory until after I turned two. But I'm glad it isn't obvious." The echo of the assassin's sentiment was accompanied by a faint laugh.
"Charlotte is my mother, though, and I have ties to the League through her. I was raised by my father... well, far away from here. In a very different, very religious place. It's certainly strange to both start my studies and also find out I have a mother in the same few weeks." Rey glanced up again, watching Elizabeth, noting her honesty that veiled a lack of substance to her answer. The mage wasn't the type to pry, if Elizabeth didn't want to share.
The mage’s words captured remote intrigue in her smoldering gaze, as her chin rose a fraction higher, a ghost of a smile gracing her jaw. As it happens, this cat was more than meets the eyes. There was much to unpack in that tale, and Elizabeth was just the cat to probe, in that minxy way she’d mastered – but the poppy seeds had shaken what was left of her craftiness, and she was utterly unarmed in this moment. So, she simply unfastened into a luxurious stretch, her body buzzing with numb relaxation, and inclined her long neck to ask, “do all the girls from your town have such enthralling eyes?” Her question swam around a saucy grin, but otherwise her words were hollowed by innocence – it was genuine curiosity, borne out of floating interest in this cat.
She tore her eyes away to lay her head upon her front legs, resting slantways as she favored the left. There was a pregnant silence for several drawn out moments, as she lay there as if turned to stone. And then she grumbled a sudden, “Parents. Don’t get me started.”
"No, they don't. I'm not sure what caused mine," Reynardine said with a smile, acknowledging the slight flirtation with a flick of her eyes and quirk of her brow. Elizabeth wasn't the first cat to flirt- she wasn't nearly as bad as that Cezra menace. Rey just always assumed they didn't mean anything by it. After all, they didn't know her- and she wasn't really the type for casual hook-ups. So she always let it pass.
"I feel like everyone in this group has daddy or mommy issues." Reynardine moved herself into a laying position as well- it was later, after all, and she was getting tired. "Maybe it's an unspoken prerequisite to joining."
An unanticipated symptom of killing was the insomnia that lingered long past the blood washed off her paws. It wasn’t guilt in her case – Elizabeth’s sensibilities were chiseled into too jagged a shape to harbor such porous thoughts – but it was a strange sort of awareness that haunted her from dawn to dusk, until the stars appeared to interrogate her further. So, in short, despite the fact that the poppy seeds had dulled her into a soft heap laying on the floor, Elizabeth wasn’t very tired.
Reynardine’s observation raised her brow, like it was news to the assassin, but than a small single-note chuckle emitted, as she realized it was true. “You're right, it must be a pre-requisite to joining,” she snorted after a time. “I found it tedious… listening to everyone’s sob story. But I guess I’m much the same: I just do a better job of burying it.” She sniffed, like she’d swallowed something spoiled, then swiveled her gaze back to Reynardine. “You don’t regret making the journey here, do you? How’s the chaotic balance of life here, compared to where you came from?”
"I prefer to judge cats based on who they are now, not their extensive backstory." Reynardine smiled drowsily. The exception to that statement was the few here who shared her birthplace, who were also haunted by the memories of the Loch. "So I share your exasperation sometimes."
Elizabeth's questions weren't unwelcome, and she paused to think of her genuine answer before responding. "I don't regret it. My father was dead, so there was nothing left for me back home. I like the freedom I have here, I like the looser rules. My first community was incredibly regimented and strict, so I suppose I sought out the opposite. Why'd you choose the League?"
