Unbeknownst to the apprentice, Kier padded quietly up the winding slope to his nest, pawsteps careful as a hunter’s, unblinking eyes trained on the sleeping tom. If he had found anyone else sleeping in his nest, he would have snapped at them immediately, would have thrown around threats about heads upon pikes and meant them, would have dragged them from the moss by the scruff and dangled them over the edge of the drop, encouraging them with a breezy smile to beg and apologise and plead for their life. But Lilacpaw, irritating as he was, enjoyed special privileges for the simple reason that he openly worshipped Kier. If there was one thing that blinded him, one thing that had him purring and relenting, it was flattery. Any apprentice could have pandered to Kier’s arrogance and ended up medicine cat apprentice, ended up with food and special treatment when the rest of the Clan was starving; it was just that Lilacpaw had happened to do it. That his idolatry of him made him easy to use was almost secondary; he was a perfect puppet, yes, too young to remember anything but snippets before Kier’s ascension, and crass and egotistical enough to enjoy doing whatever detrimental things to NightClan Kier might ask him to do — but, more than that, Kier just enjoyed his presence. Enjoyed being complimented and idolised, trailed after and imitated. He kept Lilacpaw around for that reason, to have his own personal ego booster on hand throughout the day. He wasn’t ingratiating, either, wasn’t sycophantic — Kier liked sycophants, of course, liked being fawned over even if the attentions were false. But it was refreshing, too, to have someone like Lilacpaw, someone to whom violence, bad temper, and self-centredness was so run of the mill. Though he would never say it, Kier was rather fond of him.

So, rather than shouting something vicious at the sleeping apprentice, Kier just quietly, carefully, sat down beside him, looking amused. However, Lilacpaw hadn’t yet started his habit of waking him up in the middle of his sleep, and thus also disturbing Eris in the process, to tell him ideas about how to bend NightClan to their will while he was bleary-eyed and barely lucid, so maybe his opinion of the vain apprentice would change.

“Enjoying my nest?” he asked, tail wrapped idly around his forepaws. “Anything in particular you needed, or did you just want to try out the bedding? Shall I fetch you anything? Meal? Sceptre? Pretty girl, pretty boy? I’m sorry — maybe I shouldn’t be disturbing you at all. I’ll come back.” He made no move to leave, just continued to gaze down at the apprentice with his brows slightly raised in sardonic dryness. Finally, he raised a paw and hit Lilacpaw hard on the foreleg, only a warning but a little more ordering, a little more savage, than strictly necessary. His voice took on a different tone. “Come on, get up. Out. You’re lucky I don’t skin you for your mother to see. Up.”

Kier smiled with harmless amusement as Lilacpaw grumbled, waiting patiently until he could finally step into the apprentice’s place and settle down pointedly in his rightful nest. It was already warm, but even that didn’t make him mad. “I would ask,” he replied warmly, re-fluffing up his nest and looking up at Lilacpaw with raised brows and hooded eyes, “if I cared.” There was a cruelly pleased, triumphant purr in his voice, even over such a petty show of superiority and power.

As the apprentice continued, Kier went on reordering his nest, unconcernedly tugging out dry strips of moss with his head bowed even as he talked of his father plotting to kill him. “In my sleep?” Kier echoed importantly, in the sort of teasingly over-serious tone one uses with a child. “Well, that’s not very honourable. He’s welcome to try it out on Snowblister first — I don’t think he’ll get very far.”

Smiling, he finally looked up. Truly, he was touched that the apprentice cared for his wellbeing so much that he was willing to lead his own parents to the gallows. It spoke wonders of what a NightClan apprentice could be, if only all were as predisposed to treachery as he. His volatility, his erratic, wild card violence, would grow into an indispensable asset, like having a pair of furious, snapping jaws at his beck and call. He watched patiently as he threw his tantrum, lashing his tail and stomping his paws. Finally, setting down his paws, he spoke. “Lilacpaw, it’s alright. I appreciate your concern, but if I executed every cat who spoke against me, I’d have no Clan left. These are normal growing pains.” As he ranted and raved about cutting off tongues, Kier only continued to smile, a purr growing in his throat like he was watching a kit take its first steps. It was a nice idea, if impractical; he was learning all by himself. Silently, and giving no hint that the idea was of any use, he tucked the concept away with Moonblight in mind. “If you want to rip out tongues, you needn’t go to Twilightdance — she’s a little too dainty, you understand. Better to leave her to the healing and,” he looked away, feigning disinterest, or distaste, “translating.” His gaze returned to Lilacpaw. “You only need to come to me. I taught her all she knows,” that wasn’t true; he’d taught a lot, but he would never pass up the opportunity to take full credit, especially in front of someone so admiring and eager to be fed fresh worship material, “— there’s no poison, no unsanitary cruelty, that I’m not familiar with. At the next scheduled execution, you can try out this tongue cutting of yours — would that satisfy whatever pubescent hysteria you’re going through?” Despite his clear mockery, he sounded surprisingly patient, almost gentle, like he really was trying to settle and soothe the fire within him. “Torture is a wonderful outlet.”

“Incidentally, though,” he continued, slipping one paw out from beneath him and tapping his claws on the edge of his nest as he looked away, thinking. “Which one is your father? Maybe we ought to pay him a visit after all. Cut tongues or no, it wouldn’t be amiss to show my face.” He smiled at Lilacpaw conspiratorially, slyly, pleased to have someone to instil his teachings into. “Nothing frightens dissenters more than a casual drop in.”