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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11.06.2022 The site has been transformed into an archive. Thank you for all the memories here!
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He stepped back, almost startled, as he looked between Kier and the kit, and he was immediately a fan of her. Just out of kithood himself, he found her eager innocence charming, nostalgic in a way that pulled on his heart, and Kier's annoyance only played into that. Except she wasn't deterred like he had been, nor was she as stuck up as he was — something that took a while to admit in hindsight. When she stared up at him, he stared back, eyes wide and more friendly than he would usually let them be. He had his reputation as the buzzkill, after all, but perhaps the sudden change of the directory of his life had muddled things a bit.
"Laer —" Not only was he cut off by himself as he was about to give his real name, but by Kier as well. He suppressed a laugh. "Druzyprince. I'm just a. . . friend?" He looked towards Kier just to confirm his wording. It felt strange, but not unnatural. Have you ever killed a guy? He faltered at the question, giving a noticeable wince. Almost, he could have responded, but he simply shook his head and stayed silent, brushing the question off as kithood ignorance.
He lowered his head, gazing at her with the same curiosity that she had bestowed upon him. "Who are you?" He wasn't exactly surprised that Kier had chosen another insufferable kit to spend his time with in his absence, he nearly took it as a compliment, though perhaps the choice was strange. She was too young to be anything, she didn't offer anything either, and they didn't even seem to get along. Brat reminded him of Nour, in a way, and he wasn't sure if that made him feel better or worse.
I'm just a. . . friend? Kier met Laertes' gaze without comment, his cold, stony eyes giving nothing away. Then, finally, he gave a tiny, single nod.
Who are you? Taking a deep breath, Brat's eyes lit up with excitement and she opened her mouth. "I’m his—"
Knowing she was about to say something to embarrass him, something like I’m his mail order bride, Kier cut her off, hooking his paw around her and forcing her to his side with both impatience and surprising gentleness. Gentleness he would deny. “She’s my daughter,” he growled. In that same breath, Brat, wriggling out of his grip and squeezing under him, bit his back leg. "Brat!" he snapped again, louder this time, and grabbed at her; for a second they tussled, and then he won, dragging her in front of him and snapping her forelegs together so she had to sit with some semblance of manners. "Not by..." He looked up at Laertes, and he sounded almost self-conscious. "Not by my mate. By... someone else." Brat bit him again at that and, with a barely audible ow, he smacked her very lightly across the back of her head. "She's a monster," he added to Laertes apologetically, slightly distracted as he waved his paw to grab someone's attention; when he had it, he gestured to Brat and they quickly slipped away, going to find her nursemaid. He kept his paw planted between her ears in the meantime; until she could be carted back to her cave, she'd cause no more trouble.
"I'm Brat!" she introduced herself to Laertes, not looking at all bothered by having her father's paw flattening her ears and slightly smooshing her forehead down.
In Laertes' presence, Kier was suddenly self-conscious about everything: the state of the camp, his cruel implementations in the Clan, his daughter's name. He squirmed slightly, visibly deflating. "It was a difficult time," he explained in an uncharacteristically quiet, sheepish voice, almost apologetic. Now it grew more sombre. "A lot has happened since last we saw each other." For just a second, it was wistful. When he'd been with Laertes, he'd been too grand for the League, drunk on his own possibilities and dreaming of violence, of power. Now he had it — and it was sublime. He was a king. But part of him did miss the innocence of their time together, when everything had felt so important, so life-or-death, so absolute. Now he could see it all for what it was: a child's game.
His expression settled into one of uncertainty, a hint of confusion. I'm Brat! He squinted his eyes at Brat, and then at Kier, a silent question that he didn't even realize he was asking — but he didn't say anything about the strange choice in names or their strange attitudes towards each other. He decided to wipe the look off his face, giving a sympathetic look to Kier as he explained.
A lot has happened since last we saw each other. He gave a quick, one-note laugh, more a breath than anything, and nodded. "Indeed." It seemed like both a lifetime ago and just yesterday that he was an insolent little kit running into Kier in the hallway of the mansion, agreeing to train with him. And though the near death of his sister was still a fresh wound, it too felt more distant than before. He could see it as a blessing. A chance to completely reinvent himself from the ground up and forget everything he had ever wanted to be and everything he had done. Druzyprince; he mulled over the name again.
The silence only lasted moments before he gave Kier a brighter look, "but I am here now. Think of everything we could do." Still he spoke with the hopefulness, the innocence, of a child, still believing that they could slap a bandage on it and be done with. That they'd moved on from one game to the next. Despite the harshness he'd been faced with, it hadn't yet corrupted his view of the world. He could convince himself it was all inconsequential, that it didn't matter. He would play perfect toy solider and wait for the regret to catch him later.
