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Congrats for winning Roleplay of the Month! you can remove this if you want LOL
this is a completely open trial! feel free to bring characters in as witnesses, good or bad, even if the information is completely fake, or just to watch or heckle or sympathise from the audience! there’s total freedom. if you have an apprentice or kit you want to be made a warrior (e.g. faeish ), you can join in here as part of their assessment — even if they’re going to end up, for example, an executioner, they can perform any role you like in their assessment. and though no executions will arise from this trial, they may from the next scheduled one ♡
their mother is primrosetuft, formerly loyal to aspenstar and imprisoned for no real reason other than it’s better to kill her before she can begin to become a problem. goldcrest @ian @ash
Kier loved trials.
There was something about the momentousness of it, about the buzz of fear and expectation — of excitement — that went around the camp; they’d been wary at first, and there were still those frozen by terror, but a good deal of NightClan had surrendered to the hesitant glee within them all, the cruelty that had just needed a little encouragement, a little nudge. The addictive thrill of seeing someone who wasn’t you up on the podium, of knowing it could be you next week — that not knowing brought out the hedonistic, roaring twenties sadism in the most unexpected of cats. Whipping them up into a frenzy of bloodlust; there was nothing he liked better. What better place for a performer than as a lawyer in a rigged trial?
It wasn’t taking place in the main cavern; rather, it was in a slightly smaller one down a stone corridor, an off-shoot of the camp. It was the perfect stage for a spectacle: a wide, squarish stone platform a foot or two off the floor upon which the accused sat, and similar platforms running parallel along both side walls for the audience. For what was a prosecution without a crowd?
As the three sisters, the daughters of a traitor, were led in, Kier smiled in welcome from where he sat beside Snowblister, his co-judge. “Well, well!” he greeted, perfectly cheerful and friendly as he watched them pass, like he wasn’t about to tear them apart on the witness stand. “Feeling lucky, are we? I certainly hope so.”
Pantherpaw was already starting to show her pregnancy, if only slightly; Kier’s eyes drifted down to her stomach for a moment, but his blasé smile never faltered and the gaze didn’t last. Are they yours, lord? someone had ventured to ask. Who knows? he’d replied, bubbling with such flippant laughter. She-cats can’t be trusted about the paternity of their kits — they might just as well be mine as any tom’s in the Clan. In any Clan. They might be yours! Really, though, it did bother him, however slightly — half because, in all likelihood, they were his, and however little he cared for the girl or whatever kits she was carrying, something still niggled uncomfortably within him; half because he was just annoyed that she’d been incompetent enough to get pregnant after one, meaningless time, some fluke hour where he’d been tired and she’d been so eager to be used. It seemed everyone but the mate he loved could carry to term; he had begun to think, in vicious, irrational wisps he waved frustratedly away, that this might be a curse of their own. Clearly, though, it granted Pantherpaw no protection. She was still on trial.
Strange, though, that Kier was the one conducting the trial, when he’d given that up to the Superiors long ago. Strange, that it could almost be said that, however grudgingly, and with whatever honour he had within him, he was administering the interrogation precisely because someone he wasn’t willing to let die was the one on trial. Strange, that this trial could be called rigged in other ways now, precisely because he may never have let there be a guilty verdict.
But that didn’t protect the other two sisters.
“Well!” Kier said again, suddenly standing, and now his voice was louder; the trial had begun. “We all know why we’re here. I hope by now we all understand that the crimes of the parent reflect upon the child — it’s very well and fair to say ‘but they’re innocent’, if we were living in a fairytale. But we’re not. And the unfortunate reality is that treason breeds treason — not because of any blood, but because it’s only natural to feel some stirring of resentment, of dissatisfaction, when you see someone close to you imprisoned.” He had been addressing the audience; now he turned to the three she-cats on the podium. “Yes, we don’t blame you. I’d blame you more if you didn’t hold us responsible for the suffering your mother will face.” Kier stopped, and a slow, slimy grin spread across his face. “Has faced.” And then, after a little shudder of his shoulders that might have been a laugh, it was gone and he went back to casually approaching the three accused. “So, let me ask you — what, precisely, are your feelings towards NightClan? Towards me?” He flicked his head back towards his deputy without taking his eyes off the three. “Towards Snowblister?”
“Ratpaw,” he glanced at the apprentice with an indulgent, patient smile, like it was an in-joke. “Hopefully we’ll have a little executing for you to do.” It would be a sorry warrior assessment if not; very disappointing. Holding the smile for a moment longer, Kier turned back to the three sisters, expectant and so calmly innocent.
It wasn't a surprise that Snowblister adored trials, with her obsession over corruption, sin, mistakes, and how they had to be corrected, repaid. To her, a rigged trial was interesting, but a fair, real trial was even better. It held substance. She felt more powerful, seeing the fear in someone's eyes as they realized the simple slipup was detrimental, how it passed to the audience when they, too, realized how controlled they were. Everyone walked on eggshells, everyone knew there was no privacy and no secrecy, that they could be next. She perched beside Kier, leaned forward with interest, blue eyes gleaming as the accused were led in and took their place on the stand, young and fearful. Young or old, there was no bias — not when it was usually rigged against them. She wanted to send a quiet, snide remark to Kier, 'don't sound too excited,' but she knew he didn't care. Snowblister fixed her gaze on the sisters, unblinking and cold, accusatory. Some members of the audience did the same. One of the accused, a small brown she-cat, shivered as the eyes landed upon them. Snowblister sat up, eyes flicking towards Kier briefly as he spoke. She had been the one to imprison their mother with invalid reasons, though nobody could question them, and she was amused seeing them now, facing the same fate Primrosetuft certainly would.
So, let me ask you — what, precisely, are your feelings towards NightClan?
Duskpaw shrunk where she stood, crouched beside Cascadepaw's side. There was no point in trying to deter the fear, in trying to appear stronger than she was, it wouldn't help her case either way. She wasn't even sure what her case was. Maybe she should have kept her mouth shut during her mother's imprisonment. Her eyes, wide and scared, looked towards her sisters, almost apologetically, before she looked back up towards Kier and Snowblister. The sight of them sent more chills down her spine, the way they both looked hungry, inhumanely powerful from where they stood as judges. It was odd that Kier was conducting. It made her all the more terrified.
Her voice shook as she spoke, surprisingly the first. "I think you are both. . . a capable, strong, and . . . wonderful leader and deputy, respectably." She had practiced as much as she could, but there was no way she could predict their questions. "And I think it is important that Nightclan remain strong and united under you." Her eyes drifted to the point just over Kier's shoulder. "Traitors should be dealt with. . ." she trailed off, unsure, suddenly looking towards her sisters for help, to speak up for her, because still she couldn't bring herself to speak ill of their mother, of themselves, when they had done nothing wrong. If she said the wrong thing, surely they'd be done for.
Post by vexing_ode on Mar 18, 2022 12:49:57 GMT -5
Bunnypaw The sleek furred Tom sat neatly his tail over his paws, his expression was calm, the only hint to his excitement was the glint in his eyes. This was the first trial he would get to see since he came to Nightclan with his siblings and Marinewisp. Bunnypaw itched for the thrill, the desperation of the cats on trial. He figured he would just watch for know, he had learned a lot, but wanted to learn more. The two faced Tom had grown fond of the way this clan was run, and developed an admiration for his leader. He wanted to keep is indifferent appearance, it was easier to get ahold of traitors secrets that way.
Perking his ears at his leaders words he shifted himself to better watch the scene unfold.
Marinewisp Padding around the cavern Marinewisp couldn’t hide the worried look on her face. She was great full for the clan taking her in and helping her with the kits she traveled with, but this isn’t at all what she expected. The ways of this clan wasn’t at all like the tales she had heard, but, she was here now. And the kits had grown strong and where learning well. She paced around a few more times before spotting one of the Bengal apprentices she was so fond of. She padded over to them, pressing her flank into them as kier began the trial.
Wheatkit A tiny kit sat quietly, patiently, just like her leader had thought her. She was still very young, freshly plucked from her mothers nest. She watched resisting the urge to play, or pester another cat with her hundreds of questions.
Bumblebeepaw, unlike their brother Bunnypaw that sat a ways from them, did nothing to hide their excitement, the growing thrill that rose up in them at the start of the trial; along with the almost animalistic glee at the the fear of the three apprentices as they stood, stripped of all pride and dignity, in front of the expectant masses.
There was a certain desperation to how Bumblebeepaw sat and stirred, a certain restlessness to the apprentice as they waited for the trial to continue along. For better or worse, it was clear Bumblebeepaw was eager to be a part of the action. To them this was oppertunity - a chance to put into action what they had been taught, and better yet, a chance to potentially prove themselves and move up in the world so long as they were savy enough. The fact that it was at the expense of three fellow apprentices was just the cherry on top; for someone content to climb the social ladder at all cost, three bodies down was just a stepping-stool to get there faster.
It was scary, really. Pantherpaw had put herself out there simply in hopes that it may save her mother, herself, her sisters too. She'd let herself fall into what seemed almost a trap, and had even for a moment... Thought that perhaps Kier was not as bad as he seemed. It rather short lived. Kier was a monster, as she had originally came to see. Her falter in judgement had been enough, and how could she have let this happen? She'd yet to tell her sisters of this, though she figured they may have even commented on her weight. She'd brush it off, pretended she'd simply been snatching extra prey. Did the best she could to avert their comments or concerns.
However, she was scared. Scared of being a mother, half way because she was so young. Pantherpaw also found herself scared purely because how would her siblings react? Especially if they found out who the father was.
The black feline shifted in her spot uncomfortably, feeling so many eyes on her and her siblings. Her lips pressed together as the first question was asked, as one of her sister's voices came. She swallowed, hard. Each word that they could speak could go against them, could save them, could do so many things in so many ways. Even as she shifted, she could feel the growing lives in her wriggle around, and her stomach churned. Her green eyes shifted along the others, before looking back to Kier.
How do I feel about you? She felt dizzy trying to think, but she puffed her chest slightly and made her voice strong.
"You're a strong willed leader, and willing to protect our clan at all costs. For that, you're a great leader. Snowblister is the perfect deputy to serve you, as she is as loyal and strong. The two of you compliment each other and have brought the clan to greatness." Her eyes, however, never left Kier.
At the end of the day, there was only one thing that was important to her: her own survival. Of course, this wasn't to say that she didn't love her family, that there wasn't a part of her that burned with the recognition that at any point, her mother could (would?) die. There was a part of her, a small part of her, that was absolutely haunted by that reality, the reality of the tenuousness of her kin's position. However, that part of her was easily compartmentalized when it came to saving her own skin. Cascadepaw hated that ease; it gnawed at the pits of her stomach, a remnant of a conscience that had once been. The last few months had stripped the power of her conscience; the rightness or wrongness of actions no longer mattered under the circumstances of Kier's regime. Conscience was a weakness, one that would kill her if she let it. No matter how wrong the world, how much there was a part of her that wanted to rage against the dying of the light, Cascadepaw had decided early that it didn't matter. It wasn't worth risking her life; she had run every scenario of resistance possible in her head, and they all led to the same place: her blood spilled on the once sacred ground of NightClan. See, the risk of death was more than just a risk if one chose to be defiant; as her mother, who had stepped out of line in... some way, she still wasn't exactly sure, had proven, death was not simply a risk, it was a certainty.
The thoughts buzzed through her head, but there was no sign of them in her eyes. They stayed neutral, as they always did. Almost no one in the clan had seen her any other way but completely neutral, seeming unbothered by the world, apparently content with her position at the bottom rung of the hierarchy. It was better that way, to keep her emotions completely reserved to herself.
She blinked as her sisters spoke, a hint of relief in her chest. She had been concerned that they wouldn't know the gravity of every word they said. Clearly, they had taken notes from her own performance the day that Primrosetuft was imprisoned. Good, she thought. They are learning the game. The game was exhausting to play, of course, but it was the only way. When Pantherpaw finished speaking, Cascadepaw closed her eyes for just a moment, a headache burning in the back of her skull. When she opened them again, her gaze shifted from her siblings to the leader, although her head was bent down in reverence and she refused to meet either his gaze or the gaze of his second in command. It was her turn to speak.
"NightClan must come before everything else, sir. No matter what, we must be willing to lay our lives down for the group, even amidst personal strife." Did she blame Kier for her mother's pain? Of course, there was a part of her that did, the angry part of her. But the composed Cascade that the world saw did not. "It is absolutely unacceptable to question our loyalty to you, Snowblister, or NightClan. Primrosetuft," she chose to use her mother's name intentionally, a way to distance herself from risk, "defied NightClan. Her behavior put the clan as a whole at risk." Had it really? Only Snowblister and Kier knew exactly what she had done. "She has proven that her own loyalty to the success of our clan, to the sanctity of your crown, has been compromised. Blood does not bind me to a traitor, sir. You have given us no reason to question your decisions or question the fact that you are the rightful leader of the group." Another lie, but spoken with a mix of confidence and veneration.
A grin, genuinely surprised and taken aback, spread across Kier's face as the first of the sisters spoke; it settled into pleased amusement as each of them followed the other, Kier padding slowly back and forth in front of them, eyes on the ground like he was truly paying attention, truly taking in and filing away every single word. He nodded along occasionally, but the ever-present smile pulling the corners of his mouth up made it all too clear he was greeting it all with amusement; that he was silently mocking them. Really, it didn’t matter what they said — he just liked to hear it. When Cascadepaw finished her little speech, he straightened up and flashed a grin at Snowblister, some unknown thing passing between them. "I must say," he laughed, gaze on Snowblister for a moment longer before he turned back to the sisters. It showed how young they were, how inexperienced; the first one turned to compliments and the other two jumped on board, like pretty little idiots. "I wasn't expecting all this flattery! NightClan is a noble Clan, I’m very sorry for speaking against it where I could so stupidly be heard — that’s the sort of thing I was expecting. But all this personal praise! Very nice. Yes, very nice. ‘A strong willed leader…’” He fell silent for a moment, nodding down at the ground like he was holding up his own name beside the words and appreciating them, and then he raised his head with a smile. “Well, very nice. Thank you, girls. I do wish Snowblister would remember she did serve me.” A laugh went up around the cavern and Kier grinned along with them, flashing his deputy another charming look. He loved this showmanship. His gaze wandered from Snowblister and roved around the room, grinning at Bunnypaw, at Bumblebeepaw, at Moonblight’s impressionable little kit, silently rewarding their enthusiasm.
“But no,” Kier continued, and now he sobered somewhat as he crossed the stone floor and hopped up onto the podium beside Cascadepaw. He padded along behind them, unblinking eyes burning into the backs of their heads. From that look alone, from the viciousness that had suddenly entered his voice, it was clear what he wanted: unmoving obedience. Perfect feminine deportment. If they glanced back at him, if they shifted… “That’s not enough, is it? Not nearly enough.” He slotted in close beside Duskpaw and Cascadepaw, looking between them. “I’m supposed to trust the fawning flattery of a traitor’s daughter?” He leaned in towards Cascadepaw, tilting his head, and the frown on his face was so mockingly sympathetic. “It’s pathetic, my dear,” he murmured softly. Brushing away from them, he slipped next between Duskpaw and her other sister, paying special attention to this one. “Your sort are very good at lies, aren’t you?” He continued in that same tender voce, and tapped Pantherpaw’s stomach with the back of his paw. It was harmless, but still sharp enough to kill a fly. Kier leaned in close, nose touching the back of her ear, sides sliding against each other. Tilting his head, he brushed forward, eyes picking apart her profile like he was daring her to look at him. “Very pretty lies.” Then, suddenly, he snapped away from her, straightening to address the Clan; but as he did so, his right forepaw found Pantherpaw’s waist and hooked around it, holding onto her with such idle threat even as he ignored her. “Loyalty, they say…”
And then, without warning, he let go of Pantherpaw and snapped a paw out to catch Duskpaw’s head, forcing her down with such violence that she smashed against the stone podium. “Come now, you can all do better than that!” he crowed so casually to the three sisters, standing over Duskpaw with his claws digging into her scalp. A thrill went up around the cavern. “Tell me how you really feel!” There was too much joy in Kier’s voice for him not to be enjoying this; now he was loud, almost buzzing with hysterical glee, almost tripping over his words. “No more oh, Kier, you’re so magnificent — you hate me! Say you hate me! Don’t you hate me?” He suddenly grabbed Duskpaw’s scruff in his teeth and bundled her over the edge of the podium and into the dust with violent humiliation; it was a tiny fall, but it was rocky and degrading. Ignoble. He stood in her place atop the platform, between the other two sisters, eyes wild with savagery. “If I haven’t done enough, I can do more! What then? What will you feel then?” Now he was in Cascadepaw’s face, a second away from shoving her backwards, daring her to look at him — to look at him. “If I kill your sister right now,” he demanded, trying to provoke tears, to provoke hysteria, to make her so afraid that she babbled just to make him stop, to make her break her character and raise her eyes, “right here, would you still be loyal? ‘I’ve given you no reason to question my decisions’ — what if I do?” He suddenly whirled away from her, standing beside Pantherpaw without acknowledging her, without targeting her, and instead directing his attack on Duskpaw below. “Do you or do you not,” his voice was loud, impatient, like she were so particularly stupid; his pupils were blown, his claws gripping the edge of the podium like the contact was all that was keeping him together, “hate what NightClan has become?”
Snowblister's smile could be seen growing wider, more gleeful, only souring for a few brief moments as Kier spoke against and the subsequent laughter of the crowd. She would have said something back had she not been co-judge to a trial. As quick as it appeared, it was gone as he leapt down and approached them. She looked towards Ratpaw expectantly.
When Kier circled the three, lingering far too long at the side of Pantherpaw, Duskpaw tried to stay unmoving, though her legs shook and her heart felt like it was going to explode and her head spun, because the very presence of the leader so close, all while the crowd watched, made her ill. Everyone knew they were lying through their teeth, saying exactly what he wanted to hear for the chance of coming out of it alive, but it was foolish to think it would work. He was perceptive. He knew everything. Briefly, irrationally, she feared he could read her thoughts. No matter how believable they sounded, it wouldn't be enough, for their place had already been marked the second Primrosetuft stepped out of line — Duskpaw almost resented her for it. I’m supposed to trust the fawning flattery of a traitor’s daughter? Her claws scraped the ground as he took his place between her and Cascadepaw, repulsed by his presence but trying not to show it, though the endeavor was useless. He knew. Her gaze followed every step Kier took, though she refused to move her head, for she felt that if she untensed her muscles they would simply fail on her. For a while, she was managing it well, and then Kier wrapped an arm around her neck, forcing her face into the stone with strength she didn't assume he had. Chest heaving, she immediately gave up trying to push him off, letting her paws slide forward limply, more like the limbs of a fabric doll than a cat. As Duskpaw was tossed over the side of the podium, not given enough time to find her footing, she landed pathetically on her side, though it gave her inhabitation to move into a flat, crouched position, paws kept close to her chest and tail trembling behind her. She took a few small, hesitant steps back, looking around wildly as if she would find any sort of escape. It would be fruitless anyway, because surely they would find her. The crowd's roaring made her ears ring.
Do you or do you not hate what NightClan has become?
Her gaze flickered helplessly between her sisters before landing on Kier. She swallowed nervously, her eyes watered. She wanted to rub the tears away but her paws were rooted on the floor. Slowly, hardly visible, Duskpaw nodded. It was a small, single affirmation, no words, no defense, no lies, just pure, unfiltered truth. The crowd grew louder.
"You saw the girl!" Snowblister yelled, standing now from the sheer excitement of it all, grin widening with glee. "Traitor blood runs thick, and we all know what happens to them! Now, what do the other two have to say for themselves?" Her eyes found Kier, and a glint of suspicion shone in their depths.
Marinewisp The scene before the gentle she-cat ripped at her heart and made her stomach turn. But for the sake of herself and the cats she raised she did not look away. She noticed the excitement bumblebeepaw displayed, Part of her was relived, knowing that they would fit in well and survive, but part of her felt sorrow that this will be their life. with a twist in her gut she joined the chanting, even standing with the cats around her. This was her life now too.
Bunnypaw Feeling the excitement and watching kiers display, the young cat lept to his feet, “Treason breeds Treason!” His shout being drowned out by the cats around him. His paws itching to see what kier planed for these cats. He gave a quick glance. To his sibling a slight smile, only lingering long enough for bumblebeepaw to notice.
Wheatkit Blinking in surprise as the apprentice Was flung from the podium, wheatkit was seeing a side of kier she had not yet known, it frightened the tiny Kit but, having been manipulated and brainwashed, she was still blind to the darkness in kier. She squealed in excitement, and alarm, bumping against her siblings.
When Duskpaw finally cried, when she looked so helpless and fragile, an unnameable pleasure sparked through Kier; it would have been enough, would almost have been enough, but then she had the guts, the fearlessness, to nod. It was the bullying cruelty of tyranny, impossible to please — as much as he pushed for a confession, he hadn't actually been expecting one, and as the roar of the crowd went up, Kier felt like he rose with it. He stood there, looking down at her, and the grin that spread across his face was one of pure triumph; it was almost disbelieving, but that just made it all the richer — he was piled with medals, and yet he'd hardly done a thing to earn them. The Hollywood Hills praise of it — another tremendous victory, lord, for a job that had been so easy, a job he'd scarcely done — was addictive. Glamourous. "Yes?" he pressed, voice bloated with surprised glee and brows raised; he was torn between vicious anger at the gall of the confession, even if that had been the point of the interrogation, and admiration at her honesty — what a brave little idiot, cowering in the dust before him and daring to nod. He'd expected there to be more! He was almost disappointment it was over so soon. "Well, don't stop crying! Keep on with it — there's a good girl. We all like it very much." Even at Snowblister's shout and the roar of the audience, his eyes, his grin, never left Duskpaw: this was their special moment, two actors reaping the applause as the crowd acclaimed them; he felt they ought to be standing side by side, ought to be bowing. Well, my dear! He felt he should say to her; in the melodrama of his imagination, he padded over to offer his paw and help her up. Good show! They'd done this together. He laughed, a high little sound that didn't move his mouth and that wasn't heard over the uproar filling the cavern; well, she was dead.
And then Snowblister broke through the perfect spectacle of the moment. His gaze flicked from Duskpaw and his grin faded. Snowblister’s eyes found his; his eyes found hers. At the probing look in them, the look that had scratched at the truth, his expression grew defiant and cold, all the humour filtering away into hateful, sombre provocation. Say something, then, it dared her, so unrepentant, so remorseless, so viciously confrontational. He’d used her and he’d do it again; let Snowblister accuse him. Kier held his deputy’s gaze, then finally scraped his eyes away to watch Pantherpaw with something like irritated, tongue-bitten reluctance; he had been hoping he could stir the audience up enough that they wouldn’t notice she had spoken the least, but now Snowblister had forced both their hands. He would just have to hope she wasn’t stupid enough to incriminate herself beyond repair; Kier could only do so much deflection, could only ignore so much, before he had to react. Favouritism was very well for Eris, for Laertes, even for his own bastard kits — he was willing to risk the distaste of the Clan for them. He wasn’t willing to risk it for Pantherpaw. If she misstepped once too many times, he would leave her to drown. His nobility only went so far. He stayed beside Pantherpaw, and though his gaze was cold and unhelpful, the fact he did stay could almost be called a comfort. She had a buffer — for now.
“Just stay with the loyalty rhetoric,” he muttered to her without looking, too quiet to be heard by anyone outside the two of them; his voice sound grudging, like he would have rather let her be torn apart, like guiding this defendant and lending her his manipulation, letting her see behind the screen of it, was a dangerous inconvenience she wasn’t worthy of. This odd, disjointed privilege, an Inferior handed bespoke Royal protection under the table, was clearly something Kier was bitterly unhappy about. But still he did it. He turned his head slightly towards Pantherpaw, but still he wasn’t fool enough to look at her. “Don’t be stupid like your sister and confess to anything I asked.” With that, he drifted away, silent as he slowly padded back towards Snowblister down the centre of the cavern; though his back was to the sisters, his head was slightly turned and ears alert as he waited and listened, tense in a way he hadn’t been before. If she said something damning, he’d have to intervene and cut her off, direct attention away. It would have been so much easier if he could have just let the little idiot die, and the fact he wasn’t going to do that frustrated him to madness. Being honourable, being selfless at his own expense, was an infuriating shackle; never again. He resented Snowblister bitterly for stripping the trial of its joy; now he had to work. But by god, if the devil worked hard, Kier worked harder. And if it was now a feud between him and Snowblister, of her angling for guilty and him pushing back towards innocent, two rival lawyers, then he'd win. It was unexpected, to play the role of defence, but on principle he'd commit; he never lost at anything he tried his hand at.
Brat squeezed her way through the crowd, offering snacks and readings from the little purse on her hip. “No?” she kept murmuring into the close, stifling warmth of all those massed bodies, trying to keep her voice as low as she could so her father, preening and parading about on the podium, wouldn’t notice her. “No? You sure?” When the cheering uproar went up around her, she joined in with comedic, bewildered confusion — “yeeeah!” she cheered lowly and unenthusiastically, looking around for context, unable to see the trial from over all the heads, “yeeeaaa—yay! I love— yaaaaay!” When she’d done enough, she died off and went back to ‘sorry’ and ‘excuse me’ing her way through the press of bodies.
When she got to Leveretpaw, he gave her one quick glance, wide-eyed with terror, before quickly shaking his head, like he was afraid saying yes would get him put up there on the podium. He was trembling with fear, overwhelmed by the noise and the violence, by Kier’s voice crying out over the blood-hungry cheering like a circus ringmaster, by the laughter that went up now and then without him understanding why or what they were laughing at. “No,” he blurted out.
“Sure?” Brat pressed, tilting her head down and looking up at him, like she was giving him a final chance at a great deal.
“Yes,” Leveretpaw whispered shakily and looked away, back to the trial, too afraid to be seen speaking to her. "Treason breeds treason!" he joined in, sick with terror.
Bumblebeepaw's voice too was lost to the crowd, but they wouldn't dare be seen not joining in the chanting with the cheering masses. Not because, like Leveretpaw, they were shaken and in horror, in fear of what might become of them if they so much as stepped out of line, but because they hoped that joining in with as much spirirt as one could possibly muster was visible, and there was the hope when the dust settled after the trial that those in charge had a keen enough eye and mind to notice and recall all who had been the most fervent supporters through-out. And also, admittedly, in part because they took a visceral pleasure in the violence; watching as Duskpaw was thrown down, beaten, only to give the most pathetic of confessions, sent a rush of andrenaline through the apprentice as if they too were in the middle of the action.
It took a lot for the apprentice to tear their eyes away from the scene in front of them, but sensing the feeling of a gaze on their pelt they turned to meet their brother's eyes, flashing a small smile right back. In truth the apprentice would have rather been sitting with the pair, but their choice at distance was strategic. It potrayed the image of a good little soldier, one whose ties to their family was menial at best, whose loyalty was to Kier, Snowblister, their superiors, and the clan. But in these moments of chaos, when everyone else was focused elsewhere, Bumblebeepaw didn't hesitate to give a descreet acknownlegement of their family ties, even if they were careful to keep it brief.
Cascadepaw would not meet his gaze, she did not dare to meet the gaze of a superior. While her sisters may have been more conflicted, less resolute, willing to die on a hill not meant for death, Cascadepaw wasn't. She was perfectly satisfied with giving Kier exactly what he wanted: obedience came naturally to her. It gave her something to do, gave her a strange purpose to claw for when everything else fell.
If Kier had meant to insight hysteria in her, he clearly did not know her. Ambivalence was her shield, watching, collecting information, never faltering, never revealing what was behind pale blue eyes. She watched him assault her sisters without blinking, a complete nothingness on her face - at least, until Duskpaw nodded. Cascadepaw's gaze snapped in her sister's direction, and for the first time in her whole life, she allowed anger to flash through her visage. Did she not realize what she was doing? Was she so stupid as to try not to fall in line? Did she not realize that Duskpaw's actions could sign not just her own death certificate, but Pantherpaw's and Cascadepaw's as well? Fury burned in her gaze for just a moment as she looked at her sister. While she had been unaffected by Kier's roughing them up, the marbled she-cat looked genuinely bothered by her sister's ignorance, her selfishness. If she died tonight, it would be her sister's fault, perhaps even more than it was their mother's fault. A minute ago, there had been some plausible deniability that treason had infected them as well. Now, such deniability was gone. Duskpaw had admitted what needed to be unsaid, and they would all pay the price.
And then, as soon as the emotion passed through her gaze, a cold warning, it was gone, and her gaze returned to the ground. Few would have noticed the look, but she was sure that her superiors would have. Although there was a part of her that wanted to wince as the clan chanted, she did not, did not move a single muscle, a perfect statue carved from only the finest marble. Her stone had been broken because of Duskpaw, it would not be broken again, she was smarter than that. She wished her sister had been smarter than that.
Her thoughts bumbled back to his words. If I killed your sister, right here, would you still be loyal? There was a part of her, the part that was angry, even if that anger didn't touch her eyes, that wasn't to respond cruelly: fine, kill her, she's already committed to the bit. Cascadepaw would not stick her neck out for anyone, let alone a cat who seemed to be on a suicide mission. It wasn't that she didn't love her sister, didn't love their mother, but as she had said before, blood didn't bind her to a traitor. She wouldn't die just because it would be easier. It would have been easier, perhaps, to bow down to the inevitable, offer her throat, accepted that this was the end. But, Cascadepaw was dedicated to her own survival, and nothing would stand in the way of that. But the other part of her knew that if she said that, she would put the nail in her sister's coffin. Was it wrong that there was a small part of her that wanted to? Duskpaw had now painted another target on her back, of course there was at least a part of her that was indifferent, right? She chose not to answer the question; after all, the moment had passed.
She did, however, answer his final question. Do you, or do you not, hate what NightClan has become? This was something that she could answer truthfully, or at least was primed to be her most truthful answer. Of course, in reality, she didn't care that NightClan had turned out like this; it wasn't a surprise, really. A delusional tyrant had left a delusional tyrant; NightClan's state was perfectly predictable. Her entire life, NightClan had been a villain. She didn't care. If she cared, if she hated her home, she simply would have left, her memory quickly forgotten among her peers. That was one of the perks of being the way she was; if she were to slip out, it would have gone largely unnoticed, at least before this started.
Still, despite the fact that she really didn't hate NightClan - she had tacitly accepted long ago that it truly wasn't her place to question decisions of those above her - Duskpaw had put her in a stranglehold. Anyone who hates NightClan must be dealt with accordingly, the part of her that craved her own lifeblood wanted to say. Yet, Cascadepaw knew that such words would not go over well; after all, the leader was looking for any moment he could to pounce. That would give him ample ability to attack, although perhaps not her. It was foolish to be so concerned with her sister's wellbeing; Duskpaw seemed completely uninterested in her own.
After another beat, she figured her time to consider an answer was over. "NightClan is my home, sir, and I will not let anything stand in the way of my loyalty to my home," she decided. There was genuine truth to her words, NightClan was her home, although perhaps she used the idea of her home to guise an unspoken reality: Cascadepaw would not let anything stand in the way of her own ability to wake up every evening. Still, even if her words were a guise for her strong survival urges, NightClan was all she knew, and she understood that her life was balanced on her loyalty to her home.
Duskpaw couldn't look up at the podium anymore, eyes glued to the space just before her paws. Her face burned. She felt humiliated. Her mind had blanked, she chose the wrong answer and now it dictated the result of not only her fate, but her sister's as well. Unintentionally, she would drag them down with her — it would almost be poetic, the three of them going down together, if it was what any them wanted. If they made it out alive, surely she would bare the weight of what she had said for moons afterwards. She resigned herself to silence despite Kier's further prompting, voice dead in her throat, terrified that if she continued it would only make everything worse than it already was. It was hard to believe that was possible. Instead of staying crouched, muscles aching with tension, she sat back, head lowered shamefully, tail wrapped tight around her paws for comfort, looking all the more guilty.
Newly named Oleanderpaw was as excited as any other impressionable, blood thirsty apprentice. She cheered with the crowd, blaring in Leveretpaw's ear without any semblance of remorse, chatting and predicting outcomes and pointing out things that would be obvious to anyone that had a working pair of eyes. She didn't seem to register her companions fear. When Brat showed her stupid, scamming face, Oleanderpaw's mood suddenly darkened into a snarl. "Go away," she huffed, still bitter to the core.
"Treason breeds treason!" She shouted along, much more excited than Leveretpaw beside her.
She tilted her head at him, tapping him on the shoulder and directing him towards the executioner. "Look at Ratpaw," she giggled, "you think he's going to be able to do something." She sounded almost wistful. "Wouldn't that be cool." She nudged him teasingly, though it wasn't exactly friendly, and laughed, "you look like you're going up there next! Chill out."
A sick grin was plastered onto Ratpaw's face before the trial had even started. The mentions and gazes of his superiors only fueled the excitement that raged through him. His claws scratched at the cold stone beneath him as he waited in anticipation. The twisted apprentice couldn't be happier with the changes in the clan. All his short life he had longed for the pain of others, the suffrage, the desperate pleas to be spared - and now, he was poised right in front of it. Perhaps the cherry on top of it all was his job - the executioner. A shiver of pleasure ran down his spine as he eagerly eyed each of the accused, desperate for a chance to prove his worth, and far more than that, to secure his first kill. His gaze fell to Kier then, his only hope that this trial would end in death.
.........
The awkward black form of Satyrsong sat amongst the crowd, watching the scene unfolding with withheld horror. This is quite the opposite of his idea of fun, unfortunately, and he swallowed his anxiety down the best he could. A pang of fear ripped through him as he thought of his children. What was to happen if they ever found themselves up there instead?..
.........
Unlike his father, Wendigokit held his head tilted as he watched the show, quite entertained. The tom was already developing some unusual tastes, and it would seem that he liked the taste of this fearfest. A small smile pulled at the corner of his lips as he awaited the conclusion of this trial, eagerness brewing in his belly.
Hollowmoon watched the proceedings with the appropriate smirks and nods, internally rioting at the pain and emotional torture Keir was dishing out on the young she-cats. That could have very well been her only a few moons prior, and the thought filled her with a wordless dread, though she carefully trained her visage to betray none of this. The only indication she felt anything beside numb apathy at all were the scoremarks in the dirt where she couldn't keep her claws sheathed, having to tether herself in place instead of moving the aid the cats on trial.
It was with a sick realization that she saw the kits around her seeming to grow excited and eager to join in. What was this world she'd found herself in? She had only a few foggy memories of kit-hood, before SummerClan...before Keir. They were pleasant, though vague, and she couldn't help but wonder what they had done as a clan to deserve such a punishment as the fate that lay before them.
Some of Kier’s tension melted away as Cascadepaw diverted attention away from her sister. As soon as she began to speak, he stopped in the centre of the court and turned to listen, watching her in silence as she went on. Some might have felt uneasy about being all alone in the centre of a screaming cavern; Kier revelled in it. He was mightily pleased with Cascadepaw. One might think he’d be frustrated by this shell he couldn’t crack, by her utter, strong-willed devotion to her part, but, for whatever reason, he wasn’t. Really, what it came down to was a simple thing: he saw much of himself in her. He didn’t want the challenge of breaking her down, not when the chance of building her up could be so much more rewarding. She already had a wall — let them build it higher, higher, to the heavens. Let them make it impenetrable. She-cats belonged in the nursery, and in time he was sure she’d bear a fine litter — but for her, for someone of her natural talents, there was no reason why she couldn’t do both: be built into a perfect little soldier, and be a pretty mother. It was a shame to waste such potential. He knew, of course, that there were likely many she-cats who held her strength, her resilience, her aptitude — but they hadn’t put themselves up on this stage and shown it off, had they? No, they were content to be bundled into the nursery — so let them stay there. If Kier was anything, he was a bully — he liked to be stood up to. And even though Cascadepaw was doing the precise opposite of that, to him it felt like an audition. And she’d passed with flying colours. And the thing that made it all the better was that she’d be on such fragile ground, on such crack-ridden glass, that she’d do anything to keep her head. To escape the guilty verdict that Kier would make sure to mention now and then, that he’d dangle over her head. Fear, accusations of distrust, of being in such a precarious position, of how she so narrowly avoided the trial going very differently, of not wanting to end up like that mother of yours — and she’d dance, dance, dance. Oh, it was excellent. It was too perfect. She’d be such a wonderful first mother to the NightClan Kier wanted to create, such an ideal model of the perfect citizen; he’d marry her off to some Superior, raise her rank, give her an invitation to all the parties Inferiors were denied entry to — and she’d pay him back tenfold. All anyone really needed to bow their head, beyond violence and terror, was a pretty, elegant thing to make loyalty some exclusive high society. Then suddenly everyone wanted a ticket. Kier looked over to Cascadepaw and his smile was genuine; he had such dreams for her.
"Well said, my dear," he cried, and the praise was more ominous than any condemnation, than any assault. “See this?” He addressed the audience, turning in a slow circle so he could speak to all sides. Kier held his paw out to Cascadepaw like she had triumphed, and the crowd cheered. “This is a lesson to us all. Obedient. Selfless. The utter understanding that the whole comes before the one. She is a fine example of what we should all strive to be.” He turned back to Cascadepaw and looked at her lecherously — “and I do mean fine in more ways than one.” The crowd laughed. Kier grinned at the reaction. The true motivation behind acclaiming her so publicly was to distance her from her sisters: let them think her a traitor, and let them abandon her. Let her be all alone, surrounded by wolves at a cocktail party, a good little hostess. His speech had taken him to Duskpaw’s side, sitting alone on the trial floor, and now he stopped. He tittered. “You, though, my dear,” he told her quietly, hauling her to her paws; his voice was warm, like he was sheltering her from the consequences of her failure, like he wasn’t going to say it outright — like she didn’t know. “Why don’t you go sit beside Ratpaw?” He nudged her gently, encouragingly, over to the hungry-eyed apprentice. It was the cruellest game in the world, to subtly confirm her verdict in such a way that he might still say no, no, you’ve done nothing wrong, you’re safe, my dear, to make her go sit by her would-be executioner, like it was a pitying kindness, like the apprentice were nothing more than a boy too shy to ask a girl to dance.
Then Kier swept around to drink in the acclamation of the Clan, the eagerness of the apprentices. He grinned back at them, padding along the edge of the crowd, close past Bumblebeepaw. When he reached them, he stopped for a moment, the grin still on his face as he looked down at them, soaking up the chants from up close. He padded on without comment, but the moment was enough to know he’d seen and filed away the apprentice’s enthusiasm. “Come on, my dear!” he greeted Hollowmoon, stopping in front of her. “It isn’t all that serious! You’re not the one on trial — cheer a little! Nothing worse for an actor than a dead audience.” He smiled, bright and charming. It was a cheerful threat; her lack of compliance had been filed away. His eyes wandered down to her claws and he brushed them back into their sheathes with one paw. “Not very becoming of a lady,” he explained sympathetically, and padded on. When he reached Wendigokit, he suddenly stooped and picked the kit up by the scruff, dropping him atop a small stone pillar rising from the floor close by. “Better viewpoint,” he told the kit, flashing him another grin before continuing on. It was the equivalent of doting on babies during a campaign, and the crowd loved it.
He could take a moment to enjoy the theatrics; it would all scrape to a stop when Pantherpaw’s testimony began, when the trial turned back to grey stone and sombre violence.
“You go away,” Brat replied, but her voice was distracted and with no bite. Suddenly, she sat down close beside Oleanderpaw, eyes fixed on the trial, so oblivious to personal space that she was practically sitting against the older she-cat’s hip. When she shouted treason breeds treason, Brat looked at her and scrunched up her nose in confused distaste. Not because she had any thoughts at all for the she-cats on trial, but because Oleanderpaw was going along with the crowd.
You look like you’re going up there next! “I might be!” Leveretpaw blurted out anxiously, turning suddenly to his bully-friend, and he sounded tortured. “The other night I tripped and fell and I’m sure Snowblister saw.” He looked back to the trial and his eyes were wide and tormented. “I’m sure she’s going to put me on trial. Who needs a clumsy apprentice?”
“No one!” Brat agreed, loudly chewing the snacks she’d brought in her satchel. When Kier made his way around the audience, Brat waved enthusiastically, but her father was too enamoured by his own power, by his infamy, charming the masses and stopping to chat to cats she could only see the ears and backs of heads of, to notice her. She dropped her paw and went back to eating. "Hey, Ratpaw! Bumblebeepaw!" she called over the heads of their peers. She repeated their names until they looked. "Ten bucks says they all get off. It ain't feel like a killing day today, the weather's off." She raised her brows, giving a little nod like she was saying 'uh-huh', and then went back to eating. "Frogs don't croak on killin' days," she explained to Oleanderpaw, glancing up at her. Then, a slow grin spreading across her face, she held up the goods she'd already won from successful bets. "If ya gonna place bets, pays to know the climes." She clicked her tongue, winked, and went back to eating. "Suckers," she muttered, tittering.
It took everything in Hollowmoon to paste a believably demure look on her face, eyes batting down to her paws in the picture of a obedient she-cat. "Of course, Kier," she murmured, wrapping her tail around her paws to hide the offending things from sight. Her heart fluttered in her chest, pulse pounding until her eyes seemed to pound with the fear and anger building within her. She couldn't save Duskpaw from whatever verdict Kier passed down, couldn't hide the kits away and preserve their innocence a little longer. She couldn't even protect herself if Keir decided to come after her. She was powerless to do anything.
If it was a fair fight, if Keir attacked her one-on-one, she might be able to win; there was at least a chance. But the brutal way their new leader had of inforcing his will via other cats, by making them believe that it should be his way... that was the insidious part. That was the part that choked her, robbed her of breath and hope. She had to make herself small, had to fold in and in and in until the only part of her visible was that most pleasing part, and it just killed her to do so.
For just a moment, a mere blink of an eye between one second and the next there was a flash of rebellion, of rage, of death. The tear-stained marks on her face gave her the visage of a wailing demon come back to haunt her killer, and it was a ghastly sight. Like lightning, however, it struck and vanished in the same blink. Carefully, she wrapped that feeling in the most gossamer of fabrics and began to bury it, digging deeper and deeper into herself until all that was left was a perfect picture of the other cats in the clearing, salivating at the thought of death and punishment and pain. She would be what he wanted to see...what they all wanted to see. Until she wasn't.
As Kier had started to come towards the apprentices, Bumblebeepaw had all but doubled the loudness of their chant, all but doubled the show of their enthusiasm. It would have seemed impossible, but somehow in the thrill of the moment -- in a moment that to the young apprentice felt like it could help to make or break their entire future -- they had found the will and ability to somehow increase their show of exuberance. It was almost funny to think that somewhere in one of the other clans, likely not too long ago or far from there, another ambitious apprentice had probably felt something similar; the need to put in their everything, to show that they were worthy of power, of moving up in the world. But there, that apprentice had probably been hunting under an intense assesment, or showing off their fighting skills in some make-or-break moment. Here, there was no show of skill or talent -- no, instead the apprentice was working towards moving up the only way possible under Kier's reign; by being an unabashed sychophant.
And it seemed to work. When Kier stopped in front of them Bumbleepaw felt their heart skip a beat. They were terrified, and yet in the same moment felt more excited than they had ever been. They were sure that if they had been a cat just one bit less brave, they would have faltered in that moment, that their voice would have caught in their throat or that they would have made a fool out of themselves. But somehow they managed to keep their composure, or at least, the same "composure" of a cat cheering their lungs out in a fanatical display of devotion.
By the time it was clear their leader's attention had finally passed and had moved on to Hollowmoon, the apprentice finally felt their emotional slowly but surely wind down, though there was still the sense of a buzz of a second dose of adrenaline coursing through their veins. It felt as if they had just gotten out of a run-in with death, and the high of survival, of morethan surval, felt amazing. Once more Bumblebeepaw's attention flicked over to their brother, a sort of silent but tacit, "Did you see that?" look plastered on their face.
The glance was only broken by Brat's call out to the two apprentices, which had Bumblebeepaw snap their attention towards where the kit was eating her snacks and seemingly playing bookie, having to crane their head up to see the kitten over the rest of the crowd. A small, amused smile breifly graced the apprentice's muzzle. "I don't place bets, but if so that's disapointing." Bumblebeepaw called out over to Brat just barely loud enough to be hear through the crowd, although it was clear by their ton of voice they weren't too disapointed, they sounded mildly inconvenienced at best. It would be a less fun show if no one was, but at this point it would be hard to fully lower the apprentice's spirits. Although, the apprentice did take a moment to shift their glance to Ratpaw. Had they had the joy of watching an execution it would have been their job, and the apprentice was interested in seeing their peer's reaction to potentially not getting the chance to get their paws dirty.
The apprentice fully honed his gaze in onto Duskpaw as he heard Kier's directions. There was no way he could have kept the sheer bloodthirst from his eyes as he gazed into hers - not that he wanted to. He seemed to sense the fear that pulsed through her and it only made him all the more excited. For too long he had wasted his violence on smaller prey and the thought of finally sinking his teeth into something more made him feel a way he hadn't quite felt before.
His blood almost ran cold as Brat shouted his gamble at him, but he refused to tear his gaze from Duskpaw. Surely this she-cat before him would be his prey by the end of this trial... She just had to be.
------
Wendigokit felt a bit surprised as he was lifted up by Kier and quite frankly a jolt of fear ran through him briefly. Once he was plopped down he was filled with content as he realized now he had a perfect sight of the show before him. He looked at Kier with a grateful half grin and curled his tail around his little paws and began surveying the scene around him.
Why don’t you go sit beside Ratpaw? She didn't lift her head, but Ratpaw's eager gaze was hard to miss out of the corner of her eye, and it taunted her. For a heartbeat, in the time before she moved, she let her eyes meet Kier's. Aside from the fear, the humiliation, there was something akin to defiance. It was gone as she turned her back and tentatively padded towards Ratpaw, eyeing the apprentice warily, and took her place beside him, far enough to be careful and close enough to obey Kier's wishes. She stared ahead, shoulders slumped, occasionally looking at the executioner discreetly as if he would strike at any moment.
"You're excited," she commented, deadpan and resigned, voice lowered to a murmur. She felt similar about him as she did to Kier — repulsion at his apparent cruelty, uncomfortable at his very presence.
She tried her best to ignore Brat, no matter how uncomfortably close she sat, and instead focused her attention on Leveretpaw. He was still too strange to be her friend, but she quite enjoyed making fun of him occasionally, especially because he always put up with her nonsense. She wasn't as mean to him as she was with everyone else, but of course she would deny it. The other night I tripped and fell and I’m sure Snowblister saw. Oleanderpaw only laughed at him, "imagine! On trial for clumsiness!"
Finally, she risked a glare at Brat as she shouted next to them. It didn't matter that Oleanderpaw had been loud the entire time, it was only annoying because it was Brat. "I wouldn't dream of betting with you," she rolled her eyes and turned back to the show, leaning forward with interest. "Don't listen to a thing she says, Leveretpaw, she's all sneaky and stuff." She nodded along with herself.
