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Post by achromatic on Mar 21, 2022 18:58:43 GMT -5
(hey y'all, it's march which means it's our reincarnation festival! funny because ber just received his lives and since we don't have a shaman at the moment, this will also be an opportunity for anyone who wants to tryout for shaman to RP and get a feel for their characters here! There will be a fun ceremony for all the tryoutees! Don't need to tryout for our positions, just dive right in!)
The first buds of the ancient oak were growing on the tips of its branches, an in the glowing light of the moon, it wasn't only the clouds that held a silver lining. The leaf buds shone like neon lights, like fireflies in the darkness of the night, the semi-circle arch of the oak fanning out like a roof over the league cats' heads. There were often few things considered celebratory in the league, but there was something about these woods that demanded a certain respect, and who was Bermondsey to deny the gods who had given him such a dilemma to ponder over?
Life and death. Spring and fall. Rebirth and reincarnation. A life for a life. A trade for a trade. All was one, after all. The cycle continues.
There was a bit of the city that still remained in their bones, and tonight, it was evident by the way cats meandered about, holding things to barter with one another. Folcaim was a festival to barter with the gods, after all; those with a gift worthy enough would eventually place them under the tree or hook them upon its branches, and be visited by the gods with a forecast of their futures.
Tonight, he held onto his own wares like every other cat; he wasn't a nemesis in this space, but merely another face under the glow of the moon. For festivals, it was the proxies who held the highest titles after all, and tonight, they'd find their new shaman too. He was saddened by Charlotte's leave, and even more so that Reynardine had decided to embark on her own journey for now, but life moved on, and he watched from afar.
---
Hywel was certainly enjoying himself; he always enjoyed a bit of fun, festivals and all. He held a long chain with a cross on it, one he had stolen from a church in the city. Surely that would be worth something to someone, no?
If Bermondsey wasn't going to be a nemesis tonight, Eshek certainly was. She sat like a messy queen in the crook of the oak branches, heckling everyone who hooked offerings upon the tree and presiding over everything with irreverent, chaotic power, pointing this way and that, leaning over the branches, singling out everyone and everything: "is that it? Discount prophecy for a discount offerin'"; "ooh, I like that one! You'll get a good one"; "tom's section is round the back... Just kiddin'! Have a blast, kiddo"; "wait, wait, wait... Is that?" She hooked up one of the offerings with her paw and held it out in front of her; the necklace dangled in the moonlight, "oh, I'll very much be takin' this — thanks, champ."
No one could dictate the coulds and could nots of a proxy on a night like this, not even Bermondsey — tonight, who knew where proxies ended and the gods began. And even if she didn't believe in any of it, it was certainly nice to be appreciated. Slipping the necklace — a thin silver chain with a blue glass adornment — round her neck, she hopped out of the tree via a roundabout, swinging way and dropped down beside Bermondsey. "Good haul," she told him without looking, like it was an inventory report, eyes wandering around the clearing eagerly. She wasn't meant to be treating the gifts as personal offerings, and really she was snatching them from the gods themselves. But to her, it was just being a good hostess: the gods weren't gonna say thank you, and so it would be rude not to pile the offerings on herself and make everyone feel good about themselves. By the end of the night, she'd be decked out in dozens upon dozens of necklaces. Eshek turned her head to Ber with a little grin. "Hey, wanna make me Shaman? Get ridda Elizabeth, I'll take Warden, too. Hell, gimme Nemesis. I'll do it myself. Lady League." Taking one of the necklaces from around her own neck, she reached out and slipped it around Ber's. She tilted her head and smiled. "Pretty boy."
Then, suddenly leaving him, she sauntered over to the first cat she saw and held out her paw, forcibly shaking theirs. "Hi — Eshek, Life Proxy," she greeted in a business voice. Then she closed her eyes. "I'm gettin' a message... Somethin' orange... Oh!" She opened her eyes. "You're gonna get hotter and hotter, and then die in a fire. Have a fun night!" Clapping them on the back with a rough paw, she padded off, sucking on her teeth. On the inside, she was howling from the disappearance of Laertes; on the outside, she had to put on a show.
Doefreckle was still sheltering with Hywel, and by now he'd gotten to a point where he'd accepted never going back to SummerClan and embraced life in the League a little more. It was unthinkable, and he was still too soft and too nervous to properly fit in, and part of his gut roiled at just how different things were between his feelings towards them two years ago and where he was now... But this was life. And tonight, it felt almost gentle. Even if he was on the fringes, he liked catching glimpses of this different culture, one that wasn't as terrible as he'd thought it was. There was beauty even in this place. The offerings on the tree tinkled above the babble of voices; the air was cool and gentle; everything felt quiet. Everything felt peaceful.
He’d braved venturing outside the cathedral, and now he made a strange sight within the League, a sweet, cheerful SummerClan tom trotting about his business with quiet, busy merriment, oblivious to or just wilfully ignoring the fact he was among murderers. He was always good at pretending he didn’t see things. He’d gone back to wearing a flower behind one ear, a big red camellia: he’d barely done it since he’d come back to life, but now, in exile, he’d stubbornly taken up the tradition again like he was determined to win back his place in SummerClan and stubbornly, rebelliously, silently defying the idea that he wasn’t a part of it anymore. Though she needled and made fun of him, he was under Eshek’s protection — she gave strict orders that no one was to harm their SummerClan guest, no matter how eccentric or effeminate he may be, under pain of hell’s own goddamn fury. So now he pranced around like he wasn’t living in a nest of crooks and wanna-be tyrants, humming and greeting them all with equal feigned, soft warmth, no matter who they were. He was always on his best behaviour, a perfect dandy; it was his secret hope, never expressed, that some manners might rub off on them. That, and even at rock bottom he just couldn't stand not being popular; he had to have some social name for himself. He was happier now, calmer, because he had a mission: to win back Hywel and earn Sunstar’s forgiveness. And he wasn’t going to fail at either. By the end of it, he was going to have the tom he loved as his mate and a place back in SummerClan and nothing, no one, was going to stop him.
Doe lingered beside Hywel, still too timid to go and join in properly. He just smiled with shy sweetness at everyone who greeted him, murmuring quiet "hi", "hi", "hi"s from beside Hywel. His chest felt gentle with peace. It felt like a whispered joke that he was here at a celebration of reincarnation, but he said nothing; he just smiled. And it was real.
Verne meandered about the gathering for a while, amber eyes catching on every trinket and bauble that tinkled in the cool night air. Treasure was her addiction after all; she craved to follow Eshek’s lead and claim it all for her own. But she lacked the status to do that, she sensed, and after her sister’s disappearance she’d been a bit more inhibited. There was an unease in Verne that didn’t belong there, that disagreed with her basic constitution. It was like a stone in her stomach, weighing her down. The shoe had finally dropped, Niahm was gone, the dread hour had finally come. But only half the price was payed, and she knew that she was next.
Alas, maybe these foreign gods could be a source of some last-second deliverance? Or at least offer an indication of when she should she expect the prince of darkness to come knocking at her door. These were desperate times after all; she had to pray to any gods willing to listen. Verne’s offering hang in a little brown pouch, her teeth clamped around the delicate string that kept it tied shut. The contents clinked softly as she moved — a hollow sound — the only hint of what lay inside.
Hopefully Eshek wouldn’t steal it away if she didn’t know what it was — Verne needed to actually hang the pouch on the tree to get her dream. That’s how the game worked, right? She avoided eye-contact with the proxy as she approached, trying her best to look nonchalant as she inched her way closer to the oak tree.
Bermondsey was clearly used to Eshek's teasing, and today was no different. While he held onto the strict poker face, there was a glimmer of amusement in his gaze, and the slight smirk on his lips. "I didn't know gods take discounts," he mused. Today was one of the few days where the attention turned more to his proxies than himself. "I can't imagine they'd enjoy seeing you take all their stuff as your own, and not to hate on you or anything, but I'd trust even Charlotte more than I trust you to be shaman again, you know. You'd poison me the first moment you could. If you want warden so badly, you should go bother Elizabeth and see what she thinks." He knew that the two of them were probably on good terms, at least he'd like to think they were, but now that he was imagining it in his head, it'd be pretty funny to see the two of them fight over all of that...
Still, he felt his chest ache as she placed the necklace on him, and as much as he'd feel his chest swell in emotion at that, he too was...distracted tonight. His son had gone missing for a while now, and he couldn't help but feel as if it was his fault. Tonight, if the gods really did show themselves, he had but one question to ask. Was Laertes all right? He didn't know, but gods he wanted to find out.
---
Hywel felt protective over Doefreckle, certainly, but never so much as when his sister approached in the corner of his eye, with that rueful gleam in her eyes. They had never really sorted themselves out after that incident, but they were on...speaking terms again at least. He had hoped tonight would go smoothly at least, where Doefreckle could feel at least a little more at home around here, a vast difference from how he used to feel about the league, and yet, the moment he spotted Rhiannon from a distance, he was wary that this would be another bomb dropped in the center of the biggest festival in town.
"Hey, did you want to get something?" he offered Doefreckle, gesturing towards some cat with a dozen strange things littered around him, "maybe we can get you something like a souvenir; anything catch your eye?"
He was a quiet figure in the crowd, a flicker of a black fur in the mass of cats, only briefly emerging from his place amongst them to gently put a small garnet ring on some thin, low-lying branch of the tree, and then back off again. There was a second where he stopped to flash a soft, polite smile at the proxy who had taken to presiding over the entire thing like she was the god herself, but he didn't linger long. He barely caught the beginning of Besmondey's and Eshek's little back and forth before he dipped into the crowd once more.
He was content to not make a scene, to be a bit of a stranger, an odd shadow of a cat among long-standing faces of the league. Even now some foreign scent lingered on his pelt, though it had been mostly lapped away by those of league and the forest. And Rasalas was happy with that. In some ways he was not too different from Doefreckle, an interloper here among the native cats who called the group their home, but unlike the Summerclan tom he had no intent on standing out -- bar however much he did naturally -- and he was content to softly observe from the far reaches and blend in with the many other cats that had joined in the celebration; to pretend more than actually be one of them. But he didn't look unfriendly either, situated in the perfect place to not join into the throws of the group's prominant socialites and in-group conversations, nor in the complete isolation of the very back to seem like an outsider in the corner. It was that artful form of distance, the most skilled form of being a wallflower. One that was not wholly unaproachable, but had no need to be appraoched; one that wasn't an outlier or an oddity, but that gently faded into the background of the much larger celebration.
Hawise slunk away from the tree and back into the crowd seamlessly having deposited her offering with no fuss, the little collar with a bell now hanging on the branch, tinkling when a breeze rustled it. It added an almost pleasant background merriment to the festival, a little something extra that pleased her greatly. As she left it behind she allowed herself to stretch out to sent flirty smiles towards toms and she-cats alike. Laughing as she flitted from conversation to conversation. Easily sliding into conversation circles and pairs before leaving once more after making her greetings. The assassin successor once again acting nothing like her compatriot Charon and easily lulling others into forgetting her occupation. Her baby blues breezed over Hywel and Doefreckle, used to the pairs dance before pausing on Bermondsey and Eshek for a moment before deeming that to outside her concern at the moment. It was a night of revelry not work, even if the scents of certain things was turning her stomach and threatening to make her hurl. The sooner she got this chapter of her life over with the better, because it was turning out to be nothing but a pain.
As she went to move deeper into the crowd she passed a new figure she hadn't seen about recently, or perhaps she had but had been so wrapped up in her own dramas she hadn't paid them the proper attention. Their white toes caught her attention first, the flash of color on their otherwise dark coat that had her blinking in curiosity. Putting a pin in their presence she decided to contemplate that later as well, turning back to socializing and admiring others offerings.
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Post by achromatic on Apr 11, 2022 14:50:37 GMT -5
"Cute bell," a voice came from behind Hawise; Rhiannon would like to say she knew most cats around here by now. She had traipsed across this forest enough to recognize faces. She had seen Verne appear, and greeted from afar, but she was still wary of the others that had seen the sign on that fateful night where the dead sprouted a sapling from its mouth. Instead, she chose to bother the newest assassin successor. When it was Elizabeth who was an assassin, she had been pretty pleased about it; they were...friendly, at the very least. However, once the system changed again, she had sent her congratulations, and then seethed at the thought of Kate replacing her there.
She didn't care for the rest of the brood; Mal would be her favourite, he rarely showed his face. She was disgusted with Kier–though she'd thank him for revealing to her that the gods truly were real–and Kate, she held no fondness for.
However, this pretty she-cat was intriguing, for the fact she knew nothing of her. "Killed a kittypet for it?" she hummed in a sing-song manner, "should I be scared?" childe
Nour shouldn't have been there; this was a ceremony for adults and it was dangerous to walk around the forest at night, yadda yadda...she had rolled her eyes the moment her mother had started speaking. Her parents were such cowards anyway. She loved them to whatever ability she had to truly love, but they were idiots. She had whispered her plans to her siblings and set off on her own; even if Tilly was to rat her out, she'd just get home before the others and pretend the other cat was dreaming it all. Gaslight, gatekeep, girlboss.
Approaching the black cat who hid in the distance, Nour held that grin on her lips, before wiggling her hips and leaping onto the cat's tail with a bite. "Gotcha!" she yelped with a chomp on the cat's tail, blinking with false innocence at the other cat, "why are you hiding anyway? Don't you know that looks kinda creepy? You'll never make friends that way." wrenpansy
His ears perked, rising softly as he turned his head over his shoulder to see the Nour. At first, alarm from having their tail chomped on was clear in his wide, dark amber eyes, but they softened as they realized it was a kit, not even bothering to pull his tail from her. He left it there, slightly wriggling, continuing to humor her little small attack on him. There was however, a small moment of silence, as if he was considering a proper response as he crouched down a bit so he could be more on her same level.
"I don't know if I would really call it hiding. More like watching; the best shows sometimes come from the back of the crowd. But maybe I'll talk with more people later tonight, when it seems like all the festivities have calmed down more." He told, his voice warm and casual; if it weren't for the softness in his tone, it might have perfectly resembled a cordial conversation between two adults. But then he paused, taking a moment to look around before fully realizing she was the only kit he saw in the entire area. Drawing his gaze back to Nour he shared with her a small, knowing smile, a look of a person who had just became aware of a small secret, but seemed as happy as anything to keep it. He softened his voice a little bit more, as if to make sure that no one else could hear and catch a glimpse of her. "So, what are you doing out here tonight?" He asked, and though it held a note of amusement, it was genuine in its curiosity.
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Post by achromatic on Apr 14, 2022 11:12:07 GMT -5
Nour sat at his feet, tail still in her jaws. What was the point of watching? "Are you just shy?" she blurted out, moving so that the tail was now under her paws like a stuffed animal. "You know, my papa said that if you don't make yourself known and make sure others see you as someone not to be messed with from the start, you'll only end up getting buried by the others. I guess that means if we do a dog pile, you need to climb to the top or you might get squished, you know?" Whatever words of wisdom her father must've imparted on her, it had completely gone in one ear and out the other.
Still, the other cat asked a question. "I dunno," she shrugged, looking around, "there's a festival right, but papa won't let us go because it could be dangerous or something...but I'm old enough, he's just scared cos Laertsy ran away, and you know, if he tells me no that means I have to go. Those are the rules, I don't make them." She gave the cat a wide grin that'd probably look a little scary if she wasn't a kit.
"Take me somewhere!" she demanded, "I want to see everything!"
"It was my fathers." She replied with a smile to Rhiannon, "I thought I should give something with a deep meaning!" There was something childlike in her tone, like the world hadn't yet crushed all her aspirations and dreams. Hawise started to continue, to ask the other what she had given, before she decided it wasn't a den a wolves she wanted to peak her head into and moved on.
The siamese was not familiar with this other she-cat, but truthfully she wasn't familiar with many in the clan, sticking mainly to herself and dodging most meaningful socialization. The name of the game was to appear ditzy and flighty enough that most dismissed her, thought it was her flirting and perhaps even more that had gained her the position of assassin successor.
They could look at Charon as the scary part of the duo and she would be the one that laughed at others insulting her and pretend not to understand the more clever biting dismissals. "It's so nice that we can all get together for the festival; like one big family!"
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Post by achromatic on Apr 20, 2022 8:32:37 GMT -5
"Father's?" a curiosity entered her gaze, as she gave Hawise a look over. Oh, this was the new assassin successor, all right. She knew that these cats had a story behind them, had a certain level of prestige in the title of their names and claws to match too; she had met Elizabeth when she was but an assassin all the same. "You know, it's funny how a lot of cats around here start their career as a cat killer by offing their parents," she purred in amusement, "you're the....third one? Maybe fourth I met now? I never got my chance, but now I'm starting to wonder whether I should've when I could." She flicked her tail in dismissal, before giving Hawise a pointed look. "My brother had the honours I think. He doesn't talk about it much."
She could imagine getting along with this cat though. "One big happy family," she echoed with a laugh, "one big murderous family, if you ask me." childe
There was a brief moment where the hunter had to bite back an amused grin at the blunt the question, and the even more obvious misunderstanding; it was all so adorable. And, in another way, so painfully familiar -- a bitter pang rose in their chest, and for a second their smile faded a bit. Still, now it was their turn to answer the question, and they forced themselved to keep their expression warm, if only for the kit's sake. "I wouldn't necessarily say shy. Just quiet, there's a bit of a difference. But anyways, it's a good thing I consider myself pretty good at climbing." They said, and the smile they had been biting back before couldn't help but peak through again; any disquieting recollections fully forgotten for the time being.
As the kitten continued on, Rasalas took the initaitive to slightly shield the view of her, manuevering himself so the kitten would be harder to see by a stray gaze as she made her request. "Hmm... Well, you probably should listen to you father next time, but I'll be honest and say I can't see any harm in you being here. I imagine with half the league being around you'll be safe enough." He said, giving a small laugh as if the very idea of something happening with the entire group around was a funny joke in and of itself. Perhaps in a way it was, it was hard to imagine anything would happen out here on a night like this of all times. Then again, it was much more likely in Rasalas' mind that the youngling's father had wanted a break and that this entire event was supposed to be a very grown up thing with no one wanting to have to play babysitter, and telling her it was "dangerous" was an easy way to make kits stay in place. Although, obviously, the tactic hadn't been very successful.
With a soft, teasing sigh, as if he had finally been broken down, but equally while flashing a small grin that made it clear it was all of their volition, they gave a small flick of their tail that was still in the kit's grasp before slightly ushering her closer to his side at an odd angle, one he figured would make it difficult for the kit to be noticed. "Alright alright, but if I give you a tour you have to promise to keep somewhat close. If someone else sees you you'll probably get dragged back to the manor, and I won't be able to help you at that point." He advised, with a conspiritorial seriousness that was a little sparse on the seriousness part. Truth be told, now that they were committed to this -- or perhaps before they were commited to this -- it might have been wise to have considered that they were in fact smuggling around the Nemesis' daughter, and that it they were caught aiding in her escapades they were probably sure to be worse off than Nour herself. But what was done was done, they had commited, and truth be told, even as they did briefly consider the consequences, they felt no hesitance, no real remorse.
"You misunderstand!" Hawise was quick to rush out with a furious shake of her head. "I didn't kill my father, I would have never dreamed of it in fact. I loved him dearly." The earnest expression on her face was truthful and anything but deceitful. It was still just as cheerful and eager an expression when she continued speaking. "My mother killed him way before I could do anything but love him after-all."
Now there was something in her eyes, some deep seated resentment and anger as soon as she mentioned her mother. A she-cat Hawise has sworn she would indeed kill one day if she ever saw her again. Hunting the other down she deemed below her, she didn't want to give the harpy the satisfaction. But if she saw her she would slit her throat before the other could form any words she might try and speak.
"Nour," Eshek snapped, interrupting her daughter and Rasalas before their tour could begin. She appeared from seemingly nowhere, looming over her kit with a stern expression more akin to one of Bermondsey's than her own, disapproving and commanding. "What are you doing?" For a long moment she was silent, waiting — and then she grinned, completely relaxing. "Just kiddin' — man, I really sounded like a mom for a second there, huh?" She laughed and, after patting Rasalas on the shoulder and briefly looking between them, gave Nour a deliberately sloppy, degrading kiss on the cheek and swept away. "You kids have fun! Don't let her wear you out — she makes it sound like we mistreat her and let her have no fun and that's how she gets ya, like a monster." She threw a fond grin at her daughter as she walked away. "She once made me play with her for twelve hours straight and I was throwin' up for THREE DAYS!" She disappeared into the crowd, still talking but unable to be heard.
And then, breaking into a run, she bounded up to the oak tree and clawed her way up in one swift movement, now towering over the rest of the assembled League. "LADIES AND GENTLEMEN!" she announced, standing very regally with one forepaw outstretched upon a branch. She waited for silence; when it was slow in coming, she threw her head back and shrieked, "SHUT UP!" When finally they did, she smiled and sat down, curling her tail around her paws. "As many of you know, my name is Eshek—"
"We know!" someone shouted irritably from the crowd.
She touched a paw to her chest and smiled like they'd just sung her finest praises, closing her eyes. "Thank you." Continuing a little more professionally, she opened her eyes and cleared her throat. "As you all know, we're up enemies and down a Shaman. That ain't gonna fly — bad news, ya know. So — the night's main events." Her eyes glistened in the moonlight as she smiled down at them; the hush stretched. Then, suddenly, her eyes widened with mad, desperate excitement. "The prophecies!" she hissed, leaning forward. "Those who have offerings for the gods, come and receive your message from them. Hopefully there is one among you," her eyes roved over them, "special enough to be chosen by the gods as our next Shaman." She was silent for a moment, letting it sink in, and then her eyes widened again and she grinned. "Toodles!" Leaping down, she went to sit in the curve of the oak's great roots, arranging herself importantly and smiling out at them all like she was ready to personally greet them. The offerings that had already been made tinkled from the branches above her, swaying in the warm night-time breeze.
Rasalas had near stumbled back as Eshek had seemingly poofed in out of the abyss, nearby him and hovering over her kit. It was all he could do not to, in some reactive moment of raw instinct, put a protective paw between the proxy and her own kit. It was the mere sliver of some self-preservation that told him it would be unwise to do so; best not to chance the image that he of all cats had any say over what the she cat did with her kits, especially when all she was seemingly about to do was give them a talking to. But then Eshek's commanding tone melted away into grins and laughs, and a dumbfounded Rasalas was left just standing there, being patted on the choulder and nodding along with her words as she went along, only bothering to give an awkward, meek, "Well that's kits for you, always trouble." so quiet that it was lost under Eshek's ramble and the noise of the crowd.
He was still slightly shaken even as Eshek took her place on the Oak tree, barely having a moment to re-focus his attention away from the interesting little interaction and onto the actual proceedings. But, if there was one thing Rasalas could say about Eshek, it was that she made a very good show of things — it wasn't long before she had managed to fully draw the new hunter's attention, if only because she made quite a spectacle of herself. And, of course, what she had made mention of was certainly intriguing; he'd known about the fact the league was down a shaman, and, more interestingly to him, that tonight was a night of prophecies, where the things you gave would hopefully be repaid in visions and foretellings by whatever god these cats all perscribed to — a god of which, admittedly, he knew little about. It was hard to know if he really believed anything much would come from all of this; he wasn't entirely convinced there would be much in the way of actual prophecies at all, and even less that he would recieve one. It was not that it all seemed like nonsense to him; he was perfectly willing to believe in the concept of recieving messages from gods and odd magical events — he had reason enough to believe that in droves. But it was funny how many cats put their belief into things that couldn't speak back, into illusions and happenstance that was no more "magical" than the flipping of a coin, or seeing a face in a tree. The latter, all things considered, being especially ironically relevant at the moment.
Even still, if he wasn't convinced he was at least curious; curious enough that if there were prophecies to be given and insight to be gained, he'd probably more than stacked the odds in his favor by giving away his little trinket. If sentimental value equaled the value of fortune told, then he figured he ought to learn something at least worthwhile. And if not, well, he supposed getting rid of it was something of spring-cleaning, a fresh start for a new year and a new life. Even if there was still a gnawing bitterness, a pang of nostalgia and guilt seeing that garnet ring sparkle in the moonlight as just another trinket on the tree, he swallowed it down. It was best not to linger on it; what was done was done.
For a moment Rasalas sat there with a sort of unspoken anticipation as the crowd around him seemed to take in this information, before it dawned on him that he had zero clue how these cats expected to recieve their prophecies. Was he supposed to go somewhere? Talk to someone? Had he missed a memo — did anyone else look confused? His gaze scanned the area, trying his best to see if everyone else knew what they were supposed to be doing in that trying-not-to-be-awkward, fake-nonchalant sort of way in hopes of just following everyone else's lead. After all, he figured that he was just the new person here, everyone probably knew how this was supposed to go; as much as he hated it, it wasn't shocking to him he was just the one out of the loop.
Nour giggled as Eshek came over, not a single care on her face. Perhaps it was due to the way her mother had spoiled her rotten when she was younger, or just her natural daredevil attitude, but her only reaction had been when her mother gave her a sloppy kiss on the cheek. She immediately pretended to throw up; eugh, gross. She hated kisses, and she hated saliva even more. Why was saliva so gross? "You're messing up my fur," she complained with a grumpy pout, as she tried to smooth over own now-messed-up cheek, "go kiss someone else!" It was clear that the kit had no sense of decorum, even in a festival like this. She giggled at the way Rasalas seemed almost sheepish; oh yeah, her momma had a way with...being a total complete freak in front of other cats. That was what she liked the most about Eshek anyway. That and chasing after her with a knife the way her aunt Chelsea taught her.
She cheered at the prophecies; of course she believed in them. She had met god once at the bottom of a pond, he was a pretty cool dude with all the antlers anyway. Rocking on her paws, she glanced up at Rasalas, noting the confused expression on his face. "You need to go up and get the prophecy, dummy," she snorted, already scrambling to climb the other cat like a tree, her tiny claws digging into the cat's shoulders as she found her way to perch upon the other cat's back with a giggle. "Forward!" she announced as if she was riding a horse rather than another cat, "let's go get your prophecy!"
Rhiannon chuckled, before giving Hawise a shrug. "Shame," she sighed, "I guess we both got snubbed." Even now she had little emotion associated with the tom who had been partially responsible for her own birth. "Well you could always hunt your mother too," she chuckled, "they always say the juciest drama is between a mother and kit." It was true to her own case; her own kits were a scourge upon her name after all. She'd kill them all if she could.
Turning to the announcement, she hummed, before returning her attention to Hawise. "Any plans on receiving a prophecy?" she purred in amusement, "the green one certainly smiles upon us tonight."
Telling him to "go up" was about as helpful as saying he should just go left or go right. Assumedly forward meant "towards the oak tree", or at least further forward towards there than he was now, but it wasn't exactly great guidance. Still, he would have never told that to Nour, content to let the kit climb up him, even so much as leaning down so she had and easier time doing so, simplying humoring her command with a small, mock-serious nod of his head and a little, "Okay okay, I'm going." that despite the words wasn't at all testy, and which was followed by a small chuckle to accompany it as he took a slightly uneasy step forward, moving his way through the crowd of cats that were all mostly ahead of him. It was a matter of pushing through the masses; his fault really, given the fact that he'd made his place nearer to the back of the gathering, and it had all come back to bite him a bit. But at least he got some sense of where it seemed cats were headed, trying to follow any other cats that seemed like they knew better what they were doing.
He felt tempted to make a small comment to Nour that he'd let her know if he was given anything interesting as he gently moved his way through the small spaces inbetween cats and followed the movement of those in front of him who seemed much more aware of what they were supposed to be doing; but once more it occured to him he really didn't know how these prophecies were given. Did the proxies tell them? Were they supposed to just get visions? Maybe drink or eat some substance and then "experience" it? — if that were the case, he realized why maybe kittens hadn't been allowed after all.
Either way, it wasn't long before he finally got to where it seemed like a fair amount of cats had gathered, and where they had gathered seemed "forward" enough, enough that it didn't seem like Nour had complained yet. Although once again he was at a complete loss at what to do next, fully ready to be lambasted by the kitten on his back for having no clue what he was supposed to do or what was supposed to happen. For a kitten who wasn't supposed to be here, she seemed to know a lot more about what was going on than he did. Then again, perhaps that was only natural. He was sure she'd already heard stories and tales of the night's events; he, however, was a complete outsider.
Nour would easily admit that she communed with the gods. Perhaps not literally, but that was what she believed of course. She saw no greater power, no higher being than herself; gods were just creatures to support her story, rather than the other way around. Perhaps it was her main character syndrome, but she had certainly heard a few of these stories growing up, and of course, with a ceremony celebrating her mother, of course, she had to learn everything. She loved the women in her family more than she loved anything else at the moment.
She was watching eagerly as Rasalas went up, and of course, she'd wave eagerly at her parents as she tried to scramble on top of Rasalas' head. Her mother had approved in her own strange way and her father...looked less than pleased. Then again, when had Bermondsey looked pleasant? She stuck her tongue out at her father, before flopping onto Rasalas' back again, looking at the cats providing their offerings before speaking to her mother, who's eyes seemed more vibrant and glowing than usual.
"I think papa said when he got his lives, mama got possessed by one of the gods," she whispered as if this was totally normal and nothing strange at all, "but maybe papa was just lying, he always thinks mama's possessed by something. Come on, give her your gift! I wanna see if you get anything fun! I want my own prophecy!" She was pouting now, too young to participate in something as cool as this.
"Well, I already sort of put mine on the the tree, but I guess I can hand it over again." He said with a small, awkward chuckle, though he took the moment to scour out where he had gently added his own item to the collection, the ring lingering on a small, low-lying branch, and he gently gestured to point it out to the kit on his back. He turned his head slightly to her, at this point having just accepted the fact that the kitten knew more than him about this entire thing, and he was inclined to take all the help he could get.
"Oh really?" He said, with as much curiosity, awe, and breathless surprise as he could force himself to muster at the mention of her mother getting possessed by a gods, raising a single eyebrow. "So, does that mean I just go up to your mother to receive a prophecy? Is she typically the one to give them out?" He asked, glancing up at the proxy with a slightly hesitant, doubtful expression he tried to quickly play off as just more confusion.
If anything had very quickly convinced him this entire thing was a sham, it was that little tidbit of information. Nour's mention of Eshek being possessed meant little to him — the she cat was good at showmanship, every good con-artist was. In fact, she fit the role perfectly, over-the-top and good for the theatrics; it was enough to make a person forget it was all perfectly normal, perfectly mortal. But he wouldn't dare say that, instead moving more towards where the Life Proxy sat presiding over everything, slowly making his way over to where she was, even, as he passed by, slipping the ring off the branch for good measure to take to the she cat, in case he had, perhaps, been a bit overzealous and placed it too early.
Either way, even as he brushed past cats to make his way over to her, there was something uncomfortable about it, about the fact that he was going to stand up in front of the she cat whom he knew almost nothing about and she, in front of a small crowd of cats, was going to probably make up some nonsense on the spot about him either having good or bad fortune in some, probably too personal, area of his life. And he knew he would have to beam and smile very agreeably and nod along, pretend like a bunch of half-baked information was earnest and made sense and was completely genuine — all the while probably watching her flash around an item that was much more intimately important to him than the Proxy would ever know. Even while he carried it over in his mouth there was some reluctance to depart from it again, and that only made him more eager to hand the item off to her, get the entire thing over with, and then disappear into the crowd while probably humoring Nour that it had been a very nifty prophecy indeed.
It wasn't long before he was near where the proxy sat, behind a few other cats in line to get, presumably, their fortunes. He pried a bit, trying to see how the entire event was going down for the cats in front of him, but otherwise tried to appear as politely patient as he could; though holding more of the energy of someone waiting in a very long grocery store line than someone about to receive some sort of startling revelation about their future.
Up until now, Eshek had been doing precisely what Rasalas accused her of: putting on a show. Cats came up; she threw her head back and rolled her eyes about (it always used to be Funk’s favourite party trick of hers, how she could bump her paw hard against the side of her head and her eyes would roll about like they were balls on a pool table), talked in tongues, held her paw pressed against the cat’s forehead so roughly it pushed their whole head back — and then, finally, she’d spout some made-up prophecy. They were usually comprised of such an atrociously rhymed poem that it was clear they had been contrived by her, likely when she was half-asleep next to Ber and bouncing slurred ideas off him while he tried to sleep. If her eyes glowed white, it was with a flickering glow, like a dying lightbulb, and it only lasted a few seconds before they turned dark blue again; if the gods were trying to get inside her, she was pushing them back out, stubbornly refusing to be anything but herself — there was trauma in that. She didn’t want to lose control; she didn’t want to be the plaything of gods; she was Eshek — she wasn’t them.
And then Rasalas came up. “Man, you’re not lookin’ keen,” she laughed, not looking at him as she gave Nour another lovey-dovey, embarrassing mum wave and over-exaggerated, open-mouthed, brow-raised smile, like she were still a tiny kitten staring up at her making faces. “C’mere,” she told Rasalas at last; more conspiratorially, out of the corner of her mouth, she added, “sooner we get this sham over with, sooner we can go to bed. Yeah?” Brightening up, she cleared her throat, sat back, rubbed her forepaws together for dramatic effect — and then pressed her flat forepaw to Rasalas’ forehead.
Immediately, an audible shock zapped off him, something like white lightning sparking where she’d touched him; static travelled up her forepaw, quick enough to make the fur along her spine stand on end. Eshek’s eyes snapped open in surprise from where she’d briefly closed them, and for a long moment they glowed bright, pure white, her expression vacant and afraid. She quickly drew her paw away, staring at Rasalas as the white glow began to clear and she could once again see the world in front of her instead of the black, echoing abyss of gods and monsters she’d briefly been thrown into. “Well,” she told him, trying to play it cool despite the slight tremor in her voice. For the first time, the proxy looked faintly afraid; she stood and took a step back, sitting again a little further away from Rasalas. She gave a nervous, half-laughing smile. “That don’t usually happen, do it? You, uh… You feel anythin’? You… see anythin’?” She peered at him, ducking her head this way and that as she looked at his eyes — and then, hoping he wasn’t looking at her, she darted an anxious, bewildered look at Bermondsey, like she was helplessly asking what the hell was that? What do I do? Get over here. She gave an exaggerated, one-shouldered shrug, eyes wide in frightened, stumped confusion. “These prophecies ain’t real, is they?” she hissed to Bermondsey, leaning forward on her forepaws; it was little more than a stage whisper, so the entire crowd probably heard. Nervously, to save face for the leadership of the group, she straightened and laughed around at the crowd like a b-rate gameshow host. "Man! Never a dull moment, huh? Woo-wee!" Then, looking back at Ber, she waved her paw frantically at him and gritted her teeth, trying to be subtle. She threw another casual grin at the crowd, laughing through her teeth.
