Warrior Cat Clans 2 (WCC2 aka Classic) is a roleplay site inspired by the Warrior series by Erin Hunter. Whether you are a fan of the books or new to the Warrior cats world, WCC2 offers a diverse environment with over a decade’s worth of lore for you - and your characters - to explore. Join us today and become a part of our ongoing story!
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Bishoppaw didn't get lonely, not as long as every star shone in the sky or the moon kept its place. They were fine with being a mystery — 'Who's Bishopppaw? Wait, them? I had no idea,' — it was quite entertaining. There were more pros than cons; nobody noticed when they left or returned, nobody dared asked where they had been, nobody questioned when they were upset because nobody knew if it was just their personality or not. Half of them hadn't heard their voice at all. Only occasionally would they pipe in with some sarcastic comment or quip or warning, only to turn back to whatever it was they were doing previous and blocking the rest of the world out. Sometimes they got too wrapped up in their head, got too detached from the world in a nihilistic sort of way — the last minute or hour or day was just a memory now, an experience never lived again, as every moment was, most of them lost, so what was the point in anything? A collection of lived experiences made someone up until they died and moved on to whatever afterlife welcomed them, if any at all. Bishoppaw didn't expect one for themselves. They weren't beholden to anything, even if they believed in it all, but had a complete understanding of the control it had; if cats were given hope in a higher power, they would follow it, even if it costed them their livelihood, their lives, their free will. It was necessary for a society like Nightclan that relied heavily on such aspects, despite the grittiness and sliminess of it.
The stone circle made a wonderful place to lament, to dramatise their feelings in some silly attempt to actually understand them, with the gloomy lighting, the chilly, magical atmosphere, the strange natural oddity that it was. Some say it was haunted. Bishoppaw didn't doubt it, because what ghost wouldn't like to haunt a few insignificant stones? The woods stood threateningly to one side, the moon hung in the sky. It looked more like the setting of a play, the windswept grass in the middle offering a stage. For a few heartbeats, they stood unnaturally still, moonlight making the white of their pelt glow as if they were one of the ghosts that wandered the circle. Then, Bishoppaw sat down. It offered a wonderful view of the stars, he mused, and they were quite bright tonight.
yes, lets go mothman. also sorry for wonky reply, juggling a few things and replying on the move.
Bubblepaw moved towards the circle, a shadow in the light, dark bengal pelt rippling as the shadows and light fought over who would embrace it. The trees standing sentry with nary a breeze to rustle there branches, the forest quiet in a way only the nocturnal could know. Living in a time where songbirds never arrived and the morning was a time of rest rather than welcome. As the tom spotted Bishoppaw his steps slowed until one paw hung suspended mid-step. His sharp eyes took in the other apprentice and tried to place them, tried to recall their name, tried to remember where they had seen them before.
The tom of-course knew they must have existed before this moment but in that moment, at that stone circle it felt almost like Bishop was a foundling, a fae creature that had wandered out to spin it's tricks and then sink back into the forest once more. It felt almost a tragedy in the making, paint ruining a beautiful canvas, when he spoke but he spoke nonetheless.
"Does it constitute as sunning yourself when it's not the sun?" It was benign question, perhaps a little stupid. But the tom didn't mind being perceived as such, his soft spoken nature and quiet words there to lull others. Stupidity would lower others guards just as well, as being soft-spoken would. It bothered him that he did not know this cat and in that moment, under the moon and witnessed by the trees he decided he would know them, would know every piece of them.
The slight shift of the grass, the movement of a shadow out of the corner of their eye, alerted Bishoppaw to the presence of another, though they made no indication that they were aware. "Not quite as warm," they responded, voice brief. Hardly fit for the nightlife, their fur was stretched thin, the chill crept into their bones even in the absence of a breeze, and the white made them visible even from a distance. Finally, as the silence dragged on, they twisted their head to look at the intruder, and though they could tell by his voice alone, however much they didn't speak to each other, that it was Bubblepaw who had stumbled upon them, the faintness of peculiar markings in the moonlight solidified it. The siblings were unique in their looks, pelts spotted like leopards.
"How goes the night, Bubblepaw?" They queried, offering him a space beside them with a few slow taps of their tail. Whereas they were an enigma, a mystery, to everyone else, Bishoppaw was very well-versed in the goings of their clan — they were an observer, first and foremost, when they weren't lost in their mind, and it was almost strange that they weren't a Reporter, especially given their disability. An entire missing leg didn't usually go unnoticed, and while they could mostly go about as anyone else could, some things still proved challenging. Execution didn't exactly seem their style, they were wits over strength, words over brute force, and yet they somehow excelled at it, forging their own specialty in what they called a craft; make it artful, make it efficient, and make it easy for the executioner, but difficult for the executed.
Bubblepaw slipped into the bath of moonlight and settled next to them gracefully and gifted them a grin, while not a rare expression it was still not often it was allowed to be seen by those outside his siblings. His pelt pricked as he considered the other before allowed a one shouldered shrug in response to pair with their next words, "boring. It's quiet tonight which I might normally see as a good thing but for now it has just made me restless."
He let the quiet settle once more, in no rush to speak. Where he had once been restless he was now easing with company, and where he might normally deny that he was a social creature he didn't feel the need in the moment. "And yourself? taking a quiet moment to yourself? I apologize if I'm disturbing you."
Bishoppaw didn't smile back, though their expression softened ever slightly. "Unfortunate." They let their eyes wander away from Bubblepaw and back towards the sky, idly tracing constellations and connecting fiery dots with their gaze as they listened. "Same as you, but usually I am not one for excitement." There might have been humour in their tone, but it was difficult to tell. They spoke mostly with the same inflection, the same quiet, dull, distant voice, that picking up their ques took time and skill.
"Surely there's something to keep you occupied? Other than myself, of course." It was said in such a way that made it known it wasn't a request for him to leave, but rather an invitation for him to stay, to do something. Admittedly, they quite enjoyed the company.
"It's easy these days to be unoccupied," was his easy response, paired with a small shrug and easy grin to show that he truly did have nothing better to be doing in the moment. "Perhaps you'll entertain me?" It was perhaps presumptuous of him to ask but something told him that Bishoppaw would prove interesting company.
It felt a crime to let his siblings Bumblebeepaw have all the fun in Nightclan after all, the other seemingly managing to irritate and win over so many other apprentices and kits in equal measure. Bubblepaw would be worried if not for the fact he was rather sure the other could handle themselves just fine.
Perhaps you'll entertain me? There was a glint in their eyes, something humorous, like they didn't quite believe he was asking the question in the first place but was amused nonetheless. "I've been told I'm not the entertaining type." Too quiet. Too serious. Too strange. They certainly didn't mind the descriptors, couldn't find it in themselves to care, to strive to be something other than what they already were. Despite the sarcasm, they got to their paws.
"Come, now, I know a better place than here. It's not very far." They hoped off past the stones, down the field, into the woods again, pace slow enough to allow their companion to follow.
Rather surprised the other was indulging them they were quick to follow behind, hurrying along after them. Bubblepaw pursed his lips as he pondered on where this could be going and then hoped that Bishoppaw wouldn't lead them into any trouble that would be hard for them to get out of. He was trying to keep a reasonably low profile and didn't want this little jaunt to turn into a bigger thing.
Then again Bishoppaw's own words lead to the believe that wherever they were going was somewhere on the more relaxed side.
Bubblepaw's hesitance wasn't noticed. Bishoppaw's pace was a brisk half-hop, maneuvering the pine forest with ease, well ahead at first before slowing their pace to walk beside — though not quite, they were still slightly ahead — Bubblepaw. They didn't say a word, and the only sound was the rustle of the forest, the shake of pine branches and bushes, the ruffle of ferns. It was eerily comforting. The light of the moon was blocked out, only certain spots under a break in the branches giving way to its light.
Eventually the trees gave way, opening up to reveal a crumbling building, small and old, the stone with which it was made of breaking like dust. The entrance was doorless. Bishoppaw stopped before it, giving Bubblepaw a brief quirk of their eyebrows before entering.
The Roman Bathhouse was quieter then the world outside of it, the echo of their footsteps a blaring sound against the thick stone walls. The entrance led to a thin stairwell, leading down to a room with a curved roof, a large, round pool in the middle, higher up and edged with stone. A break in the roof, another circle, let in the moonlight. The water was murky but still reflected, plants crawled on every wall and crevice, and it all smelled vaguely of dust and earth. Bishoppaw approached the pool, staring at the stars it held within.
