It was often unexpected to see Moonblight around the camp. The pariah, the rebel turned public example, the disgraced guard; though he still held the coveted position of a royal guard, it was clear he'd rather be anything but. Once upon a time, there was a light that graced his golden gaze. Once upon a time, cats would be greeted with a polite conversation, a smile and an easy greeting, but these days, the only thing that greeted anyone who approached was a simmering rage that glowered in his dark amber eyes, a storm in his gaze.

Perhaps gossip was the currency that Falconfright operated under, but certainly she'd receive nothing from this tom; his expression was as cold as the dark side of the moon he was named after. A Royal Guard under watch; who would've thought he'd be allowed to roam around after all? He had a mission to prepare for, and he had no time for cats that were in the way. As he strode past the she-cat, his shoulder bumped into hers. It wasn't clear whether he was just passing by or whether that was on purpose.

His expression darkened as he whirled around to face the cat, only to find he didn't even know her name. How things had changed; he once knew everyone in the clan, like old friends, cats he trained with, cats he grew up with, and now he barely knew the ones around him. "Excuse me," he replied, the sarcasm bleeding out from his tone, a mocking bow at the she-cat, his amber eyes still blazing in a condescending way.

It wasn't in his character to be sarcastic, but he had changed the last few moons, and these days, any cat was an enemy. They were all scum, spies spying on each other just to get ahead. He'd leave if he could. Still, his lips twitched. "Shouldn't you be doing something important? Hunting perhaps, instead of sitting in the way?"

He snorted. Yeah yeah, he scowled. Of course he knew he was the one at fault, but frankly he couldn't care. It wasn't like he had any stake in any of this; she was but another reporter or some schmuck sucking up to Kier. He scowled, looking the she-cat up and down. "What, because I'm not endlessly singing praises about how NightClan is these days?" he sneered. Gods, he was sounding like some of the bitter old elders he had cleaned the dens of back when he was an apprentice.

Still, Moonblight held little fear for the current administration; what else could they take away from him that they hadn't taken already? "What, did you want me to tell you all my precious little secrets?" he gushed, a faux amusement written across his face, "Precious little reporter can't find enough to report?"

His sneer didn't shift at all. "Delusional?" he murmured, before a cackle of laughter left his throat. "You're telling me you're good at your job and yet you have no clue who I am." He shook his head in that mocking, condescending way he had learned to imitate. "You don't know who I am, do you? Haven't heard of our infamous fight? You're new here, aren't you? You should study up on your history if you'd like to know." It was clear that he had antagonized their dear leader far too often; it was a known fact that Kier had some sort of fixation on subjugating Moonblight, as if he was some type of symbol of the former dictatorship. Why else would he still have his role as a royal guard and yet, be guarded like the clan's greatest prisoner?

His face was in hers now, his tall frame stood intimidatingly in front of hers. "Haven't you heard? I'm the clan's favorite pariah," his voice was biting, sarcastic, "if you need to know, NightClan wasn't always like this." He sounded like a bitter old man, but his home had changed to something he could not recognize; how could he be optimistic about this future?

As much as he had put up this tough guy act, as much as he wore a mask over mask, he wasn't like that inside. He had killed so many for the sake of his family, he didn't know what was left anymore. There was nothing but bitterness and an unholy rage within him, one that he turned outwards first like a flamethrower, before it consumed him from the inside. He wanted to walk away from the conversation, leave this irritating she-cat to whatever lowly task Kier had them do.

"Aspenstar at least had a sense of loyalty," he sneered, "she was psychotic near the end of her life, sure, but we were united as one, we had a sense of duty to one another, and now look at you. You're the kind of cat who's willing to trade any sign of disloyalty for a scrap of kindness, as if somehow you'll find some type of purpose within yourself if you betray every bit of your soul for the sake of getting ahead, for the approval of some league traitor who has nothing to show for despite his treachery."

He laughed, dry and biting. "All of you disgust me."

He rolled his eyes. Pathetic, he thought. These cats in this new regime were spineless creatures; whatever Kier had done–brainwashing, he called it–only served to give his followers a corkscrew soul, a rotten mouse for a heart, and a waterlogged brain and a spine made of nothing but mud and cobwebs mushed together. They were all traitors to him, traitors to the clan and traitors to themselves.

"It's cats like you that won't get ahead," he snorted, "if Kier wanted me dead and gone he'd have done it by now." He knew the other cat was using him, like a fool to be paraded around, but Moonblight would bide his time. All he needed was a chance to get his kits and mate out before anything happened, and surely, Kier wouldn't be so foolhardy with his methods after.