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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Since the ambush, Sinclair had hardly been able to get more than a few hours of sleep at a time, if he got any at all. The politics of the League were mostly lost on him, and all he knew about the situation was that another group — cave-dwellers, they said, night-lurkers — attacked in the light of the moon due to some vendetta, against what he wasn't sure. His usual disconnected, airy nature was replaced with a constant, numb sense of nervousness, strong enough only to be a slight irritating presence, weighing on the back of his mind but never at the front, and he found himself eating less, sleeping less, watching more. Nightly walks — truthfully, they were more like rounds, scoping the area of the Mansion in search of intruders — became routine. He didn't have to, of course. There were others who would, but he could never rest easily with the nagging sense of anxiety, the belief that another attack would occur. Even when the memories themselves faded into the background, became blurred with all the others, he still found himself on edge.
Sinclair just finished another 'walk', circling a familiar path throughout the old, haunted halls of the mansion, peering into every room and nook, staring up into the rafters and down into the basement, and now he sat, precariously crouched, on the beam of one of the second-floor balconies, staring into the woods beyond, dark fur blending into the night, hazel eyes only a glint. The moon was hardly a sliver.
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POSTEDJul 10, 2022 22:33:17 GMT -5 TO primal instinct
"Ugh, it really does get tiring. Watching you have the same boring old routine every day." The darkened voice of Bellamy echoed. He had some note of mock disgust, though he also seemed as if he could be bothered less by whatever it was the tom was doing. The black and white tuxedo tom stood behind him, tail low and tip twitching as he watched Sinclair. "Don't you ever get.. bored? You need some better excitement in your life, don't you think?"
Sinclair sensed the presence before Bellamy got a word out, neck prickling uncomfortably at the intrusion, though he didn't show it — to Bellamy, he looked as still and unaware as before. When the tom finally spoke, he gave only a flick of his ear, letting the silence drag on.
Then, he looked over his shoulder. His tone was light, friendly, but his face didn't seem to match. "Apologies — I'm sure you've got something better to do than watch me." He shuffled, turning his body to match the direction his head was facing, tilting it faintly. "Excitement? Why, I've had enough excitement for a life time, I think. I'm bored of excitement. But, what, do you have something in mind?"
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POSTEDJul 17, 2022 18:25:06 GMT -5 TO primal instinct
He gave the lightest of chuckles as he swept his tail and sat. He casually licked his paw and ran it across his whiskers. "Oh, anything you know. Spying on a clan, wrecking havoc in the city... taunting some poor cat who managed to find their way to our border." He shrugged. Bellamy put his paw down, rolling his eyes at his own boredness.
Leaning over the edge of the railing, poised as if to jump down and meet Bellamy even though he didn't move, Sinclair gave an indiscernible look, a cross between apathetic and judgmental, like Bellamy had just said something completely outlandish but Sinclair refrained from judging too harshly. He knew of the type that roamed these Mansion halls — bloodsuckers, sharks, those who confused fear with respect, those who liked being on the top of the food chain — they were suspicious, bloody, violent, and Sinclair didn't find himself quite drawn to the violence that they were, but he could still fit in the sense that he could look upon it mostly unphased if they didn't matter to him. It wouldn't be him doing it, it wouldn't be him stopping it, and it wouldn't be something that kept him up at night.
He shifted his paws carefully, not uncomfortable but not eager, either. "Wreck havoc in the city? Is that what you do for fun?" His tone was dry. "What's so fun about that?" It was spoken not with heated, indignant judgement or morals, but with vague curiosity, like he was genuinely trying to understand. Then, for good measure, he added, "though, I'm sure anything is better than walking around all night, especially when sleeping has become quite difficult this past little while."
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POSTEDJul 30, 2022 12:54:57 GMT -5 TO primal instinct
"What's fun about it? Have you not ever done it?" He asked with a brow raised. "You seem to do nothing other than mope about, now what is fun in that?" He asked with a snort. He could hardly believe this cat resided in a place like this. His blue eyes bore into the cat, as if daring him to do something, anything.
"I should have known better than to try and get you to join in. Oh well. Carry on and do whatever it is you do for your fun." He shrugged, finally peeling them away and turning his back on Sinclair. "I've got things to do, unlike you."
Instead of reacting appropriately to the unveiled insults, Sinclair only had a faint, somewhat amused grin on his face, a slight upturn of the corners of his lips that showcased that he didn't take much of what Bellamy said seriously. Despite his flippancy, he stared back, accepting the challenge. He knew what the tom was trying to do — make him feel bad, make him feel boring and inferior, make himself seem cooler by comparison, but Sinclair didn't respond to it. He didn't care if he was boring, if he was judged for it, because there was a million other things that Sinclair judged himself for, and being boring simply wasn't one of them.
When Bellamy turned to walk away, Sinclair let him go for only a few steps before he slipped off the balustrade and padded after him, steps light and ghostly. "Oh, I'm sure you do," he hummed, almost teasing, "well, I suppose you have a point. Go on, then, show me what I'm missing." He asked only out of curiosity, setting a slow pace just behind Bellamy and trailing him as though he were an interviewer looking for a few words with a celebrity — and wasn't that a thought that would boost Bellamy's already inflated ego.
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POSTEDAug 17, 2022 19:36:43 GMT -5 TO primal instinct
He didn't look back, but a satisfied smirk had shadowed his features. Bellamy had gotten exactly what he wanted, something to keep him entertained for the night. Well, he usually got what he wanted anyhow. This situation never would have turned out differently. After all, he had taken away Kate's position since she was off doing whatever it was she was doing. Being tortured, or something, was what the spy had told him.
Sinclair was painfully, terribly curious, to a fault — he didn't have to tag along, he didn't care for Bellamy's mocking, for his sense of superiority, and excitement hadn't been his things since those first few weeks when he'd ran away from his family, testing his perceived immortality in increasingly thrilling ways, as if he were some mad doctor and his own test subject at the same time. Bellamy was keen to walk on without him, yet Sinclair found himself following, lightly teasing.
Well, come on then. He slunk to start walking beside the tom, giving a small glint of his eyes, a slight taunt. "Well, then," he spoke cheerfully, lifting his head, "anything specific in mind? I do like to know where I'm heading, but if you want to keep your secrets, well, I can't argue." He kept his own, close and tight, locked away even from himself, lapsed in the depths of his failing memory — Sinclair wasn't one to judge actions such as those, for his morality was an unnatural thing, focusing on the things that didn't matter, being lenient with everyone but especially harsh on himself.
