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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Post by strawberrycupid on Jul 25, 2019 19:00:29 GMT -5
(give me. your toes.) (dang i should do that cause i got like one (1) funk song)
"Hmm. I knew you would turn around Doe." Funk pressed his face into Doe's neck softly, giving it a few licks. Truly, he wouldn't have been surprised if he had walked away. Most did, and a good half of them would come back after a few days, but would leave eventually. It was rarer they stayed, that he would get to do it again so quickly. As much as he wanted to make s few adjustments and get another dose back down Doe's throat, he held himself back. He'd get to sit at the water's edge, reality's edge, with Doe. The world could fade away, and the two would still be there. It wouldn't be long until it was just him again, in a strange twist of loneliness, he decided to take his foot off the gas.
"It's getting late. I got some feverfew that'll help your head and stomach or catmint for the nerves. Want some?" It was a surprisingly tender question and he didn't move. Doe was another pawn, he'd quickly serve his use and be captured, soon to be forgotten by Funk. They both knew that. All this was was elongating the cycle, the high to the low. Though sometimes sleeping next to another was nice, made him feel powerful.
The other tom's descent back into tender calm was so slow, so quiet, that Doefreckle found himself numb with shock and exhaustion. He laid his chin on his forepaws, ignoring the ache in the freshly twisted one, and gently shook his head, staring blankly into the pond. Everything was suddenly so silent, so slow, so normal, and he felt like he was going to be sick from it. He felt mad, like it had been his fault and he'd done something to make Reedshadow overreact. He felt disoriented, like maybe none of it had been real. But mostly there was just a bone-deep, ice-cold tiredness that mingled somewhere along the way with the sort of sadness that felt like a useless prayer.
"No, I'm fine," he murmured, voice scarcely audible. There was a brief prickle of fear at the prospect of the other tom once again reacting badly to his denying medicine, but he was too numb to really process it. It felt a little like what he imagined shell-shock to be; too many emotions all at once and so, he'd simply... shut down. Doefreckle flopped to the side to rest against him, barely registering the other cat's warmth as he stared at the gentle ripples on the water. "What's your name?" he asked quietly, lifelessly. "Your real name. I assume that was a lie as well."
Post by strawberrycupid on Jul 26, 2019 15:34:01 GMT -5
The warmth felt like a heat wave, burning every hair on Funk's body. He wanted to shove Doe off, make some asinine comment, just be free again. Feel wind, air, anything but this warmth. It was suffocating, smothering, like he had heat stroke. It was a harsh burn of reality. The idea of the pair, of anyone with him really, was an idealistic and unrealistic delusion. Even the faintest touch would blister. Resting his head on his paws, he felt the faintest rush of cool. He knew, he always knew. He could only stand on his own, it was the way he was wired. Could only rely on himself, draw inspiration from himself, find comfort in himself. Everything was for him, no one was for him. No one else would be enough, not even the pathetic sack next to him. He felt a pang of loneliness he never had before. He never minded before, it was the only way he could imagine life. But, for some odd reason, it bugged him now. What an annoying sentiment. The feeling passed, the cycle would start again. He'd walk through the maze of life alone, and dammit he would like it.
“The great genius Funk,” Doefreckle murmured faintly; at any other time, it would have been teasing. Now, it was just empty. “Guess I’m just a worthless fool, then,” he whispered, as his eyes slipped shut and sleep washed over him like oil, hot and black and painful. “Meaningless,” was the last thing he whispered that evening. He dreamed of soft touches and smiles and the feeling of being wanted and loved and known; before he could sink into it, sharp claws tore the dream apart and he was left with the dark, tattered remains. He woke up crying.
Post by strawberrycupid on Jul 29, 2019 17:51:37 GMT -5
"Yep. That's all you are. People pick up on that self degradation stuff real easy, y'know." The easiest targets are the ones who make themselves targets, after all. Funk was narcissistic, sure, but he knew better than to give others a weak first impression of himself. Not that he could fail, he wasn't able to imagine it. Still, when you're confident, cats were more likely not to mess with you, as he found out on his travels. He stopped, and looked over to find Doe sleeping.
Guess we are taking that break, huh?
Sure, he could wake him up. But even he was tired. He slowly stood up, grabbing Doe by the scruff and dragging him into the cave where he put the sleeping tom on a bed of moss normally for the patients. Stepping out of the cave, he looked up at the sky. The moon was half full, shining in the sky by itself. A satellite roaming the dark abyss by itself. He ignored the symbolism, caught a mouse to eat and promptly went into a deep, dark sleep.
Awoken by the sound of crying, he rolled over, far too groggy and not awake enough to be comforting. He let out a yawn, tuning him out for a second before coming back down. "What? What's going on?"
Doefreckle stared at Funk woefully for a long moment, dazed and numb and his throat sore from the tears and the herbs, before letting out a breath of a laugh and shaking his head. He winced when the movement made his skull ache and throb. “What’s going on?” he echoed in a whisper, gingerly stretching out his foreleg and almost immediately letting out a broken hiss at the pain; he drew it back, shaky and close to crying again. His crooked paw twitched involuntarily every few moments; he covered it with his other paw to hide it from view and ignored the searing pain at the contact.
For a second, he was angry, the hot, mad sort of anger that made him want to scream and hurl abuse and break down in messy, hateful tears. But he was too tired for that, and the anger faded to a dull nothing, and the nothing faded back to self-hatred and need and the pitiful desire to be wanted, no matter the cost. A part of him told him to wait for nightfall, to run, to get far, far away. He crushed it down.
“Why don’t you tell me,” he murmured, not looking Funk in the eye. “You must have something planned to make me feel... better.” The word stuck in his throat. He breathed it out, and it felt like choking. He imagined the vague notion of being tortured. The fact it felt so right made him sick. The tears welled up again.
Post by strawberrycupid on Aug 1, 2019 13:24:47 GMT -5
"Hmmmmmmm." His chest rumbled as he laid his head on his paws. Closing his eyes, sleep threatened to wash over him. Planned. How funny. Funk rarely had things planned the second day. He was too ride the wave as it comes, go with the flow sort to plan things out that meticulously. He rolled over, spotting a pack of herbs he made what felt like ages ago. He pulled it towards him, and opened it with the careful precision of a half conscious cat. Which wasn't very much. Let's see. Poppy seeds, catmint and feverfew. Recovery set. This'll do.
"Sure. Here." He wrapped it back up, again not very elegantly, and batted it over to Doe. "That'll (yawn) help I guess." He rolled back over, back facing Doefreckle. He didn't care for this bitter and feeble attitude, especially this early in the morning, "And stop screwing with your leg! It'll never heal and I'll have to amputate it if I have to see you twist it even more."
Doefreckle glared at the other tom incredulously, genuinely at a loss for words for a moment. "I'm fine, thanks," he growled at last, pushing the herbs back towards the dozing tom and hauling himself to his paws. His head swam, and his leg burned, and he swayed to the side, but finally his vision settled and he could see clearly. This whole situation was making him feel dizzy and dissociated; he was somehow offended that his apparent captor had no interest in him, and more angry than he was afraid.
But, after a moment, clarity sank back in and fear leeched back in to replace the indignation. Suddenly, he felt cold, and isolated, and vulnerable, in the middle of nowhere with... him. Forcing a drowsy lightness into his voice, he murmured, "I'll be right back," and limped slowly towards the edge of the clearing, forcing himself not to look back. When he reached the treeline, he glanced back over his shoulder and slipped as soundlessly as possible into the undergrowth. His heart pounded in his chest, hard enough to make his head swim and his ears throb and his eyes prick with terrified, desperate tears. This could be his one chance to escape.
Post by strawberrycupid on Aug 12, 2019 16:31:58 GMT -5
Funk rolled over as Doe made his escape, letting out a frustrated sigh. He lifted himself to his paws, somehow even though they were stiff with sleep. Slowly, he trotted out of his grove, following Doe's scent, but not before grabbing some of those poppy seeds and throwing them in a leaf tied with a vine he wore as a makeshift necklace. He felt heavy against the ground, like gravity was really pushing down on specifically him for no reason. But also jittery, like a jittery where each individual jitter was slow. Goodness, it was odd.
Anyway, he slowed when he spotted a fallen leaf. Picking it up and quickly shifting it between his teeth. Taking a deep breath, he blew. A high pitched whistle echoed through the forest. It made birds fly, mouse hide underground, Pillsbury probably to run faster. But what mattered were the heads of cats that turned, listening when a second series of whistles was blown out. All at once, cats rose from their dens to give chase. Well, those that could hear and those close enough, so maybe three.
He spit the leaf back, before beginning to follow the trail again. Telling Doe about his many clients would have been bad, those that'll do anything they can for a little hand made drug. It's surprising how easy they were to manipulate, and now they were on the run, the code leading them to the south east. He'd find them soon enough, and drag Doe back. They weren't done, after all. It made funk a little giddy, enough to hum a small tune.
♪ come on now, don't try to hide pillsbury. cause you can run, but nobody survives ♪
