![⋆ -- fALLEN __ [s t a r] Avatar](http://i41.tinypic.com/fx576c.jpg)
Post by ⋆ -- fALLEN __ [s t a r] on May 14, 2009 21:47:39 GMT -5
[/color][/font][/size][/center]OOC:you said it once, said it twice
said it hurts, but I did it again
[nickname] :skye, falleh, skyluff, etc.
[other characters] : Fallenstar, Moonkit, Lightfall, Airpaw, Dampkit, Grasspaw.
: n/a
i don't change, i don't learn, 'cause i can't let it end
said it's gone, let it be, 'cause you don't need a friend
[/size]said it's gone, let it be, 'cause you don't need a friend
BIC:
[name] -- Lockrush
[age] -- 32 moons
[gender] -- Tom
[clan] -- RootClan
[rank] -- Warrior
maybe i do; you pull and i push and we cry
'till we laugh again i promise you
[/color][/font][/center][/size]'till we laugh again i promise you
[personality] --
The ink bleeds over the paper;
The pen spills out a false word-
Any cat who meets the muscular tabby will see that the tom has changed from the hyperactive Spinkit that he used to be. Although he had only briefly been born in TrunkClan, under the watchful eyes of Dawnfrost and Quietsong, everyone seemed to think they understood the light-hearted kit from head to tail. He would be just like the many cats before him that graced the world with his beauty and charm, coupled with the annoyance that comes with all young kits. However, they were wrong - fate was wrong. Lockrush has changed - and for the better or worse, it's impossible to tell.
To describe the reserved warrior now, after everything that has happened, would be quite a difficult feat because not many cats, including his leader and deputy, aren't quite aware what to make of the gray-scaled tom-cat.
To the average viewer, this battle-scarred tom is a calm, calculating cat with a shield of emotions that seems all but impenetrable. There are few cats that manage to faze him, and despite being an overall solemn tom and not opening up to many - even his friends - Lockrush is considered a loyal and respected cat among his clan. Those few he does count among his true friends should consider themselves privileged, for they’ve gained a steadfast advocate and an ally that will require a large amount of persuasion before he turns away from them – even if he isn’t so blindly loyal anymore.
Remember, just remember something...
The memory lives in my ear, unheard.
Contrary to how he was before the accident, although he understands that there are situations where having honor and other such similar things is not an asset, the tom tries to strictly abide to the warrior code and make sure those around him follow the same values. However, no matter how proud or ambitious he may or may not be, his current mindset is not that one of a leader nor does he wish to rise in the ranks. Events from the past have scarred him much too greatly and because of these things, he can be thought of as quite an unstable cat -- and those who are smart enough will understand that. A cat with a honey tongue, he used to be able to convince most anyone of anything and was able to persuade even the most bitter and cynical of cats if he wanted to. However he is still bitter and angry from his mate's betrayal, even if the guilt continues to gnaw at his heart. This often influences his decisions and thoughts -- making him much more secluded and when provoked, make rash decisions that he often regrets minutes after.
Most of the time, Lockrush can best be described as incredibly quiet. The tom is surprisingly soft-spoken despite his much larger build and unless pushed, is not often seen to have a bold streak of any kind. In all truth, he has turned into a rather shy cat, and prefers to listen rather than speak when among even mutual friends; he very rarely speaks his mind directly, unless it is around friends with whom he has grown quite close. And if this is the case, which it is often not, Lockrush has still been known to keep secrets from his clan members.
The dark-hued tom has a fairly good sense of what is right and wrong, and his concept of justice is a well-balanced one. He could most definitely benefit from being more assertive with his opinions and views, but only time will tell if his habit of keeping his mouth shut at crucial moments will persist.
The lead drags over the parchment;
The pencil floods images it shouldn't-
The pencil floods images it shouldn't-
The medium-aged tomcat is often described as having equal parts observation and simple awareness; if there is one cat that can manage to keep up with all of the Clan’s rumors and conflicts, it will generally be Lockrush. He is not openly eager to know everything that goes on within RootClan, but has the innate ability to find out regardless of the many events that pass by him each day.
If there someone were to ask any cat from any clan what they could recall most about the former defensive, brash warrior it would be usually two things The first is obviously no longer viewed by most since he has, much like his name-sake, locked himself away. If he were to ever love again, whether it be the long, ever-lasting love towards a mate, a fierce and passionate love as with flings, or the gentle adoration for a mentor towards his apprentice, Lockrush would undoubtedly show others his true self because in short, the scarred tom is the rare type that when he loves, he loves with all his heart.
The second that most cats recognize and remember about the silent warrior is his voice. Despite the fact that he looks horrendous [some ignorant kits even go as far as to say that he's the ghostly reincarnation of Tigerstar himself for he looks probably as scary, although the brown coat of the deceased leader and the solemn warrior are anything but matched], his voice is something to be marveled -- it, when he wishes it to be so, is rich, lustrous and coupled with his respectful, gentlemen-like words is quite a sound that, if cats would listen, might make she-cats blink in awe and woo them of their paws.
Forget, just forget everything...
I won't, I can't, and I couldn't.
I won't, I can't, and I couldn't.
Although it may not seem like it, his favorite news is that of kits having been born in the Clan. For some reason, in the past - before his accident - he seemed quite popular with the youngsters, as if they were drawn by some inborn magnetism to pounce on his tail in particular. Now, although the kittens seem much more frightened of his battle-scarred figure, he still loves them. However because of ability to weave stories that are incredibly vivid, of faraway places and heroes of the forest’s past, the tom still manages to capture the interest of them. Many cats say that he is most open and happy when he is telling stories, and that it reveals a side of him that is rarely seen by any cat. However, instead of watching the youngest members with affection like he used to or wistfully, Lockrush seems to look at them with a strange look, almost with regret, for he still remembers the death of his late son. As with the death of his mate, the guilt of this event seems to be swallowing and suffocating him.
His quiet, though solemn and secluded, attitude towards life causes many cats to stray away from the once strong, fierce warrior but if one gives an attempt to sift through the many layers of his mask, they will find a big surprise. In all truth, Lockrush is simply a cat who wishes to love and be loved in return, although it seems that he won't express his feelings for any cat, even if he turns affectionate towards someone, for his fear of getting hurt again is much too great.
[appearance] --
iridescent colours waterfall downwards
like a diving osprey the colours hit
like a diving osprey the colours hit
One look at this large tom-cat is all a cat needs to turn tail and run because it seems that everything about Lockrush simply screams the word 'warrior'. Broad shoulders dipped in pale gray sit upon his large frame, intense muscles from all those centuries ago rippling beneath his fur. Holding strength beyond belief with a single flicker of his ear, or twitch of his tail, the silvery tom easily towers over many cats and can easily dispose of others with a smack of his paw.
In battle he's almost unbeatable - not that many cats have the courage to confront this muscular giant, let alone try to attack him. Having more strength then probably all of StarClan together and a large build to make up for anything he doesn't have, along with well-developed muscles that almost seem to explode through his pelt, not many cats can tear down his defenses - in fact, in the long lifespan he has lived only two cats have been able to defeat him. The first was his long-dead father and the second - well we'll leave that for later.
In all respect the RootClan warrior is not - by any means considered to be overweight or in Layman's Terms, 'Fat. He does, however, tower over many cats and nears even the strongest StarClan warrior in both height and build, but just as the others - the strapping tom isn't invincible [although it often seems that way]. Not burly or fluffy - he spits in disgust at such an implication - Lockrush is quite lean and graceful when the need to be arises. In battle he can seem gruff and forceful or light and graceful; it all depends on who, or rather what he's facing, really.
surrounding me in shimmering waves
of rainbow as I stand in a forest.
of rainbow as I stand in a forest.
Intelligence runs through him fluid as a fish does to water and with so many years knowledge condensed into one cat, many find it a surprise that he doesn't explode from it - or at the least, brag about his feats. With a battle-scarred pelt that easily tells one story after another, weaving into each new tale like pieces of a thread, and the effect that multiple wars must have had on him plainly visible, such a large brute is feared. And for more reasons then one, too.
Cuts, bruises, scars -- all evidence of his past battles - embedded into his thickly-woven tabby pelt in such a manner that no cat would able to deny the fact that he has suffered so greatly. He doesn't boast about it, he doesn't - or rather doesn't feel as if he does - deserve pity, nor does he wish he'd live without them for he is - if he may say - quite prideful of them, but not too much that he becomes egotistical or arrogant by any means. His injuries - the cat believes - are markings of a true fighter, and like his great mentor once said, 'wisdom is just scar tissue in disguise.'
The largest - and probably most memorable - of his markings is a lengthy, rough and rope-like scar that stars at the edge of his broad shoulders, only to twist and turn into his pale flesh - an example of his advancing age - as it makes it's way down his frame. Quite excruciatingly painful even now, the injury rips and tears at his scarred fur - roping itself just above the fur that covers his as the darker gray sea ripples - inflaming it in it's glory - over it. Flitting and squeezing into intricate patterns on his back, the two lines - which had run parallel before hand - cross each other at his haunches to end in a ring around his paws. Gray with tinges of crusty crimson, the single scar - received when he was but a mere child - appear to be almost as pale as his very flesh.
Lockrush was a beautiful cat; he was the type of tom that could make any she-cat swoon with a simple flick of his tail. Sleek silver fur that glittered with the essence of perfection and well-toned muscles rippling beneath his entire frame, every single she-cat within miles had either lusted or fallen for him. Keyword: used to. He used to be amazing, but not anymore.
the mist painted shades around me
capturing and reflecting the colours
capturing and reflecting the colours
His beautiful silver fur is tainted, dulling to a darker - yet still shimmering - gray and flitting shades of paler hues of ivory and stone. However, that's not the horrifying thing about Lockrush’s pelt; it's how his fur seems to be shredded - as if his coat has been ripped from his soul time and time again - only to be be inflamed in a burning scarlet, tinged with murky orange. His jaw-line is straight and firm, nearly always set in a serious matter through the pale ivory fur tinged with dirty maroon. However the fur on the bottom of his muzzle is ripped away, revealing bony, sickly skin etched with pale peach.
His oculars, large and swiveling, stand rather neatly atop his perfected face - much to the surprise of many. However, like much of his features, they aren't perfect and in fact are broken - the two bracken-hued and silvery-painted ears are sliced, the left in half and the right nearly perfect, except for a single slice. The inside of his right ear, however unknown to many, is slitted in so many angles - that blood should leak through it, it should make him half-deaf. But alas, he isn't - in fact his hearing is well-tuned and can even hear the slightest sound for miles, as it seems once you're acquainted with him and his harsh training. It a pale pink, looking as if all color has leeched from it; but thankfully enough, no one gets closer enough to see it -- for they are always too scared of him, let alone get within a mouse-length of him.
a true masterpiece of nature visible
to one person and only for moments.
Unfortunately, cats aren't far enough, usually, to cover many other of his horrible traits. The once handsome tom who would've been mistaken for a prince in his younger days was born with brilliant blue eyes, the irises shimmering like that of ocean waves and cobalt pools reflecting like the swirls spinning upon his pelt, he was even considered a beautiful kitten. Once his mate died [taking him with her] - once his soul and life was stripped away from him so unfairly, leaving more or less a hollow shell of a cat -- his eyes shifted into a pale sickly yellow-green, only sparkles of darker blue and golden yellow emitting from beneath. They are deeper than the depths of the murky water and yet containing no luster much like the storm clouds that cover the eternal night.
As many cats will see once engaging in a battle with this brute, his paws - large and broad in order to compensate for his massive bulk and height - flex out long, sharp knife-like claws that just as pale and ghostly as much of his pelt. Engaged in a fight, Lockrush will show no mercy to those who don't deserve it and even those who do, he is truly an malevolent tom. With a right paw soaked in the deepest of blacks and twisted in such a way that would've been deemed inhuman, a permanently broken tail and much more, the simple look of the fearsome warrior could freeze a cat in fear for eternity.
It isn't really fair how other cats treat him, based on his looks, but then again,
life wasn't created to be fair.
but this had been a sin of passion, not of principle, nor even purpose.
[tattoo] -- there is little meaning or surprise to the grayscaled tones that mark Lockrush of RootClan a true warrior. Paler shades of white thread with moonlit strands to form a strange pattern along the side of his neck, folding over to create a unique string of crests along the back as well. At the back of his neck, lies three triangles and three ridged circles, splotched in vibrant hues of black and white -- yet, in the same way, can easily blends in as much as his darkened tabby coloring does with the night itself. As for the prime point of his tattoo, it is difficult to decipher, for the horrible scars that line his entire bodice is often too grotesque, too shockingly obvious to notice the special sign. It is simple, a silver heart - brighter than the ebonite bands of his coat and yet darker than the gray hue of his pelt - outlined in white, stretched to meet the markings at the back of his neck by the way of a single black thread.
you promise me back, then why
does it all fall apart in a matter of time
[history] --
Burn all the pictures and remove the memories
Pull all the thoughts from the back of your mind
Yet still I remember all that she said to me
Full were the truths but the lies intertwined
This particular warrior's history isn't like most. It is complicated, different and unique all on it's own even though it may or may not appear to each other as a cliché -- it is the type of story, simply, that although retold again and again seems to always seem fresh in young minds.
Throughout the untold history of the clan's, as the days pass and with it then moons and its seasons, many single stories seem to repeated. Often more than not, it starts with two cats falling deeply in love and from that intense passion, or admiration [depending on the case], results a litter of kittens. These offspring, brought up joyfully with the warmth and care of its parents, soon choose their own paths before the cycle repeats itself.
Arrest me with your beauty and sentance me to death
For this is the last in my case of defense
The seconds go by as I draw my last breath
The love it was strong but the hate was immense
Lockrush's own history, although he chooses to remember only bits and fragments of it is nothing like these simple tales -- as said before it is complicated and difficult, though it can still be compared closely to these ordinary times It is like the old fantasies and fictions, spoken by the elders of the clan to spook the awe-filled kits in hushed voices, where every other falls in love with the wrong cat. It is the circumstance, though whether it is meant to be this way or not, when it seems that StarClans have failed and fate has made a mistake -- a very grave one at that.
It is very much like these fragments of memories passed down from generation to generation, but at the same time, it's a complete opposite because when it comes down to the facts, nothing is completely the same.
So fear me and love me and I'll do the same
Sleep in the lies and bathe in the shame
Away from the game so break every rule
We'll swim in the lanes of death's dreary pool
B I R T H
'She glances at the photo, and the pilot light of memory flickers in her eyes.'
[/color][/i]Cloudpaw, he had noticed upon first glance, was indeed a beautiful she-cat and he, being the type of tom he was, couldn't help but falling for her the moment their eyes, liquid-blue and melted-green, met. She had the most enchanting mew, soft and innocent at one point and suddenly seductive and enchanting the next. Her coat, one of the many things that surprised him, wasn't thorny and rugged like his often was, nor was it smooth and soft like his mother's looked like. The TrunkClan apprentice's coat looked so unique that it was impossible not to look twice.
Skypaw was the type of cat that few admired and those who did didn’t often show it well enough. Hazelpaw was one of the few she-cats that looked up to the sandy-white tabby tom and openly showed it for even the emotionally dense Skypaw could’ve seen the affection in her amber gaze every time she looked at him. To be honest, at first, it made him feel uncomfortable; he wasn’t used to cats, or rather she-cats looking at him in such a way. Especially RootClan she-cats.
Hazelpaw, though, was a definite beauty with her honey-amber eyes and long auburn-patched coat. She was slender, dainty and perfectly feminine; she was the she-cat every tom lusted for, whether it be because of her undeniable beauty or her honey-coated tongue that she used to convince any cat to do what she wanted. And she was good at it -- amazing, even.
And that's why Shardpaw fell for her upon first site. She was beautiful, intelligent and most of all, was the only cat that could ever measure up to him -- there was just one problem. He had a huge ego; she hated arrogant cats and there was no way he was going to give up his pride like some love-sick kitty. The dark tabby, son of Slateclaw and Blackfire, was what two-legs would call a jerk, but he was a cool jerk. But hey, that was something, right?
In short, Skypaw loved Cloudpaw who, in turn, liked Shardpaw who was head over heels for Hazelpaw, who loved Skypaw. Simple right? Not really.
The specifics of what happened during the past moons in which the entire drama seemed to enfold is a flitting memory to everyone, even those who were closest to the participants and as soon as all four of them died, starting with Cloudpool and ending with Shardclaw. [Cloudpool was killed by Hazelrain's raging jealousy. Skydive, furious at the death of his mate, killed her and angered at this, Shardclaw killed Skydive. Then, realizing he was suddenly alone and that it bothered him, he soon followed them, whether it be in StarClan or some other place]
All that's left of the four cats are their children: Spinkit, Rapidkit, Freekit, Rainkit, Freshkit and Splashkit. Freekit, daughter of Cloudpool and Skydive, died from a fox attack where as her brother, Rainkit, was soon killed from a badger's claws. Splashkit and Freshkit, son and daugher of Hazelrain and Shardclaw, died at the same time of greencough. The only kits left, the one's who started it all, were Spinkit and Rapidkit -- the children of who's, however, is still unknown.
The first, Spinkit, had Shardclaw's dark tabby coat and Cloudpool's bright blue eyes; however, he also seemed to bore Skydive's lean build and Hazelrain's smile. Rapidkit had Skydive's gray-hued ivory coat and Hazelrain's glittering amber eyes, edged with the softest of greens. He also had Cloudpool's white paws and Shardclaw's intelligence.
It was a mystery that would never be solved.
K i T H O O D [/u]
“Being born is like being kidnapped.
And then sold into slavery.”
He used to be able to light up the world with a simple smile, questions spilling out of his mouth like there was no tomorrow. When, where, how and why - his favorite question of all; he soaked up each new piece of information like a sponge. His easy-to-come smile always on his face, the young kit of not more than two moons never failed to ignite the amusing gleam in the warrior's eyes or capture the interest of most apprentices in the clan.
But when he was kit-napped all those moons ago without a trace and replaced by a solitary kitten formerly named Rapidkit, no one had noticed the change and if they had, they welcomed the new kitten. The son of petty Mosstail and bright-eyed Brightlight, the dark-colored kitten captured the hearts of the clan in ways that the real Spinkit had never been able to for with his quiet and peaceful nature and shimmering smiles, he was the perfect kit that everyone wanted. No one noticed the original Spinkit's disappearance or the replacement figure; they didn't notice how this new dark-furred kit didn't smell the same, how he didn't act the same, or even how he was a gray-white hue and the real Spinkit had been a beautiful mixture of something closet to black. They didn't notice -- they didn't care.
In the meantime, the real Spinkit - single son of Shardclaw and Cloudpool- wasn't doing as well as his so-called clone. Having known he was a replacement for some dead kitten called Rapidkit didn't help the subdued - and newly named - Lockkit. His memories of the first few moons were flitting, as if not really there, but somehow the young kitten just knew that he didn't belong and already delicate, he shunned himself out from the world -- because no one seemed to care, or rather, wanted him in it.
A P P R E N T i C E S H i P
“Who is more foolish?
The child afraid of the dark
or the man afraid of the light?”
The child afraid of the dark
or the man afraid of the light?”
As a young apprentice, he was very much like he was as a three-moon old kit and so everyone pretty much ignored the strange kitten, his mouth always closed and blue eyes always vacant. He seldom spoke except for the occasional 'yes' or 'no' and cats began to deem him mute.
Lockpaw was apprenticed on the first day of new-leaf, the birds twittering merrily and the prey plentiful as the sun shone brightly. He wasn't the only one to be promoted in the ranks that day however; four other apprentices were due to be blessed that day along the watchful eyes of the clan. Rainkit and Drizzlekit, two twin gray toms with identical blue eyes, were the sons of Grasswind and Windstride, both honorable warriors of the clan with relations that were purely business-like. They had mated to produce more kits for the clan, not for love. Spellkit and Ravenkit, the beautiful daughters of Splashpool and the deceased warrior, Echostone, were also to be apprentices that day.
Lionsong was to mentor Rainpaw, Freshstep to Drizzlepaw, Blackdusk to Ravenpaw, Marblesong to Spellpaw and finally, Timescar to Lockpaw.
Under the stern eye of bracken tabby, Lockpaw found himself opening up the world as he began to grace others with breath-taking smiles, warm laughter, and glowing personality. He learned rather quickly, despite the fact that his mentor had suspected that his apprentice would fail at nearly everything, and it seemed by the eighth moon that things were progressing well. It was perfect.
Almost.
On a hunting patrol, Drizzlepaw dissapeared and his twin went into a frenzy, wide blue pools in a panic as he tried to search for his brother. The two grayscaled toms were always together mimicking each other's movements, finishing each other's phrases and annoying their clan members with their knowing smirks. The patrol didn't find the young tom before a group of foxes had and the cat who found them was Lockpaw, eyes widened in fear at the crumpled body. Fearful and in denial when Lockpaw repeated the news to the patrol, Rainpaw began screeching, 'Lies! Lies! Lies!' before launching at the torn figure of his brother. Drizzlepaw wasn't dead', Rainpaw began talking incoherently as his body went into shock, He can't be. He's Drizzlepaw.
The medicine cat had to come fetch the insane apprentice and when he continued to clutch onto his brother, the entire patrol had to hold him when she sedated him with a herb.
'I knew it! the grey tom began spreading rumors around the clan as soon as he was released from his temporary prison in the medicine cat's den. ' Lockpaw killed him. He was jealous - jealous of the brotherly bond that we had, and all the friends that we made that Lockpaw didn't 'cause he's creepy. Lockpaw tricked Drizzle. It's his fault brother's dead, it's - ', and not so many hours later was the suicidal tom placed back in imprisonment, this time on very close watch. It didn't stop the clever tom, however, from escaping and throwing himself off a cliff a day later, not being able to bear the loss of his dear brother. He felt as if his soul had been torn apart, or even worse, he felt dead because in all truth, Drizzlepaw had been Rainpaw and Rainpaw had been Drizzlepaw.
The death of the young warrior didn't help the questions and accusations of Lockpaw's clanmates, however, as he reached his tenth moon, though.
The young tom, having already been to his second gathering and met many other apprentices, had the patience and effort needed to block all these cats out, but he began worrying -- would Timescar hold his ceremony back just because he was failing socially? Was he going to be an apprentice all his life?
Then Ravenpaw saved him. They became fast friends as soon as the slender she-cat padded up to him one day and asked if they could go hunting, in which Lockpaw simply nodded dumbly in response -- obviously not used to she-cat's paying attention to him and asking him anything. They got along well, her cool and level-headed nature calming down his hot-headed one and his sweet words, coupled with his everlasting patience, matching her equally kind nature and dousing her fiery retorts whenever another cat teased either one of them. It was good. Life was good.
Then Spellpaw died.
Lockpaw swore that he had never seen a cat, especially level-headed and strong-hearted Ravenpaw, cry so much. He did his best to comfort her, murmuring comforting words to her and letting out soothing purrs every time she broke down in a training session, and despite his thoughts, it worked. She warmed up to him, leaning on his shoulder more and more often, until the death of her closest friend vanished and the horrifying images of Spellpaw's death were replaced with glowing images of a certain tom. Although they had been only best friends before the incident, Lockpaw found himself more at ease around the pretty femme and soon realized that he had formed much stronger feelings than either one of them had intended to.
He loved her and when the time was right, he would confess.
W A R R i O R S H i P [/u]
"... and Lockrush, we now welcome you as a full warrior of RootClan,.
[/center][/color]The minute Sedgestar spoke those words was a moment that the darkened tom would not soon forget; so despite the obstacles that would come forth and obstruct his true fate in the moons to come, it was the most important time in his life.
However, the way the usually cold Timescar watched him - as if he was bursting with affection and pride for his former apprentice- wasn't the only reason that the ceremony made Lockrush want to jump for joy. No, it was more so because the way the newly-named Ravenflight had yelled his name first and bounded up to him, purring softly, as she pressed his muzzle against his.
Congratulations, Lockrush!, her soft purr was music to his ears.
And as the crowd began to disperse, the clan falling back into its normal groups, the pair began to - much like their dark-color pelts - fade into the surroundings, the silence ever so comforting as they basked in each other's presence. His blue eyes twinkled as he pulled back, another rough and loving purr escaping him, as he stared at her beautiful, slender figure. They had come a long way - especially her.
" Ravenflight..", he mumbled, suddenly locked in sort of trance and although his eyes were warm, it was as if their was a burr caught in his throat - making him unable to say any of the flattering thoughts that swarmed his mind. Beautiful. Beautiful. Beautiful.
'Lockedrush..?', her voice sounded confused, but he didn't seem to paying attention.
" I don't know how to say it, b-but I-I...I really care about you a-and..", he looked down at his paws, feelings a hot-red blush creep through his pelt. She looked different, he knew, but in a good way. She was breathtakingly beautiful, his own cobalt pools adjusting to the darkness as he noticed the slim outline of her ebonite figure and his heart warmed at the sight of her glowing face. The sight of her smiling at him, as if he was the most important thing in the world to her, was enough to make him crumble and suddenly the usually brash tom blurted, " I love you!"
Lockrush, even now as the memory of the enchanting she-cat haunts his dreams, remembered her exact reaction. It suddenly became the most important thought in his mind -- whether or not she would decline him, that is. So much to his horror, she began laughing at him. Blue eyes widened fearfully, paws pricking uncomfortably as they were itching to run from this embaressing seen, but then suddenly the sleek she-cat gave him a smile - one that he felt was made for him and just him - before pressing herself against him affectionately.
'You mouse-brain, I've been waiting for you to say that, " her laughing purr echoed in his ears, ' I love you too.
And when she said those words, the words that he had been yearning to hear for so long, the silver tom had believed her. He was young and she was young - but they were old enough, or so they thought, to know the strong bond [or so he thought] that formed between them. It didn't matter that they were new warriors, or that they hadn't experienced much in life, all that mattered was that they were in love -- a young couple in love so deep that no one would be able to keep them apart.
Soon after the two warriors, who had started out as simple friends in their childhood and then was pushed together, the intensity of their friendship growing, by the death of their loved ones, spent more time together. Timescar, unusually warm and forgiving as he got older, watched his former apprentice open up to the world more with a smile. And when he died of greencough on his nephew's [yes, nephew. The serious and fierce warrior, who had retired to the elder's den, had been the only cat old enough to remember his dead brother, Shardclaw. He had been good friends with Cloudpool and Skydive, but also knew about Hazelrain - seeing as they were both in RootClan- as well.] he left the world content that everything would be all right.
It wasn't, though; it was actually far from the peace and tranquility that Timescar had saw.
The birth of kits in a couple's life is usually the final step, the step that insures their love for each other and finally ties them together, the doubts and worries washed away. The kits are supposed to bring cats, whether it be the most confident warrior or insecure cat, together. It wasn't how it worked with Lockrush and Ravenflight, though.
Spyglass had told them they should expect a large number of kittens, perhaps four or five, much to Lockrush's ectasy and Ravenflight's horror. Lockrush wanted his kits to have a real family, full of the love and affection that his own childhood had lacked, and he wanted to show his kits - lots of them, he planned - that they had wonderful parents and perfect, loving family. Ravenflight was strong-headed, confident and although she seemed to love her mate very much, the last thing she wanted was a large litter - or even a litter at all. They would be troublesome, they would be too much work, and they didn't need kits to prove their love -- at least, that's what she thought. Plus, the accidents that occurred before their birth and the stress that the events caused on her wasn't a good thing either. She loved Lockrush, but he was ugly now -- his face ripped, body crippled and suddenly, the affection she held for him seemed to dwindle. The black queen tried not to show it though because it would make her seem shallow. That was wrong, wasn't it? To lie for her benifit - although she believed it was from keeping him from being pained. It wasn't right; so why did she lie for such trivial things, even though she knew that he could tell that every time he pressed his scarred faced against her beautiful frame, that she would cringe?
Had she only really loved him because of his looks and only when he was actually beautiful? No, she couldn't have. But the truth was, Ravenflight was in denial.
The day the kits had been born was supposed to be bright and sunny and perfect, as Lockrush had imagined it. Ravenflight, knowing that the kits - not matter when they were birthed - would always be a burden and pulling her down, couldn't have cared less. So because their thoughts were so different, so contrasting, it seemed as if StarClan didn't care either. If they had both been happy, then the day might have been perfect. If they had both been angry, it would've been horrifying. Apparently, the warrior ancestors decided to pity the couple and granted them a day which would, hopefully, satisfy both of their needs. It started as sunny and bright and perfect as the father had imagined it, but soon - just as the mother predicted - everything went wrong.
So happy and joyful at the news of his first litter, Lockrush acted as excited - yet troubled, as all new fathers do - as a young kit becoming an apprentice or an apprentice receiving their warrior names. Not even noticing her nervous smile or forced laughter whenever he brought up the subject of their kits, Lockrush had even came up with names for his perfect children.
"What should we name them, love?", he purred softly. His yellow-tinted [now] blue eyes glowed with warmth and love for his mate, the prey that had sat at his paws already gone, as he nuzzled her affectionately.
She forced a smile as he pressed his torn muzzle against her [perfect black-laced] one and looked at him, indigo pools placid, for a moment before pulling back to take another small bite out of her prey. Her dark-furred ears flickered silently, tail twitching awkwardly, as he continued and swallowing her prey, she directed her eyes elsewhere -- anywhere else. That was all he wanted to talk about nowadays. Kits. Kits. Kits.
'What if they were as ugly as he was?
"Dear?, "[/color] he asked softly, gray-scaled tail brushing along her flank in concern at her [usually glowing, he thought, but now horrified] facial expression. She then turned to him, flawless visage softened with gentle reassurance as she placed on that pitiful mask of emotions again [something that everyone else could see, but he was too much in love to notice] and touched, almost cringing, her muzzle to his flank, causing him to smile warmly. "Like I was saying, love, we could name them so many things, " he started again, faded blue pools glowing again, " Rosekit, Tulipkit, or Heartkit for she-cats. Perhaps something strong for toms -- how does Thornkit or Thistlekit sound? How about Swiftkit or Windkit? Maybe Smokekit or Shadowkit? [/b]
And as he continued on, digging themselves into a deeper grave, she couldn't do anything but nod numbly at him. She loved him, or so she forced herself to think, but all he wanted to think of was those horrible kits.
She could see it now; these tiny
And so they were named - named on that fateful day in new leaf, where peace seemed to overcome to entire forest - long before they were born. The story of his children's birth is almost as repetitive and dreadful and mysterious as an old elder's tale, although not far from the day that signaled Lockrush's birth.
Spyglass was right; the day, having started out as bright and sunny and oh so perfect, resulted in no less in the birth of seven kits. The first born, a beautiful she-cat with dark-brown fur and a slender frame, like her mother, was named Dawnkit for her soft, sandy pelt and blue-rimmed indigo eyes. The second born was a tom, followed soon after by his twin which was a she-cat. Carbon copies of each other, they each bore a sleek dark gray coats that seemed to resemble something darker than the night, their bright blue eyes the only sign of light in their entire body aside from their pale ivory paws. Ravenflight decided to name them Drizzlekit and Dewkit, after they're late friends. However, like the cats they were named after, young Drizzlekit and Dewkit didn't have much time in the world before they went up and joined their warrior ancestors, leaving nothing in their wake. The next was a pale gray-scaled femme with an ivory chest and paws; she was named Spellkit, after Ravenflight's late sister. She died soon after she left her mother's womb. Following after was a relatively small she-cat with a soft, downy silver-white coating and glazed pools -- they decided on the name Mintkit [for her milky mint-green eyes]. And upon realizing that her daughter was blind beyond compare, with a crippled fore-paw, the queen suddenly decided on one thing -- she hated Mintkit the most.
The last two were perfectly healthy, much to Lockrush's relief, and although they looked nothing alike, many would suspect that they were twins. Songkit was the second to last kit of Ravenflight's expected large litter. Bearing a small frame, she looked like an almost-exact copy of Hazelrain; young Songkit had a unique calico pelt with star-like, as though actually glittering, jade pools. The last one - his last son - turned out to be the exact mirror copy of his father, right down to the same dark moon-washed pelt and vibrant blue eyes. Ironically, Ravenflight named her last son, much to Lockrush's happiness and wonder; she said he deserved a noble name and that he should be called Spinkit. Because the father was so ecstatic, he had failed to notice how soft her voice had gotten, as if filled with affection, and why her eyes sparkled when looking upon her son, not at all like the looks of disgust she gave all the others.
And so his kits grew up with the proud cobalt pools of their father gazing affectionately at them and the hard, unfeeling glare of their mother's dark indigo pools, splashed with pale silver hues, looming down on them. It was certainly the life to live, wasn't it? Oh yes it was.
Very little of the forest stirred, and the majority of any movement was the scuttle of crisp, dead leaves being dragged by the wind across the snow-laced ground. Stormy grey clouds rumbled overhead, only letting Silverpelt glance down at the camp briefly before the they were separated again by the veil of weather. A few icicles glowed dimly in the faint glow of the moon behind it's thick blanket of protective sky.
'Spinwave?' she whispered, shoulders tense, as she peeked into the clearing.
A quick beam of light fell onto the face of a creature that stood opposite, hidden beneath the thick foliage, of the ebony she-cat. Frosted glass eyes fluttered open from across the clearing and a shaded figure slid out from the shadows, his moss-green pools - tinged with hints of striking silver - the only source of light in the falling darkness.
"Over here, darling, " his purr was soft and alluring as he stepped out from his hiding spot, muscles rippling beneath his shoulders as he padded towards her. Liquid green optics blinked affectionately at the ebony she-cat she wound herself around him, purring all the way, and even as he drowned in her scent, the sweet smell of Ravenflight as she wreathed around him almost intoxicating him, his dark eyes could not help but flash when his sinister plans continued to roll around in his sharp mind.
" What's wrong?" she pulled away, a frown on her face, as she noticed his change of mood.
"Nothing, nothing," he soothed, his sweet voice as thick as honey and pressing his muzzle against her shoulder as a sign of comfort, his ivy-green optics flickered once more in what - she assumed - was pure love and affection.
She could not help but sigh softly, nestling herself against him and a small smile playing across her lips, the she-cat could not help but wonder when the last time she felt this way. 'Lockrush.' A shiver of guilt went through her, enveloping her like the inky-black darkness, and she closed her eyes, pressing her slim frame further into that of her companions, as if she was afraid. Oh StarClan, she knew he was cheating on him - that wonderful brute of tabby tom - but help her StarClan, it just felt so good to be in Spinwave's hold. So secure, so strong, so handsome. Lockrush just wasn't the same as his counterpart because even though he was her current mate and first love... he never had been what she really wanted. StarClan only knew that - at one point, at least - she loved Lockrush and his warm, quiet ways. But she couldn't hate him for that - for his inability to be so handsome and beautiful and perfect as Spinwave - could she? Did she? No, I don't, she tried to reassure herself, knowing that it was just a lie.
Spinwave didn't notice her change of reaction and instead nuzzled her affectionately, purring. Looking up at the perfect tom at her side, Ravenflight smiled. This was what she wanted -- no, needed.
" R-ravenflight?!"
The pair turned their heads to find a pair of silver-blue eyes staring back at them in utter disbelief.
'Spinwave?' she whispered, shoulders tense, as she peeked into the clearing.
A quick beam of light fell onto the face of a creature that stood opposite, hidden beneath the thick foliage, of the ebony she-cat. Frosted glass eyes fluttered open from across the clearing and a shaded figure slid out from the shadows, his moss-green pools - tinged with hints of striking silver - the only source of light in the falling darkness.
"Over here, darling, " his purr was soft and alluring as he stepped out from his hiding spot, muscles rippling beneath his shoulders as he padded towards her. Liquid green optics blinked affectionately at the ebony she-cat she wound herself around him, purring all the way, and even as he drowned in her scent, the sweet smell of Ravenflight as she wreathed around him almost intoxicating him, his dark eyes could not help but flash when his sinister plans continued to roll around in his sharp mind.
" What's wrong?" she pulled away, a frown on her face, as she noticed his change of mood.
"Nothing, nothing," he soothed, his sweet voice as thick as honey and pressing his muzzle against her shoulder as a sign of comfort, his ivy-green optics flickered once more in what - she assumed - was pure love and affection.
She could not help but sigh softly, nestling herself against him and a small smile playing across her lips, the she-cat could not help but wonder when the last time she felt this way. 'Lockrush.' A shiver of guilt went through her, enveloping her like the inky-black darkness, and she closed her eyes, pressing her slim frame further into that of her companions, as if she was afraid. Oh StarClan, she knew he was cheating on him - that wonderful brute of tabby tom - but help her StarClan, it just felt so good to be in Spinwave's hold. So secure, so strong, so handsome. Lockrush just wasn't the same as his counterpart because even though he was her current mate and first love... he never had been what she really wanted. StarClan only knew that - at one point, at least - she loved Lockrush and his warm, quiet ways. But she couldn't hate him for that - for his inability to be so handsome and beautiful and perfect as Spinwave - could she? Did she? No, I don't, she tried to reassure herself, knowing that it was just a lie.
Spinwave didn't notice her change of reaction and instead nuzzled her affectionately, purring. Looking up at the perfect tom at her side, Ravenflight smiled. This was what she wanted -- no, needed.
" R-ravenflight?!"
The pair turned their heads to find a pair of silver-blue eyes staring back at them in utter disbelief.
Lockrush had not taken notice of his mate's strange behavior for several moons, much too caught up his kits to pay close enough attention. Dawnkit , he had always suspected, would turn out like her mother, quick and graceful, yet strong and determined. A part of him had always wondered why Ravenflight had wanted Dawnkit - her copy - to be with and onlySpinkit. His son, on the other hand, would rather be with his other sister, Songkit. Mintkit was always left alone, like Lockkit used to be.
Then Dawnkit died.
And Ravenflight couldn't take it anymore. Oh sure, Lockrush had tried desperately to try to help his mate cope with loss - still clinging to the desperate hope that the loss of her daughter was the only problem troubling her and that the tom he had spotted her with a few moons ago was only her friend, her very, very good friend, as as she constantly insisted to his probing questions - but it didn't seem to help.
Spinkit and all the other kittens seemed terribly confused as to where their darling sister had been -- their thoughts were all in a jumble, unsure of what to do now that the lead of their leader was gone and without anyone to actually lead them, they wasn't really anything that tied them together other than their parents. Even that bond - one that was supposed to be effortless and easy - was starting to break. Songkit and Spinkit were as close as ever though; at least that didn't change.
Next was Mintkit, but this one - oh, her death had been proclaimed long before - was preditable; every other cat was so surprised that she had lived for so long. While the father was completly torn - still so blinded by the truth of his mate's actions like a deer when a monster's headlights flash upon it - the mother seemed quite normal, at ease even. He might've went as far as to go as to say she was relieved.
Lockrush asked her one day, the reactions and signals he had been receiving from her disturbing him greatly. He had been on a watch for hysteria this time, telling himself that he knew what to expect and when she broke again, the reason why she did was nothing close to that awful tom she had been spending so much time near, but he had only saw normality. She was completly unfazed -- so much, he wanted to throw up.
He confronted her about this.
She shrugged and said, 'She was going to die anyway'
And his heart lurched one last time; how could she think so badly of her kit, their kit?
But he let it go, this time because he loved her and wasn't this what love was about? Forgiving them for their faults, accepting their mistakes, just because? He was willing to do it, but he couldn't help but tremble at the thought of the once kind and understanding becoming so
Lockrush also noticed that she was constantly slipping away, that smile dancing across her beautiful face as if she was keeping a wonderful secret, and he watched, his heart wrenching painfully, each time without doing a thing.
He loved her and this was what love was about,
right?
And soon enough, when it was only down to two and Lockrush didn't think he could take it anymore, Songkit left them. She had always been a sweet little thing, but not quite the same as any of his other kits. She wasn't shy like Mintkit, bold like Dawnkit or even ambitious like Spinkit; yes, she was all her own and that's the way Lockrush loved her.
But not Ravenflight. The mother hated Songkit with a burning, fiery passion that seemed to never dwindle. It was clearer than anything from the first day, and even Lockrush knew this but decided not to think about it, that she only loved one of her six kittens. It wasn't Songkit, for sure.
The pretty calico had gotten entangled in a bush when her mother wasn't looking or even worse home at the time. Lockrush would remember this
If he was there he would remember Spinkit screaming for help.
But no one loved him, just like they didn't love his father and so his cries - and her screams of agony - were blatantly ignored.
If he was there, Lockrush would've known that from this day forth, his son - his only living son - would hate both of his parents with such a passion, like a burning inferno, it would hurt. It was like a knife twisting in his heart.
And when he came back from his patrol, stumbling into the clearing like some crazed maniac, gasping for breath, he wanted - oh believe him, he had wanted to - hate his mate. He had watched the darkening flames of revolt and hatred that his only living son held in the cobalt-blue pools - ones that mirrored his previoius ones before the accident. At which point, Lockrush had swallowed deeply and turned away, unable to watch the seething anger bubbling beneath; his innocent son - sweet, sweet Spinkit - was glaring holes through him with scathing anger, small lips curled back into a snarl.
He was a father; weren't fathers supposed to protect their children? Save their children? Great StarClan, he had failed in the only thing Spinkit had ever expected from his father. He had let him down.
And so, Lockrush shot off in a frenzy to find his mate, with every intent to rip her to pieces -- to kill her for being such a dimwitted fool. For goodness sake she was a mother, what kind of mother leaves their chlidren alone, uncared for? This was the last straw, certainly. It had been okay when he saw her with Spinwave; it had been at the most, irritating when her ignorance caused everyone to die -- but this, this was absolutley horrible. It was her fault that her favorite son not only hated her now, but also him - him who hadn't done anything at all. The tom sunk his claws deeply into the soil, taking in a gulp of air, and flung himself forward, chasing the silent figure that he was sure was his mate. She had to learn, she was going to --
What the hell?
"... Ravenflight?" he finally whispered after what seemed like ten minutes of staring in astonishment at her figure, teetering on the edge of the rock. What was she doing? Was she trying to kill herself? He blinked, once and then twice. "Oh StarClan, Oh my StarClan," he spluttered, a look of absolute horror rippling across his already distorted face. Without thinning, he sprinted forward on his paws and shot forward, eyes wide in horror -- words slipping past his lips to fast to decipher, images of her (just her, nothing else but her) blurring into burning tears before his eyes and then he just began yowling, screaming at the top of his lungs for mercy. She couldn't do this; she couldn't --
"Silly, silly Spinkit, " she was laughing and the harsh, bitter sound made him stop in his tracks, blood still pounding in his ears. He wanted to grab her and tell her how crazy she was - when she was this crazy, how could he still love her the same? But he did, he wish he didn't, but he did - but he couldn't; she would've flung herself off the edge. The warrior could hear the roaring waves crashing against the shore, eroding already shredded pieces of rock; the piercing echoes were enough to make him wince, but not take his eyes off of her.
Was she talking about their son, Spinwave or -- or... him?
She giggled again, dancing drunkenly across the ragged creases of melted stone. Lockrush looked down at his own paws then - wounds that were stitched up and torn running along his forelegs in a painful pattern; they were trembling too. Then he gasped, suddenly unable to breathe. Panicked, the tom went to go find his mate -- but she was gone, shrill giggles rising insanely through the air around him.
Even to this day, he isn't sure what made him faint, what made his mate kill herself; and he hates himself for it, for not being able to remember. Worst of all, he'll tell you, he still has nightmares about her haunting him -- he will never be able to forget her dying words...
"I never loved you, ever, silly silly." It was then that the warrior shuddered violently and collapsed as the blackness choked Lockrush, shadows closing in all around him.
[role-playing example] -- look at fallenstar's bio, please. <3
so i'm thinking maybe you've made up your mind
'cause you're so distant, real distant
and i can't stand to fight no more
[/center][/font][/font]'cause you're so distant, real distant
and i can't stand to fight no more
[stay by jay sean]
[/blockquote][/color][/font]
