ANTICHRIST TELEVISION BLUES \ game

[MALLOWLARK]

No one ever ate the heads, did they? No one liked thin, taut... face-flesh, especially on birds. A big bony beak made it difficult to eat, and thus they went un-eaten, wasted. And it was a shame! A shame that not every part of an animal should be used in some way, after giving its life to be food. It was with this rationality that Mallowlark had found peace in his bone-and-offal collection, and often... unconventional ways of enjoying it.

Innards were buried, thanked... and in a different place, to spite the whip-crack winds, Mallowlark had dug a hole just slightly-bigger than the crow head he had collected. Its body had been eaten already, and he'd offered to rid the devourer of the parts they had not devoured... this would be its final resting-place, but not without providing one last spark of satisfaction. A few tail-lengths away did Mallowlark stand, the head resting by one of his paws. And then, and then-

Whack! A strike of flesh-on-nearly-clean-bone, the rap of a paw-pad sent the head airborne, then bouncing, then rolling... his aim had been sound, he was sure! But a gust of wind seared through the pines, the trees howling as the gale-force struck them, and Mallowlark watched as his shot was steered shy of its target. Almost there! So almost there, and yet... not good enough! He would have to try again.

"So unfair!" He cursed the breeze aloud, though his voice bled unmistakable joy as he gleefully trotted over to pick up the head and try again. ​

☺PENNED BY PIN​

 

[DAWNGLARE]

Dawnglare still kept it. The snake, now silenced beside his nest. Prophesized to hear the whispered dreams between one's sleep, and spit them out to another– him. Desperate, as he had once been for a link to flashing teeth and gums. Such a treasure, not obsolete, perhaps, had been something dear to him, watched through half - sleeping eyes as he broke from his grogginess, dusk to dawn.

To see something so similar treated with such a viciousness comes as a shock, blue ponds fluttering wide as the skinless expanse goes flying– and then swept around by invisible force, the winds that held their kind within a rapture, as it were. This one had no fangs to admire , no jutting of bone to curl claws around and wonder how ruthlessly it may have killed when it were alive. It had no teeth it all, only a strange, sharp - but not expanse, lingering of something that were once there– now gnawed off Holes fixed themselves upon it strangely, where its brains had been scooped with a claw.

The target, undesired, had instead been him, the skull close enough to a pale foot that he may crane and weigh so much as he sees fit, rolling it underpaw but a moment before knocking it instead to his mate. His body hauls forward along with it, fluid and unhindered as if he were only bone, himself. He is more blood than bone though, so unlike the ivory - white of lurid fur and bolder fangs. Dawnglare mashes his own together in a smile, slightly askew, but still a smile, nonetheless. He'd seek to press their foreheads together a moment– before drawing back with a curious gaze, wide eyes upon the not - feathered skull. " Has this one offended you? " genuine; teeth on lip, he asks.​

 

[CHALK]

⭒✧ Traipsing Skyclan's territory always introduced a new lesson. Today's was especially unexpected, however. Chalk stiffened at the sight of a black beak spinning edge over edge through the pines, the corpse-dervish stringy with sinew. He had seen the smaller twolegs take their surgical claws to organs before, the dark meat spread across colourful boards, but this was different. A messy ministration to something long gone- why?

One parchment-pale leg before the other, the tom slipped into view. Firing line clear, for now. Wariness slimmed Chalk's features as he oversaw the aftermath of Mallowlark's throw. 'Unfair' was the conclusion the massive ink-toed cat came to. He appeared gladened though, and Chalk found himself in a tangle of hypotheses.

He tried not to jolt in surprise on noticing Dawnglare's presence. Focus had splintered his awareness. The jasper-backed feline had returned the stray cartilage and Chalk was forced into a hum of understanding. A game?

"Your choice of projectile seems a bit inefficient?" The tom would have to fetch a bird's skull- well it wasn't quite a skull yet- a bird's head every time he wanted to practice his aim. Surely pebbles, or moss balls, would be better? Chalk's eyes glazed, pinched with indecision. Though, what use did bird's heads have otherwise? "... or, maybe not. I could see..." His discomfort with the subject matter drained the speculation from his tongue.

Tail rapping away with the speed of his thoughts, Chalk hazarded a look at the medicine cat beside Mallowlark. He seemed unperturbed. They were an odd pair. He supposed it made sense they'd find happiness in shared, similarly odd, pastimes. Being a healer undoubtedly introduced unusual stretches in perspective and openness to gorier sights, too. More sense made. Ears bent in twain, the daylight warrior continued to piece together his assumptions. ​

⭒ ———————————— ✧⭒​

 

[MALLOWLARK]

He brightened at the first sign ofcompany, his off-target kick returned and a dawn-pained form bounding alongside it. Meeting Dawnglare's touch as gladly and affectionately as the first time, he followed his mate's gaze as it settled upon the skull. Twin blinks overcame the wideness of silver expanses for a moment, thoughtful- though they flickered over to the cream figure of Chalk as he too padded over with a distinct air of curiosity pulsing from him. Already, Mallowlark let free a joyful trill at the scenario; he'd not often been met with questions before, but that did not mean he was unprepared to answer them.

"Imagine!" he said, joyfully enamoured at the idea of the bird somehow upsetting him, insulting him. "No, no- anyways, what would it call me? Bird-brain? What a hypocrite!" There was no mocking present in his tone- just jovial theorising. He supposed... it seemed strange to display some and to gamify others, perhaps. But it would all be terribly dull if their fates were all the same, wouldn't it? Every bird could not find peace in the afterlife if it was displayed among a million others... "I just wanna give the bird one last fun time before it goes back to the earth." Dawnglare knew very well the other skeletons that slumbered down there. The spirit of this crow would be no different.

Chalk's observation too, was right, but Mallowlark could think of no better reason than simply the joy of the challenge. "If it was easy it wouldn't be fun!" he chimed as if he believed the conclusion to be obvious. Even as Chalk trailed off, perhaps he was understanding it wasn't exactly about efficiency... had he cared for that, his large paws would have dug a big enough hole hours ago!​

☺PENNED BY PIN​

 

[SLATE]

❪ TAGS ❫ — "... Well, that's morbid." Slate mutters, stumbling across a scene that he wishes he could unsee. Not that the parts and bones of kills bothered him; Slate had lived nearly an entire lifetime in the twolegplace gnawing on rotting rat carcasses for his meals, so there was very little that legitimately bothered him. However, it seemed rather disturbing to be playing with a bird's severed head in such a manner.

The alabaster warrior seems to be having plenty of fun, citing that this was for the bird's enjoyment as well. Mallow...something, was it? Dawnglare's mate? A lot of SkyClanners seemed upset and confused upon the medicine bringing him back to camp, Blazestar especially. Having romantic connections with other clans was a big no-no as far as Slate knew; he personally didn't see the appeal in seeking out a long-distance lover, but whatever was done was done.

"Don't you have better things to do? Like... other than playing with dead bird heads?" Slate offers his own input with a slight cock of his brow, a flat frown settled upon gruff features.

Sheesh, he was starting to sound like Silversmoke.​