Takes place after this thread! SkyClan is on a journey and was chased by a dog after Angel heckled them; the patrol has split into two / tagging @HARPYFALL @butterflypaw & @TWITCHPAW as patrol members.

They've found themselves in a busy, strip-mall type area. Lots of twolegs, monsters, shops and the like - feel free to improvise things within reason :) this thread is open to any non-clan cat, whether you'd like a simple run-in or for them to stick with the patrol.

The past few moments had been little more than a blur to him. The static spilling from that loner's mouth rang dull in his ears, even more so when a crescendo of snarls and clatter had kicked up behind him, steadily brewing. In one moment, just an aimless bug - nothing more to spend his time on than misguided pettiness. The word of the heavens driven to a stop at his sneer, it was infuriating.

And then the barking -

It still rings in his ears, whole and - real. gnashing teeth had been little more than a fox-length away, but the noise had still been the worst - the worst - that acrid strench, rubber filling his lungs -

And still it persists, even as the low growls slowly fade, the stench remains in the air, no, somehow worse. He clears his head, the whole world had opened up in front of them. Metal beasts everywhere you looked, smog you could smell even if you couldn't quite see it. The streets were lined with twoleg things, the sky - the ground. She was gone. And better yet -

He freezes. "Where is Blaise?” he hisses as if he's the only one who matters - and truthfully, he is. Dawnglare's body remains frozen in place, even if his head thrashes wildly. He counts three. A menace, two children. Stars above and below. He could only stare. He may rip his ears clean off. "Please,” is the only other word he can manage, a whiny thing. Anything else, he would grovel, he would beg, he would offer his soul.

In her twoleg's new nest, Luna felt like she was suffocating. It was more cramped than her old home, and they kept her shut up in it far more often than they had the old one. Worst of all, she couldn't see the sky from in it. Staring out the window all she could see was the other nests around her.

It was terrible.

She tried to be grateful for the rare occasions when the tiniest of the twolegs cracked a window for her, letting her slip out even if for just a moment. It may have taken climbing down the rickety metal web outside their nest, but eventually she could make her way down to solid ground. Even then, though, she was plagued by the sound of monsters hurtling past and the smell of smog in the air. It made her nostalgic for her old home, where she could look out and see the woods outside waiting from nearly anywhere. It had been so dark and mysterious and alluring. She had been so certain that her destiny lay out there.

Still, as she walked the streets now, she made the best of it. Ignored the confused mix of sights and sounds and smells that had so overwhelmed her when she first arrived here, and just tried to look to the night sky. Winding around the twolegs about her to try and get a better look.

It was as beautiful as ever, and she breathed a sigh of relief at the sight. At least the stars could still provide her some comfort, however small it might be.

A twoleg paw crashed down next to her and she gave a start, turning her attention back to her surroundings. She could ill afford to get distracted here. As she glanced around, a familiar face caught her eye. She blinked. "Valentine?" she called out over the din, padding over to him hesitantly. Never would she have thought to see him again. especially not here. "Is that really you?'
  • Love
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Angie hadn't been exaggerating. Here they are, the errant little lambs of SkyClan, turned upside down and inside out like Angie'd dumped 'em in a blackened vat. It was just a dog, he'd said. The dog, the nosy shit who wiggles free about the same time every day. And yet the dog'd done enough of a number on the clan cats that Ker's got as much sympathy as amusement building up in his lungs. Aren't some of them from these streets? Shouldn't they know better?

Looks as though they've split off from each other, too. Angie'd talked like there were more than just four cats sniffing around like they owned this place as much as they supposedly owned the damn trees. Your kingdom too much for you to handle? He's tempted to mock, but he doesn't.

Ker's nimble and at ease here. Upwalkers think he's pretty and cute, stopping to coo enticingly at him with outstretched fingers. Sometimes he'll indulge 'em, rub up against their legs before trotting off. He's still living with the older twolegs, well-fed and well-groomed none of these others make serious attempts at carrying him off.

He wonders what they'd do, the cats here, if they were snatched up and away from their grass-rolling and squirrel-eating. "Shiiit," Kerosene laughs, watching a kittypet approach one of the clanners, calling him Valentine. Doubtful that's his name anymore. Probably somethin' like Leafchewer. "Doesn't look like things've gone to plan for you. What're you darkening our doorsteps for?"
  • Haha
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Oh, what a sight. The cats who live in packs like dogs have dirtied their doorstep with their dazed expressions, fluffed-out fur, streaks of dirt and grime across their fur. Sombra hasn't dared go past the Twolegplace since she's heard about the two big groups of cats splitting into five - it sounds like a nightmare to navigate, after all.

But she's been so damn bored lately, and here, they've done her a favor and taken their strange, culty selves to her instead. What a treat.

Sombra slips from the top of a stagnant, idle Upwalker monster like so much black liquid. Her movements are languid, green eyes like sharp-cut gems flashing from a grinning face. "Now, now," she purrs, flicking her tail toward Kerosene, "We wouldn't want to chase our visitors away, would we?"

Oh, handsome, this weird one with the face! Expressive. She slinks close to Dawnglare and attempts to chuck him under the chin with her nuzzling head. She lets out a snicker as their fur brushes. "I didn't know they made ferals this pretty. What's your name - Valentine?"

She gives the little house pet an amused smile. "You know this man, sweetie? Introduce... I'd love to make his acquaintance."


Stupid dogs, he hated them and their ugly long faces, ever-set in snarls and snaps. He was sure they hated him too, considering this was the second time he'd actually been chased by one and the forty-second time he'd felt like one was going to kill him. Everything had melded together as he had ran, wildly following any pelt he recognised. As the baying had faded distant, and the scrabbling of his mismatched legs had finally blurred to a stop, here he was. Amidst angular titans, staring down at them with lifeless cross-haired eyes, they stood small, small, small. Dawnglare's frustrated voice crafted a question he should have known the answer to, he was meant to be smart, and that was the very moment Twitchpaw felt his entire life crash down around him in a kick-up of debris and dust.

It was acidic, that smell- murky, burning, malignant. It refused to stop crawling down his throat like a swarm of ants and he could feel the prickles and the stings of its biting malevolence. They were in too deep. Daylight warriors were kind and loyal, nothing like this place. How had they come from here? Were they lying? They must know it better, know it fonder.

"I don't know!" his voice trembled, precarious, teetering to a screech. The seams holding together what little tranquility was stitched within the surface of his being were beginning to split and tear, the briar bristle of his already spiky fur making that fact rather obvious. And there- there- here- shadows descending, phantoms, hook-clawed reapers coming to take them away. One of them spoke a name he did not know. One of them grinned, laughed, finding pleasure in their misfortune. One of them- a shadow-beast itself, slinking in, touched Dawnglare. Tried to, at least. He couldn't see. They were suffocating them, closing in, ready to eat their bones for daring to trespass on their turf. WindClan were like that, they killed anyone they didn't like the look of. Who was to say that cats who lived with housefolk, who might have distaste for forest life, did not do the same?

"Don't- get away," he shooed them, dithering, but stumbled back in his rush to back away. A curve bent his spine, flattened him sideways against a wall, olivine eyes looking so fearful that they seemed almost as if they might tumble right out of his head. "They're- surrounding us! We're gonna die, we're gonna die here! No one's gonna even know where we are!" His head snapped sideways, slamming against the wall as he shrunk in on himself. This was the worst thing that had ever happened.
penned by pin ✧

The reddish tom doesn’t frequent this area; he’s been here once or twice before, but the danger of twoleg monsters is too great to risk crossing the street every day. The twolegs who flood in and out of the buildings make up for it, though, by being some of the most interesting things to watch. Sometimes the big twolegs carry the small twolegs, sometimes they’ll have a dog with them that’s somehow smaller than Stephen King himself. Sometimes, even, they’ll stop to try and pet him when they spot him lazing about in the shade. And those twolegs are just like his own twolegs back at home—they're nice and they make funny noises at him, and the tabby enjoys his time spent around them.

Today, he’s twoleg-watching as usual, green eyes fixed on a strange interaction between a couple of the larger twolegs. Are they fighting? Stephen King has never been in a fight before, so he’s not sure. His attention is drawn, however, by a semi-familiar voice, one he’s run into before in the past. He gets to his feet, slinks his way over to where he spots them—Kerosene. Along with several other sort-of-familiar cats, the brown-spotted feline stands facing a couple strangers. Stephen King trots over to stand nearby Kerosene, keeping a cautious tail-length of space between them.

These cats smell—different. Like the forest, like dirt, like something noticeably wild. Stephen King’s not sure if he likes that or not.

He lets out a breathy giggle as the familiar black she-cat tries to rub against the brown and white stranger, but he can’t blame her because that guy is really pretty. And not too far away from him, a familiar face with an odd name. A fellow kittypet, but also a forest cat. The red tabby isn’t sure how that works, but it sure sounds fun. "What are you doing here?" He’s met some of these cats from the forest, would recognize Harpy just about anywhere. The kindly older tom had made sure to walk him home that day, hadn’t let him get lost.

He stands a bit awkwardly, squinting at the other strangers, trying to put pieces together in his brain and will himself to recognize them, but he has no such luck. He’s not even sure what he’s doing here, really. Making pleasant conversation? He sighs, is about to say something else, when one of the younger cats begins to—for lack of a better term—flip the fuck out, throwing himself into a wall and shouting about how they’re going to kill them. "Whoa, I think you’re getting a little ahead of yourself, kiddo. Nobody’s dying." He cuts a glance to Kerosene, hoping that he’s not lying. He doesn’t think the street cat would actually do anything to these cats, but he really only knows the guy by name. "Can you, like, uh… take a deep breath or something? Like, relax? Think happy thoughts." He doesn’t move any closer, but he’s staring at the small cat with a gentle expression. Panicking is definitely not helpful.
Everything had happened far too fast for the girl to process it all. One moment, she was pressed up against Blazestar, peering out from behind him at the strange black and white cat that approached them. Then came the barking, the shouting, the shove from her mentor as he tried to get her to run. She had frozen up at first, legs growing stiff as she could only stare, petrified, at the beast as it grew closer. Someone knocked into her in their rush to escape, jolting her from her daze before she was off.

Now she's here, with their spooky medicine cat and Harpyfall and Twitchpaw and she's trembling oh so much. Blood is rushing in her ears, she can hardly hear what the strangers are saying to them as she crouches near Twitchpaw. Yellow eyes remain stretched wide before she steps closer to him, following his lead in making herself appear as little as possible against the wall. A small whimper is all she's able to emit. She doesn't even know Twitchpaw that well, but right now, he's the only friend in sight and she is not straying from him. "I-I-I want B-Blazestar," She manages to whisper, voice shaking.

//oh my god she's pathetic I'm sorry
  • Crying
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He flattens his ears against the noise - seeks to stamp it out out before his mind is the one to drown. His ice-cold stare is blank, seeing nothing and everything at once, fogged over, distress beats wildly in his aching soul. It holds him close and refuses to let go, a spindle of fiber that stays never-ending. He hardly even notices the little thing in front of him. The little thing - he blinks.

"You -” the name escapes him, it's on the tip of his tongue. Or was it really? "Moonchild?” the question comes out louder than intended, his voice strains with all the noise; static overwhelms him. A disciple of his, this, he knows. She's worth something, wasn't she? A slight bit above a bug - a butterfly. Though, not quite the sniveling mess behind him. Worthless. Was it really him - he scoffs, thick plume of cinnamon lashing behind him. His time away has rotted her mind, it seems. "Who else would it be?” he asks, rhetorical. One could dream of this very complexion, maybe.

It's everything and nothing at once. Ringing voices, meek, sniveling forms. Their complaints echo in shrill words, pathetic whines he can't bring himself to care for. And this - liquid shadow, languid as it draws forth. It's muttering static, fuzzed nonsense, and then - then - why was it -

His jaw clenches - pearly teeth meet in a sickening grind. Silken fur turns frayed, prickling harsh along his spine. Too much at once - a brush of his fur, what - "Stop, stop, stop -” the hiss is frantic as the rest of him, alight with irritable flame. Grimy things, covering him in their filth, weeping their ugly tears. He ought to put them out of their misery, shred them until the ooze could no longer flow free from their mouths. He backs away from the night-shrouded thing, an odd gait, scuttling on his toes.

And abruptly, he spins around, the direction is random - he does not care. Far from here, anywhere, anywhere, he craved that more than anything else. His maw remains sewn shut for the benefit of the children; mercy on their weary souls.

[ I'm sorry about him feel free to chase him down KSNDFKA ]