i am the violence | talk | i am the sickness


He's been well-behaved if you asked him, certainly not making a fuss over anything particularly note worthy and tending to his duties with the same strict regimine he's always done. That he has gone warring against WindClan on more than one occassion was more a sign of his loyalty than anything foolish and he was finally at the point where it felt as if he needed to say something.
Buckgait had not sent out patrols, perhaps distracted or otherwise dealing with the clans current struggles, but he was nipping this in the bud before it happened a third time so the dark tom sought her out once his present border patrol was done and upon spotting the cinnamon molly he approached with a curt nod in greeting. No point in bothering with pleasantries, neither of them had the patience for it and he wasn't going to pretend niceties with the woman.
"Put me on proper patrols going forward." It was stated simply, tone even without his usual harshness he often took to misbehaving apprentices or unruly kittens, "I tire of your pettiness, we both know what you're doing and I'm offering you a last chance to correct it." Guard duty by himself because she 'worried over missing apprentices' when it was out of spite. Sent to hunt frogs at a non-existent border because he dared have a differing opinion than her. Smokethroat wasn't an idiot, as much as she liked to think he was and he was certainly not going to sit there and let her push him around; her deputy title meant nothing to him-his loyalty was to Cicadastar and the river and she was only another piece in a puzzle he had long since solved. The dark tom remained standing there, expression neutral and lone orange eye burning locked onto the molly with a scrutiny he often reserved for watching battle training. That he was bothering was another show of his loyalties, he could very well have taken matters into a more mischievous paw and gone against her directly in front of the clan, called her for her ridiculous and childish behavior; lay her torn open before them all to see; that he was here in private was a mercy he rarely gave and he hoped to the stars she was capable of seeing it because he did not want an enemy of this woman. He killed his enemies. They both had their ties to the water, strongly forged over time, while he doubted he'd ever like Buckgait, she could prove him wrong when it came to respect perhaps.

@BUCKGAIT.
 
MY NAME IS BRUTUS AND MY NAME MEANS HEAVY ✧
her back is turned to the tom, paws busy with yet another weaving project. a singular eye captures smokethroat in her sight, a heavy glare set upon him for even approaching her. he orders her, and that alone lets a scoff breakthrough. a warrior, it does not matter how much cicada trusts him, does not matter if he is a lead one, is still just a warrior. she outranks him completely, and it seems he forgets who will usurp cicada. it won't be him. an ear flicks as he finishes, but no words leave her. as if she is pondering on his words.

pettiness. perhaps. but perhaps it was a punishment for his words. she had put him on guard duty for his comment on her similarity to the leading moor rat. he is not the one who must care for these riverclanners, not the one who must cherish their survival even as they had tried to push her out of her birth lands. if anything, buck was being gracious. she could have let them starve. the deputy is able to admit she pushes them hard, but the leaf-barren season of the river is harsh, and so must she be. smokethroat had failed to accomplish a task, and she did what she saw fit.

it takes several heartbeats before the cinammon molly finally faces him. both scarred creatures, for a clan. "i put you on patrols i saw fit. " guard duty is not often a punishment, but alone it definitely is. to be alone during the night, tasked with the safety of the clan. a heavy load. her voice lacks a harshness, simply still and level. drowned in her rolling drawls. "i will continue to put you on patrols i see fit. if you are constantly against me, how should i trust you?" a rare chance of redemption, a silent mercy. she allows the other his chance to prove himself to her. it matters little to her if he throws himself to windclan, if he would kill for the riverclan. so would her other warriors, and they do not constantly war with her. "i have more to worry about than putting you on a patrol. i have a clan and river to care for. if you do not want to be on guard duty, then prove to me you belong on patrols. prove to me i can trust your words and actions like the others have." she is not to be bullied by some boar-headed tom. her eyes scathe over him, his marred form.

she will not have another skirmish, not during this vulnerable time. and if he cannot show an ounce of respect or loyalty to his deputy, then he will deal with the consequences. this is not a one-sided reaction, it is not her picking on him. had he been in her place, had a warrior that he could not rely on, would he put them on patrols? would he leave them without a consequence?
 

The fact she’s already irritated when he approaches is a fantastic sign, he expects to be dismissed immediately so he speaks before she can do so and the silence that follows is telling enough. Obviously mad, her neutral expression does not do well to hide that she dislikes him and he isn’t here to ask for her to like him-he’s here to ask for her to stop acting like a petulant child letting power go to her head.

“You misunderstand me-it doesn’t matter what I want. I have gone on every patrol asked, I will stand guard when ordered and I will continue to do so. But if you want a clanmate rather than a soldier I would advise you to approach it differently.” He could have just as easily gone to Cicadastar, but he feels his grievances began with the woman and thus should end with her. He’s not asking her to give him the tasks he wants, he’s asking her to stop using them as some warped means of control and punishment.

She's insisting on loyalty, trust, insists he's been against her from the start. In Buckgait's eyes: everyone must have been against her and why wouldn't they have been. She was practically a prisoner for most the clan's birth, shown her colors proper but continued on her ways undaunted-she'd given him no indication she herself was very trustworthy but he'd played nice. Prove to her. Prove to her what? His loyalties? Twice over, if she couldn’t see it then perhaps he was not the only cat lacking some vision in the clan. “I was content dying for a rabbit to feed my clan, I know you would just as easily but would they remember you for it? You hold yourself apart, I know. Because I was the same.” Smokethroat has no intentions of befriending her, he didn’t need her in his life so intimately and he was sure the feeling was mutual. He didn’t respect her, he respected the position his leader had given to her and he would not question Cicadastar unless it was something truly horrific and went so violently against his morals he needed to speak; Buckgait was not that and with hope she never would be. She might earn herself more than his surface level respect for a title perhaps in time, but right now he would give nothing but the required tolerance of the solider she so viewed her clanmates as until that changed.

“It was easier in two-leg place…for me. Kill a cat who crossed me, fed myself and worried for no other, let my words cut. I used to miss it, the simplicity, but not any longer.” RiverClan had given him something unique, that he had never expected to have nor want in his life: companionship. But he was still adapting, still grasping at tolerance for most. She barely tries it seems-scared, he sees her standing to the side aloof and disinterested and he knows it is not out of haughty superiority but the same exact fear that drove him from the shadows as well.

“The trust you should be concerned about is not mine. You’re a RiverClanner, that is enough for me. Is it enough for you?” He shakes his head, “But I’m not here for a chat, I got my response. You want more proof, then so be it.” He would continue as he did and hope she learned to keep her dislike to herself unless it was warranted.