private READY TO START — cherrypaw

[SLATE]

Slate had never been an apprentice, but rather a survivor. Everything he had learned, he had learned from experience. His own "mentors" hadn't taken him under their wing with the expectation of teaching him important life lessons, creating a bond with him, and raising him to be a well-rounded cat. They had wanted a soldier out of him; someone expendable.

"Ehe-he-he-he-he! That all y' got?! A wee baby raccoon could f-fight better!"

"But... what if I hurt you?"

"You wanna learn how to survive out 'ere? You wanna stay alive? Give 'im all you've got! You've got meat on your bones, kid; throw your damn weight around!"

There were no training sessions, but full-on fights. Claws, teeth, and all. Perhaps Crag and Rusty had been right in teaching Slate from a young age that there was no use in keeping your claws sheathed out on the streets.

He paces back and forth like the commander of an army hundreds-strong, his intense stare fixed directly onto the tortoiseshell apprentice. It seemed like she only had a talent for climbing so far ( more than likely a trait passed down from her mother ), but climbing wouldn't win her battles. "WindClan doesn't care about how trained you are, how many moons you are, how small you are. Those moor rats'll kill you either way. Same thing with city rogues. If you've gotta take on a bigger opponent in battle, then so be it." Even if she did end up taking after Ashenclaw—large and burly—she obviously wasn't grown yet. She would soon realize that there would always be a bigger threat, just like how Slate had learned that lesson while growing up in the city.

Blazestar expected his cats to train with their claws sheathed, a ridiculous and unrealistic policy, but the least that Slate could do is try and provide a realistic experience for his apprentice. So, the lead warrior suddenly shifted his stance and raised his hackles, dark hairs raising like the spines of a porcupine. "Make your move, or I'll make it for you!" An animalistic yowl rips from his throat as he charges forward right in the path of Cherrypaw, jaws drawn agape and aiming to snag around the she-cat's scruff if she didn't move out of the way in time.

✰ INFO

• @Cherrypaw
  
• 

  ✰ SLATE
  —— he/him; lead warrior of skyclan; former rogue
  —— bisexual; single; not looking
  —— hulking, scarred charcoal-black colored maine coon with amber eyes
  —— "speech", thoughts, attack
  —— link to full tags; @ on discord for plots.
  —— penned by beatles

​

 

[Cherryblossom]

Slate would etch a groove into the Sandy Ravine if he kept this up. The lead warrior marches fiercely along a shallow track of his own creation, in a frenzy that'd descended upon him as suddenly as a summer downpour. Burning orange suns bore through the billowing storm of cheek fur, whipped by the wind and the swing of his head as he rounds her and rounds her and rounds her. It feels like he's encircling her, both with his bulk and his urgency, though he keeps himself contained within the fox-length he's chosen. The calico holds her ground, but uneasily. Staring back at him feels dangerous all of a sudden, so she stares at his nose and at the pearly glint of his fangs instead.

WindClan is dirt in his mouth. He says it like a curse, like something you shouldn't be saying beneath the starlight of a Gathering instead of what it really was: just a name. On the forefront of her mind floats that other WindClan apprentice, the one with the red-ribboned fur and startled golden eyes. She's not a rat of any kind, and Cherrypaw doesn't immediately think she'd kill her.

But the pacing, growling, frothing beast before her scares her straight to the core. Would that WindClanner really have tried to kill her? They were only apprentices after all, and she had seemed so friendly at the Gathering...

Slate doesn't give her the opportunity to mull on it further. The fur lining his neck and spine flare, as though a hot wind had suddenly come barreling out of his bare skin. She was never particularly intimidated by the puffing up of her kithood companions, not even when they were spitting mad and hopping around, but at this very moment she realizes the terror in suddenly becoming twice one's size. Slate booms out into the rage of a storm in the night, lightning crackling between the ink-well quills on his shoulders, baritone spilling from the glowing pit of his maw. Fear's blade lances straight through her, splitting her chest and threading through the core of her spine before streaming out of her tail. It's so fast—she hardly even ekes out a scream.

Somehow, Cherrypaw dodges. She manages to scramble to the left, almost losing her left hind leg in the charge and barely pulling it into herself in time. Her heart seizes in her throat. What—what now? What does she do now? What under StarClan's gaze could she possibly to do Slate in return? Anger—humiliation—sears through her stomach. She couldn't do nothing. Completely on a whim, Cherrypaw whips around and aims to sink her teeth into Slate's hind leg near the ankle.​

 

[SLATE]

It had just occurred to him — Slate has never sparred with someone so small. He'd have to really watch his footing if he wanted to avoid crushing her. It wouldn't be the worst thing in the world to scare Cherrypaw; maybe it would keep her trap shut for a while. He didn't want to land himself in trouble with Orangeblossom, though.

The lead warrior, truthfully, had not expected the young apprentice to narrowly escape his awaiting jaws. She is quick to react, sinking her teeth into his hind leg, and he bites his tongue to keep himself from hissing out in pain. His initial instinct urges him to shake her away — get it off. Get it off. Those kitten teeth hurt! However, doing so might tear the skin even more, which he definitely didn't want.

So, the Maine Coon contorts his spine, twisting his upper body so that he could get a better view of his "opponent". A hefty paw raises into the air, claws itching to draw from their sheaths, before swiping from the side and aiming to whack Cherrypaw literally upside the head in an attempt to part her muzzle away from his leg.

✰ INFO

• 
  
• 

  ✰ SLATE
  —— he/him; lead warrior of skyclan; former rogue
  —— bisexual; single; not looking
  —— hulking, scarred charcoal-black colored maine coon with amber eyes
  —— "speech", thoughts, attack
  —— link to full tags; @ on discord for plots.
  —— penned by beatles

​