sharks circling [private]

[GHOSTSTRIKE]

---

Night had fallen a few hours prior, but darkness did not put the rogues to sleep. In the shadows their war against the coyotes continued, and Ghost was just one of the many cats tasked with patrolling the territory around camp. It was a job he didn't mind, if he was honest. He got to work alone, could go at his own pace, and didn't have to worry about communicating with or looking after another cat. Living in the Coalition, surviving the Coalition- had long since desensitized him to the panic and chaos that came from dealing with canines, and the only cat he was willing to trust at his side when dealing with them was Nineteen. If it wasn't them, then he'd much prefer to deal with it on his own.

Ghost didn't fear death. Death couldn't torture you, couldn't belittle you. Death couldn't take from you or betray you. It was simply one of those inevitable things that would come for him one day, always chasing and looking for an opening. And Ghost would continue to run, to evade its grip and keep himself alive for as long as he could. Eventually though, it would get him, and when it did he'd finally be able to rest.

Of course, he didn't plan on letting the reaper catch up to him any time soon. He'd wasted his entire life up to that point serving a cause he didn't believe in. How many cats had been killed under his command in pointless raids and skirmishes against dogs and cats that could have been entirely avoided if the coalition had just been less stubborn and left the city? And with each of them lost to the claws and fangs of the enemy, so too had Ghost slowly lost his humanity bit by bit.

Finally free, he wanted to leave all of that behind him. He didn't want to be some heartless bastard that only did as he was told by others. He didn't want to get every cat around him killed fighting in a war they could never win. Finding where to start in all of that was a massive undertaking on its own, and Ghost knew that he and Nineteen weren't entirely in the clear yet. They'd escaped the Coalition but were still being chased by the mercenaries Hunter had sent after them. The tom didn't want either cat returning to out him for his betrayal of the plans he had for the group, but to be perfectly honest neither cat had any interest in going back. The Coalition wasn't something that could be saved, and Ghost would die before he let himself get sucked back into that place. He was a free agent now, the master of his own path. Anything he did or didn't do from that point onward would be of his own volition, orders or not.
​

---

rogue - male - 25 months - single - a very tall, muscular tabby with dark gray fur and white markings. heavily scarred with dark amber eyes

 

[Nutsprout]

❖ Paws pounded against cement before slowling down as the familiarity of the city faded and things brought new smells, sights and sounds. The streets were lit with louder sounds, scents seemed muddle under the guise of car exhaust, and green eyes reflected in the light of headlights. Moving to look both ways before trotting across the pavement a small body stuck to the shadows of the buildings. Fur was matted, body rather scrawny now but still lined with some muscle. Food had been hard to come by further into the city with the rise of the Coalition and other groups aligned with it. Many cats sought refuge outside the Coalition, and it only grew in numbers.

For the small cat, it had been a matter of waiting it out. Waiting for the perfect chance to break off from the group and just run. That chance came in the midst of a skirmish with dogs, everyone had their partners and were getting ready for the slaughter. The small figure though broke off from the group. Going against everything drilled into their mind and fighting on their own for a moment, just enough to get the party started; and then took off running. Dogs hot on their heels, snapping and growling at hind paws.

They didn't stop until the figure slipped under a grate in the fence and they couldn't fit in after them. Even then they didn't stop running and now they where in an unfamiliar part of town. Still, they kept moving at a slower trot now and kept their head low to avoid being spotted. There was a more cat scent over here than there was back in camp, and the forest reeked of hundreds of cats. While the city may no longer be home, maybe there was a spot in the forest for them? They had heard rumors of cats in groups; calling themselves Clans. And it didn't sound as bad as that of the Coalition. ​

Lilac fur bristled at the rustling of a rabbit nearby and there was a soft curse under his breath. It had only been a few hours and hope of living outside that hellhole was dwindling. The clans wouldn't accept someone like him, not someone who could murder a cat without a second thought. A cat who held no real moral code, or morally grey code, but there was still a chance right? A slight chance that they would allow for a stranger to join their close-knit groups.

As small paws moved along a fence line of a human house, green hues looked around for a moment to take in the surroundings. He sat a good few feet inside the line between the human homes and the forest. Crouched so that belly fur brushed that of wood of the fence below, and he shook a bit in place as the adrenaline running through his body calmed down. It was insane- he did it. He actually did it. Outside of the hellhole he was born into, given a number instead of a name, and now could make a cat out of himself. A true cat.

Though as they moved along the fence in the pale moonlight, lilac fur seemed almost white under the light and green gaze glowed with relfections of light. Thirty-two lifted up their head and their bobbed tail move back and forth in nervousness; a scent was on the air. A scent he didn't think would ever exist again. Though it had to be a joke right? It would just be the body of this cat he knew; Eighteen. Surely he wasn't alive still after the stunt they pulled upon leaving as well.

Though the thought made him freeze in place. Was there cats after him now too? Was he in danger now as well? Thirty-two was unsure and flicked back his curled ears for a moment in displeasure- he didn't want to think about it. Still part of him wondered after the scent, would there be a body to be found? If so, he hoped that those two had a soliders death. They deserves as much for the way the served the Coalition; without question and to a T. Curiousity though would always kill the cat. ​

 

[GHOSTSTRIKE]

---

Back in the Coalition, even the higher up had heard of Eighteen and Nineteen. They were the cats that just wouldn't die, the ones you sent in when you wanted to ensure the job got done. But where his brother had made a name for himself by being a reckless, violent, attack-dog, Eighteen had done it by being the best at anything he touched; sabatoge, stealth, combat, tracking. There was no order given that Ghost couldn't carry out, and his reputation was as respected as it was feared among soldiers and hps alike.

He may have been their dog, but he was far from tame and trustworthy.

He knew that's why Hunter hadn't just let them go. It would have been easy for the tom to just forget about him and Nineteen and to go ahead with whatever nefarious plot he'd been scheming up with that group of rivals, but no. They had to make sure they didn't come back, because if there were any cats capable of ruining those plans it was the ex-soldiers now residing in the rogues little makeshift clan.

Which was why, when the scent of a coalition cat reached his nose, Ghost didn't waste any time. Swallowed whole by the shadows and silent on his feet, the hunt began.

It didn't take him long to find the cat in question- yes, cat and not patrol. He'd expected shepherd to have a small pack after them by now, not some lone coalition cat.

From the shadows he observed the other, unseen and unheard, a creature true to his name. There was something familiar about them, the lilac coat and flopped over ears hard to forget; Thirty-two. They had been in different squads and hadn't talked much, but their groups had been sent out a few times together to clear areas and he could remember thinking it would be a pity when they inevitable got themselves torn apart. Thirty-two was a good soldier, they were smart and new how to follow orders. But they also had a habit of trying to save every decent cat they met, and a vice like that would get you killed quick in their line of work.

Apparently they weren't dead- yet, anyways. The bobtail certainly looked as if they'd seen better days, their pale fur matted and dirty, stocky frame growing lean from lack of food, and Ghost couldn't help but wonder just where the hell the rest of their squad was. There was no way Hunter had sent him out here alone to kill him and Nineteen. It would have been a death sentence.

Then again, Hunter had a history of sending cats to their death.

Oh well. He couldn't take any chances.

A silent, dark streak across the ground, and then he was slamming into the other tom like a freight train, tackling them clean off the fence and into the yard of the twoleg nest they'd been perched on. Thirty-two had always been strong despite their size, but between the shock of being caught off guard, the condition of their body, and the fact that Ghost was almost twice their size, the tussel was only ever going to end up one way; with them pinned beneath the massive tomcat.

"If you yell, your dead." he warned them, a large paw pressing hard against their chest to keep them pinned. He couldn't risk having them call for reinforcements. "How many of you did he send? Where the rest of your squad?" he growled, voice dangerously low.
[/i][/i]​

---

rogue - male - 25 months - single - a very tall, muscular tabby with dark gray fur and white markings. heavily scarred with dark amber eyes

 

[Nutsprout]

❖ There was silence amongst the human homes, maybe the occaisonal call of a bird or the scurry of a mouse, but he remained on the fence. Trying to collect his bearings, trying to think of a plan of what to do next, but there was nothing. Where could he go? He never lived on his own before, and doubted that he'd be able to continue to live within the city buildings after leaving like he did. Maybe he could find Eighteen and Nineteen? Though he doubted that would want to see him, want to know that more cats had left the Coalition by death or otherwise.

Thirty-two moved to stand up from where they were crouched on the fence post, and was about to drop down onto the ground when a streak of grey fur blurred past him. It happened so quickly; large paws grappled him and they rolled into the human yard as he was taken off his perch. A loud yowl came from Thirty-two of surprise and thrashing back against the attacker; but he was bigger and stronger. Less underfed unlike himself who was merely a skin on a walking skeleton.

There was little struggle from the lilac tabby as the weight of large, grey fur pressed down upon his body. A low growl rumbled his ears and he felt himself freeze for a moment as he knew that voice. They never talked, had been on a few missions together, and was the one cat he didn't want to run into just yet; Eighteen. The massive tomcat demanded how many where sent and were the rest of the patrol was. ​

"I'm alone! I swear-I-I ran from a mission," Came the fought for answer as he tried to squirm under Ghosts' paws, but didn't get very far for obvious reasons, "No one sent me, I came on my own accord," He was going to think of Thirty-two as a coward surely. The lilac tabby had ran from his post, ran from the fight, and was now just as wanted as the other two. Though them probably more so with how skilled Eighteen and Nineteen had been.

"Listen, just let me go," Thirty-two hissed lowly and his bobbed tail flicked back and forth in irritation, "I'm a traitor to the cause, a coward at best," Green eyes looked up at Ghost before away from him and at the fence post. He was ready to die, always had been, but never in this way.

​

 

[GHOSTSTRIKE]

---

"I'm alone! I swear-I-I ran from a mission,"

Dark eyes would narrow on the other coldly, clearly not convinced. The chances that they were just accidentally crossing paths was close to nothing. Granted,Ghost and Nineteen had covered their tracks well, but that only meant that it was even less likely for Thirty-Two to have found them by accident.

"No one sent me, I came on my own accord,

To say Ghost was suspicious was an understatement. He didn't believe much in coincedences anymore, and if one Coalition cat could find them then so could another. Leaning forward, he parted his jaws to draw in the others scent better.Sweat. Fear. Dirt. Blood. Dogs.

No scent of a fresh patrol.

It should have brought relief, but it only brought a discontented rumble forth. Now he'd have to make a decision. It would have been easy to kill Thirty-Two if he'd been caught in a bare-faced lie, but now there was plausible doubt. Thirty-Two might actually have nothing to do with him and Nineteen, in which case, Ghost would be killing an innocent cat.

It wouldn't be the first time, not by a long shot. Ghost had done a lot of terrible things to a lot of cat, many of which hadn't deserved it in the slightest. But orders had been orders, and in the Coalition there was no room for remorse or hesitation. No room for a moral code.

Out here, though?

He'd left the Coalition telling himself he would be better, but now that he found himself faced with the oppurtunity to do so, he found it wasn't quite so easy. Letting Thirty-Two live meant Ghost was taking a chance on them and was willing to bet his and Nineteen lives on the matter, and quite frankly he wasn't sure he was willing to do that even if it was the right thing.

"Listen, just let me go. I'm a traitor to the cause, a coward at best,"

Oddly enough, it was these words which tipped the scale for Ghost. There may not have been a personal relationship between them back in the Coalition, but any cat that doesn't get themselves killed in those first few months eventually grew a reputation for themselves. Ghost and Nineteen both had theirs, but Thirty-Two had his as well. A cat that always offered to take the most dangerous role of the mission to spare his comrades, who always went back for his men even if it would have been smarter to leave them behind.

"A traitor, maybe, but I don't recall you ever being a coward." he acknowledged, "Or a liar." In fact, if Ghost was remembering correctly, for as friendly as they were, Thirty-Too was quite happy to tell things as they were.

Against his better judgement, Ghost moved off of them to let them up.

"We're far from finished." he warned them. Just because he wasn't ripping them apart right now didn't mean they were off the hooke. "You've left the Coalition. Why now? Your timing seems awfully convenient." the tabby inquired, gaze sharp as daggers as it met their own.

Let the interrogation begin.
[/i][/i]​

---

rogue - male - 25 months - single - a very tall, muscular tabby with dark gray fur and white markings. heavily scarred with dark amber eyes

 

[Nutsprout]

❖ Thirty-two could feel his own fear rolling off of him in waves; there had to be something better than this. He had always imagined his death as noble and heroic, but it might come at the hands he served alongside with. Then Eighteen stated he may be a traitor but was no coward and there was a dry laugh in that one, "Awe, complimentin' before death, how sweet," He muttered softly with a slight squirm before the weight of the large cat moved off of him. There was hesitance in Thirty-twos' body language as he didn't quite believe that it would be that easy, that he'd just get up.

Slowly but surely he got up onto his paws and shook out his matted fur for a moment before looking at the white-faced solider, "Of course we aren't," He spoke a little louder and sat up with his shoulders back, head held high in a sense of confidence. Eighteen went on to question why he left now, why it was so convient to come now even though Thirty-two never meant to find him. It had truly been a source of conviences.

Those green hues widened a bit at the question and he quickly shook his head, "Everythins' gone down hill, man. They're murdering people left and right, there are more rules and younger recruits," That aceent came out thicker with the slight panic in remeberance; the Coalition became more than just a cause. It became the issue. ​

"Food is harder and harder to find now cause t'eres so many of us- theres not enough to go around," Thirty-two got up onto his feet to pace a bit in place with a shake of his head, a wild look to his gaze as he recalled the riskier missions. The loss of so many squads that they weren't even given numbers anymore, and the tyranny of those who lead seemed to care only for power more and more.

The Coalition use to be something to be proud of, a place he grew up and learned to fight. A place of family, the only semblence of family he had had growing up and it had gone to shit. It all came crumbling down as the game started to sour and they where left with morsels to pick up. "I'd risk my life for my men, but I will not continue to serve a crazed cat," Those eyes glanced at Eighteen with a twitch of a curled ear.

​

 

[GHOSTSTRIKE]

---

If Thirty-Two thought they were in the clear, they were sorely mistaken. Just because they weren't dead on the ground didn't mean that Ghost trusted them, it only meant he trusted himself to deal with things if they got out of hand. For the first time in his life the mask-marked feline had the oppurtunity to choose what he wanted to do, and he was choosing not to immediately play into the role of villain.

Despite having left the coalition weeks prior, not much had changed about Ghost outside of his name. He was still the same stern, aloof, dangerous cat he'd been before, quick to pass judgement and hard to earn the trust of. His thoughts were well-masked behind a steady gaze of dark amber, but his eyes were calculating and sharp, drawing in every detail because sometimes it was the details that kept you alive.

As Thirty-Two got his paws and began to speak, Ghost found he wasn't all that surprised to hear that things had gone to shit. Him and Nineteen had almost died because of the shady crap that was happening behind the scenes in the Coalition, and they'd known while making their escape that Hunter had been planning to try and usurp one of the council members in order to push some hidden agenda they had.

The brown-ticked tabby seemed genuine in their retelling of the events, and it would better explain the state of him; horribly underfed, fur matted and dirty, eyes haunted. If Thirty-Two was lying and had been sent out with a patrol to finish Ghost and Nineteen, then why was he so thin? There was pleanty of food to catch outside of the Coalitions city. And why did the scent of fear cling to their fur when Ghost had seen them face down dogs three times their size to defend a squadmate?

"Fuckin' hell." he muttered, the idea of kits being taken in for training at an even younger age making his fur bristle along his shoulders, not to mention the cats that were probably being offed left and right because the higher ups were paranoid of having another slip-up like with what happened with Ghost and Nineteen . "If your telling the truth, you were smart to get out when you did." he noted with a twitch of his tail.

Ghost didn't necessarily like running from anything, but he wasn't too proud to know that sometimes a hasty retreat was the best option. Turning tail and running had saved his skin on more than one occasion, not ever situation a guarenteed win when it came to packs of roving dogs. Even Nineteen, as reckless and battle-hungry as he was, knew when it was time to get out.

If only they hadn't wasted so much time applying that sentiment to their overall lives, then maybe they wouldn't have wasted so much time with the Coalition.

"I'd risk my life for my men, but I will not continue to serve a crazed cat,"

It was the sort of senitment that Ghost had felt once, back when h was young and fresh into the ranks. After all the brutal training he was placed with his first Squad and foolishly expected it to last. Whatever bonds and friendships he'd allowed to forge had been quickly decimated at the fangs of the dogs, and over and over again he and Nineteen found themselves standing alone, old faces switched out for new ones that he eventually learned to stop caring about. As harsh as it sounded, it was easier to look at the others soldiers as tools rather than people, things that could help him and Nineteen accomplish their missions but never to be relied on entirely or allowed close. Of course, his brother had never quite held the same level of formality and distance that Ghost had with the other soldiers, but he'd never seen the black tomcat mourn someone for real.

"Questions remains though; what do I do with you now?"

It wasn't the sort of question that required an answer, because nothing Thirty-Two suggested or said would have swayed him one way or another. From the moment he'd tackled the cat off the fence Ghost had only ever had two options, and neither of them involved letting the other tom go.

"Can't have you wanderin' around knowing my location." because at the end of the day it didn't matter if Ghost believed his story or not, there was no fucking way in hell the tom was letting Thirty-Two just wander off while knowing the location of him and Nineteen. That was just too much of a risk, no matter how well the details aligned. "So you've got a choice. Option A, I kill you. Or option B, you live- but by my rules. Choose."

His tone left no room for an 'option c'.
​

---

rogue - male - 25 months - single - a very tall, muscular tabby with dark gray fur and white markings. heavily scarred with dark amber eyes

 

[Nutsprout]

❖ Sage green hues looked into a white face, searching for something but it was known nothing would be found. Eighteen had always held a stoic face, keeping cats at arms length, while Thirty-two was different. The lilac tabby had always worn his trust and heart on his sleeve, caring for the men he worked with and getting to know them all on each mission. Even if their faces came and went, he'd never forget their missions. The way they bravely fought alongside him even if just for a brief moment. He was known for charming personality, a ball buster even, but always a brave one. A weakness amongst the Coalition, but they still kept him as head of missions or squads so he must've been doing something right.

Eighteen then questioned what to do with him; what did that mean? Confusion crossed pale eyes for a moment before fur began to bristle along his shoulders as he was given the ultimatum; die or live under his rules. Thirty-two had half a mind to tell him outright no, that even in his weakened state he could hold his own even for a moment with the grey tabby. "Really? Gonna make me some sort of prisoner to you?" He questioned indigenously, raising his chin even though he couldn't come close to Eighteens' height. ​

Thirty-two then gave a small snort with a shake of his head, "If I had known that I would've taken death by dogs before the likes of you," A twitch of a bobbed tail indicated his anger with the proposition. Then the fur laid flat against his shoulders as Thirty-two easily switched his anger around, "Fine, I'll live by your rules. Whats one dictactor for another?" Lilac fur moved as the young cat shook out his coat for a moment to dislodge his thoughts.

Thirty-two then looked expectantly at Eighteen, "So tell me, Eighteen, what sort of life do you live now?" Appraoching the large tomcat till they were nearly chest to chest, "A solider for a different overlord? Alone in this world? Well maybe not since Nineteen is more than likely with you," Sage green hues narrowed a bit on him as that pink nose twitched ever so slightly, "You smell like twolegs and trash, so you must still be in the city," Where else would they go? Into the forest?
​

 

[GHOSTSTRIKE]

---

"Really? Gonna make me some sort of prisoner to you?"

He didn't expect Thirty-Two to take to such an ultimatum kindly, and regardless of what they thought, Ghost didn't consider himself a dictoater- at least not enough so that he wouldn't allow the other tom to show his annoyance. Truth be told he had no interest in controlling the bobtail, he just wanted to make sure he and Nineteen didn't end up regretting this later.

"If I had known that I would've taken death by dogs before the likes of you,"

"That can still be arranged." he replied, tone even despite the glimmer of truth that lay within it. Thirty-Two didn't have to accept Ghosts offer to keep his life. He was very much welcome to feed himself to the mutts if thats what he preferred.

"Fine, I'll live by your rules. Whats one dictactor for another?"

Dark amber eyes narrowed slightly on the other as they seemed to suddenly shift their tune, agreeing to do as he wanted. It was good that Thirty-Two still valued their life enough to want to preserve what was left of it- it meant that Ghosts jobs might be a bit easier than anticipated.

"Consider it probation." he replied, tail flicking behind him. "When you've earned my trust you can bugger off and do whatever it is you like. Until then, you stick with me."

It was really pretty simple. Ghost didn't give a fuck what Thirty-Two did or who he socialized with, as long as he kept himself where Ghost could keep an eye on him. Only when the dark tabby tom was satisfied that Thirty-Two didn't have any nefarious plans hidden in that thick skull of theirs would he take the chance of letting them go. After that, Ghost didn't give a damn what they did.

"So tell me, Eighteen, what sort of life do you live now?"

If his expression grew darker, it was barely noticeable, a sublte shift beneath the mask. It had been weeks since anyone had called him 'Eighteen', and even longer since someone had been brave -or stupid enough- to enter his personal space like this. Still, he didn't back down, didn't shy away or break their gaze as the smaller tom spoke.

"A solider for a different overlord? Alone in this world? Well maybe not since Nineteen is more than likely with you,. You smell like twolegs and trash, so you must still be in the city,"

"It's Ghost." he corrected, "I don't go by Eighteen anymore."

Eighteen was dead, had died the moment he was betrayed and forced to touch ground that didn't belong to the Coalition. And as far as he was concerned, that cat could stay dead. He was more than content to wander as ghost, unseen and unknown by the world, playing by his own rules and keeping away from any cat that didn't deserve the darkness that fell off him in droves.

"We're staying on the edge of twoleg place with a group of rogues for now- and yes, we now includes you as well." he informed them. Thirty-Two would kept well under watch for the next little while, which meant they could get used to the idea of having to go where Ghost did for at least a bit. "Nineteen prefers a more social lifestyle. Wasn't content to wander." was the only thing offered as far as an explenation as to why. He had thought that such a sentiment wouldn't be common among the coalition soldiers, had assumed they'd all crave the same solitary freedom that Ghost himself did, but looking at Thirty-Two he wondered if he'd been wrong. The bobtail didn't seem as if they would have adapted to a solitary life either.

Maybe Ghost was just the odd man out?

"Speaking of smelling like garbage; clean yourself up before we have to go back. The rogues won't want you walking into camp smelling like that-it'll attract the coyotes." He gestured to the matted clumps of fur as he spoke, pelt thick with the scent of blood and fear and dirt. A smell like that would have the mutts slobering at the mouth thinking there was some hurt, helpless cat ready to picked off- and they might not be entirely wrong. Thirty-Two was in rough shape at best, and he was lucky he hadn't wandered any farther past the twolegs yard and been made into a snack.
​

---

rogue - male - 25 months - single - a very tall, muscular tabby with dark gray fur and white markings. heavily scarred with dark amber eyes

 

[Nutsprout]

❖ There it was- the waver. Eighteen, or well Ghost now he supposed, seemed to grow darker with the more questions Thirty-two asked of him. Was something wrong with the name given to them at birth? Or well more so a number than a name, no one had a name to keep attachments low. The small bobtail snorted a bit in amusement, "Oh so I can call you Ghosty now right?" He questioned with a smirk across his pale tabby maw. Then the grey tabby went on to speak about that of living on the edge of the twolegplace, with a group of rogues and he couldn't help the eyeroll. Rogues huh? What a let down for something that could've been cool.

"Who else counts as this 'we'? Nineteen and you? Or are there more of you now," Thirtytwo went on to question; was there a group of them now? Did Ghost lead these rogues? Or did some poor she-cat finally fall victim to Ghosts' quote on quote 'charm'? The thought made him grin, "Does lil ol' Ghosty finally have a girlfriend? Some poor girl finally fell for that undeniable charm you have?" Sarcasm laced his voice as he tilted his head to the side slightly and chuckled to himself a bit. ​

"In anycase, let me sit here for an hour trying to get my pelt back to peak condition," Thirty-two sarcastically commented with a toss of his head rather defiantly before backing off of Ghost. Turning around to lap at his lilac tabby coat, but he knew it was going to take some time. These were mats from weeks ago and harbored old wounds that never got healed right.
​

 

[GHOSTSTRIKE]

---

"No." he replied gruffly, promptly shooting down the use of a nickname. He and Thirty-Two weren't friends, and he wasn't about to let the other tom make the mistake of thinking the were. This arrangement was entirely business and would remain so for the duration of its lifespan.

And, as the bobtail went off on another tangent, Ghost didn't feel like it would be hard to keep it that way. Admirable qualities on the battlefield aside, Thirty-Two had a mouth on them that didn't know when to quit. His sarcasm and blatant prodding weren't doing him any favors with dark tabby cat, who hardly shared the details of his life with Nineteen, let alone some stranger he might end up having to kill tomorrow.

"Why don't you do something useful with your mouth, Thirty-Two?" he quipped, wishing the tom would just shut up and get himself right so they could get a move on. Their personal lives were irrelevant, and while Ghost had little interest in chasing some shecat around, that was really none of the bobtails business.

let me sit here for an hour trying to get my pelt back to peak condition

"We aren't sitting here all night so you can make yourself look pretty, soldier. Just do what you can so we can get a move on; I'm suppose to be on watch right now."he replied, dark eyes sweeping out over the landscape beyond. He didn't feel particularly loyal to the rogues, but Ghost had never been one to half-ass or shirk his duties. He was the type of cat that would stand watch in a blizzard if need me, and the only reason he'd wandered so far from his post was because the scent of the coalition outweighed his obligations to the rogues.

As Thirty-Two went about cleaning themselves up, Ghost lept up onto the fence to keep watch. Coyotes weren't the only danger around here, and now that the tabby had made the decision to keep Thirty-Two alive it was probably best that they weren't blindsided by an enemy.
​

---

rogue - male - 25 months - single - a very tall, muscular tabby with dark gray fur and white markings. heavily scarred with dark amber eyes

 

[Nutsprout]

❖ There was a snort that came from Thirty-two at the quip, always the hard ass. Ghost never seemed to be able to just be a cat, to relax and have a little bit of fun. He was always so strict, so serious, and he never understood why. Well there was a couple of guesses but he has never thought of going and asking about it, not less he want to keep his ears were they were.

He went about grooming his coat for a good couple of minutes, it was neater and looked less ragged but he'd have to take more time to fully get the mats out. "You're no fun, ya know that? Can't take a little ball bustin'?" The lilac tabby questioned with a small raise of his eyebrow before standing up onto his paws, "I'm ready when you are,"

Though were where they going? To some sort of camp? Or was there other plans at play here? Thirty-two was blindly going into this, wanting to kepe his pelt were it was, and wasn't sure if Ghost was who he said he was. This tom could've changed for all he knew in the short time they had been apart, but clearly the Coalition training never truly left the body now did it? ​

Sage green hues looked up at the grey tabby with a small eyebrow raise, "C'mon now, you got to have somethin' to say," He prompted with a wave of his front paw. Curled ears moved on their own individually, "Being free has to have change ya in some way or another," This couldn't be what it was like could it?

Was Thirty-two subjected to being that way for the rest of his life? No chance at being a different cat? Just the Coalition and only the Coalition; nothing in between or after huh? What a sad existence it must be to be stuck in the ways of a solider, to remain a victim of their training despite being free. Ghost had been gone longer than most cats when they escaped the Coalition, and he was just as Thirty-two remembered. Cold, stoic, and ruthless.
​

 

[GHOSTSTRIKE]

---

They were definitely trying to make this difficult, weren't they? Thirty-two spoke to him like Nineteen spoke to him; casually, as if they knew and liked one another when in fact they were strangers who may or may not end up killing one another in the days to come. Ghost had no way of knowing for sure that Thirty-two wasn't lying about being sent by the Coalition, and Thirty-Two didn't know for sure that Ghost wasn't going to kill or torture him for information. Nothing about this encounter should have been friendly or relaxed or personal, and yet the short tomcat remained persistent.

At this rate, if Ghost didn't bend he would end up snapping completely.

And he was trying not to do that, because he wasn't Eighteen anymore. He could think for himself, could make decisions based on what was right instead of what was ordered. He didn't want to be the monster than condemned another innocent cat to death, even if a part of him felt like such a thing was inevitable. Ghost always lost everything he touched. The only reason Nineteen wasn't dead was because the tom was too crazy to be killed.

"C'mon now, you got to have somethin' to say, being free has to have change ya in some way or another,"

The subtle sight that left him was one of reluctant defeat. Thirty-two wasn't going to shut up short of Ghost cutting his tongue out, which meant that if the taller male wanted to keep his sanity he was going to have to bend just a little. The bobtail wanted him to talk? He could do that. But if they were expecting him to get all 'buddy-buddy' the were in for a world of disapointment. Those kinds of things didn't happen over night.

"Not really." he grunted as he lept back down to join the other in the grass below. "Survival still comes first."

As nice as it would have been for Ghost to be doing the things he liked, he didn't have that luxury. They were in unknown territory surrounded by cats they neither knew nor trusted, all while being hunted by coyotes and the coalition. Whatever pipedreams Ghost had of leaving this kind of life behind had been thrown out the minute Nineteen decided to drag them back into things by joining the rogues.

"Besides. Cats like us don't change overnight, Thirty-two. We've seen and done too much to forget what we are. Some don't get to change at all."

And truthfully, he was probably one of them.

"Come on. I'll fill you in while we walk."

The tabby led them away from the fenceline after that, out into the barren fringes of the twoleg place where old buildings and trash sat in empty lots that were little more than overgrown fields.

"The cats here had to group up after coyotes moved in and started hunting them. They're led by a tom who calls himself 'Gin'." he explained after they'd made a bit of headway. "The camps back that way, near an old shed in a field, but we've got another hour on watch before someone comes out to relieve us for the night. You'll see the camp then."
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rogue - male - 25 months - single - a very tall, muscular tabby with dark gray fur and white markings. heavily scarred with dark amber eyes

 

[Nutsprout]

❖ "I don't fully believe that, I feel like we can all change in some way," Thirty-two responded softly to the comment about cats like them never changed. He certainly changed in the last couple of hours upon his escape, so whats to say a few weeks time? Ghost then suggested they take a walk and he followed him without question, almost instinctively, and looked up at him as he spoke. A group of rogues lead by a cat name Gin? Seemed rather wild if one were to ask him- how could cats just live together like that? The Coalition everyone was born into the group, hardly any outsiders ever joined, and it was rather interesting that they could band together.

"Is he a good leader?" Thirty-two asked curiously with a small eyebrow raised at the other, "Rogues hardly ever band together without some sort of reason behind it, does he have a reason?" Though he could take a few guesses at that point; power, fear, so on. It was how Hunter lead the Coalition, through fear and cats needing a place to belong. Also brainwashing young cats also helped in furthering his hold on minds and actions of other cats. ​

The lilac cat flicked his bobbed tail a bit as they walked, pale green eyes looking out at the forest as it laid shrouded in the night, "I heard rumors of cats in the forest, is that true?" He questioned as he looked at the dark grey tabby for a moment.
​

 

[GHOSTSTRIKE]

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"Your a right optimistic one, aren't you Thirty-two?" he replied, the words edged with the mildest of amusement. He wasn't sure how long that streak of positivity would stay alive in the other, but then again escaping from a literal hell on earth did tend to boost the spirit. Even Ghost could admit to that much. "Maybe your right, though. Your not dead yet, so I guess that's at least one change on my part." Because Eighteen would have killed Thirty-two without a second thought before he ever took a chance on him and Nineteen being found.

"He's a few steps short of being a tyrant, but it's not like the Coalition." he replied in regards to Gins leadership. "The rogues let him lead because they aren't interested in doing it themselves, but he knows they could just as easily dethrone him if they wanted to. Keeps him in line, for the most part." The guy was a prick when it came to his kids and was obviously in it for the power, but there was only so much authority one cat could hold over a group that was able to disband at any time.

"Won't pretend to know his motivations. He probably just saw an opportunity to seize power and took it while he could. The cats were disorganized and weren't used to working as a group, so he stepped in showed them how to do it."

For Ghost there wasn't much to it beyond that. Gin was leader because Gin was the one who'd stepped up and started calling the shots, and when things started flowing more smoothly because it the group had just let him keep going as their spokesperson. The rogues, for the most part, weren't interested in remaining a group of ruling anything, and just wanted to keep their skins on their backs with all the coyotes running around.

"I heard rumors of cats in the forest, is that true?"

"Its true." he confirmed, tail flicking behind him. "One of them sent a patrol out here a few days ago trying to recruit. Gin didn't seem too happy about it, but I'd be willing to bet there's a least a pawful of cats that go with them when they came back."
[/B][/i]
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rogue - male - 25 months - single - a very tall, muscular tabby with dark gray fur and white markings. heavily scarred with dark amber eyes

 

[Nutsprout]

❖ A few steps short of a tyrant, wonderful, just wonderful. Suppose he was being truthful in stating that he traded one bad leader for another, but also it was more so Ghost he was listening to not Gin. There was a soft shake of lilac fur as they walked and Thirty-two trying to adjust his clean pelt a bit, it felt so weird after so long of being matted and unkempt.

"I see, so he became leader for convience purposes," He muttered a bit with a twitch of a curled ear before then looking up at Ghost for a moment, "They did huh? Anyone taking the offer?" Seemed surprising, didn't those cats hate outsiders? Why would they want to just bring in a bunch of cats? There had to be some sort of catch. ​

Thirty-two gave a small shrug at the thought, "Suppose their leader needs more cats or something? There has to be reason they'd send out for rogues of all things," He gave a light, dry chuckle and slowed down his pace to walk a bit more beside Ghost.
​

 

[GHOSTSTRIKE]

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Ghost nodded- convenience purposes sounded about right to him.

"They did huh? Anyone taking the offer?"

Windclans little visit to the rogues territory had caused a stir that had tension ripe in the air around them. Gin had little interest in losing the newfound power he'd gained, and some cats were even in discussion of trying to take the place over for themselves, so not many spoke aloud what they were truly thinking. "Be stupid not to." the came the gruff reply of the tabby. "Did some investigating of my own and it checks out; big territory, lots of prey, healthy cats. Even if their Leaders no better than Gin, at least there's food and no predator infestation."

A step up from what they had here, for sure.

"Suppose their leader needs more cats or something? There has to be reason they'd send out for rogues of all things,"

It was something Ghost had been wondering about himself, actually, and he could only think of one logical explanation.

"My bets on politics." he replied, leading them back toward the strip of camp he was meant to be guarding. "There's five clans living out there, all sharing borders from what I can tell. Their leader must want to show her groups stronger than theres; avoid any future grabs for territory or prey."

With the cold season coming up, competition for food and supplies might cause tension out on the borders, and it would be in any cats favor to have the manpower to defend their land.
[/B][/i]
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rogue - male - 25 months - single - a very tall, muscular tabby with dark gray fur and white markings. heavily scarred with dark amber eyes