pafp wild things — sparring

[DUSKPOOL]

don't raise your voice . improve your argument .
︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

On another dreadfully hot day, Duskpool found himself standin’ within the dried riverbed of the Sandy Ravine starin’ down Slate’s bulky frame for a friendly sparrin’ match. His molten gaze narrowed, wooly plumage sweepin’ across the ground in a half-arc, realizin’ he hadn’t done much sparrin’ not unless he counted the several times he nearly gotten himself killed fightin’ a bunch of mutts.

“Let’s get this thing over with.” He rumbled, timbre guttural soundin’ against the scorchin’ breeze, surgin’ forward on hefty paws, knowin’ his bulky weight won’t do him much good unless he played his cards right.

Of course, Duskpool ain’t much of an offensive fighter, far stronger in defense, but it ain’t ever stopped him from brushin’ up on his offensive skills durin’ a non-lethal spar between clanmates. With a gravelly grunt, Duskpool reared on hind legs, intending to slam his weight into the warrior’s hide before movin’ to the side to deliver another attack to Slate’s other hide, hoping to disorientate the male and pin him to the ground.

please wait for @SLATE ​

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thought speech​

 

[SLATE]

It was beginning to get too hot for doing much of anything, much to the lead warrior's dismay. Even patrolling and hunting felt grueling some days as the sun beamed down upon his dark pelt incessantly. As much as the only form of relief for the long-furred Maine Coon was laying splayed on his side in the shade of camp, there was still work to be done. Rogues and foxes were afoot, threatening to encroach on their territory ( and they would if SkyClan did not remain as vigilant as ever ).

While not actively checking the borders, Slate figured it would be of benefit to sharpen up his combat skills. He has yet to run into one of these murderous street cats himself, but he was intent on putting up one hell of a fight if he did. With Duskpool being a formidable opponent, Slate would treat him as if he were an actual rogue ( aside from killing him, obviously ).

He accepts Duskpool's statement with a sole nod. Slate does not always spar with clanmates who rival his size, so this training session would be a true testament to how prepared he was to take on a hulking foe. The Maine Coon squared his shoulders, planting his limbs firmly onto the ground in an attempt to dull Duskpool's offensive attack, though the other's weight still causes him to falter. Combined with the immediate attack to his side, Slate tumbles downward. The warrior going for the pin would mean a loss, so with a hefty paw he quickly aimed to thwack Duskpool across the nose whether his attempt to momentarily distract him was successful or not. Bunching up his hind legs, Slate would try to utilize the force of his limbs to kick Duskpool off or at least wedge some distance between them.

𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐈 ✹ .　 + 　˚ 　　 · 　 𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐅𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐓𝐎 𝐒𝐔𝐑𝐕𝐈𝐕𝐄

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• 

  a lead warrior of skyclan, slate is forty-one moons and is mentoring coffeepaw. he is a hulking longhaired maine coon with black fur and prominent reddish rusting on his chest and belly. scars litter his form but are prominently present on his face. ✦

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[Cherryblossom]

For a second, Cherryblossom forgets the wispy-haired form of @ricepaw at her side and instead lets herself be ensnared by the fighting giants. For a second, she forgets she's a mentor and a deputy at all. It's another blisteringly hot Greenleaf day, four seasons ago, and Cherrypaw sits among a gaggle of other young apprentices watching their mentors duke it out. Something like awe, and something greater like derision, creeps across her field of view as she stares through shaded lashes at them.

Then the wind changes direction and carries her scent upwards, or the apprentice herself says something or makes some motion, and Cherryblossom is herself again. "Hey, Ricepaw," she says, leaning over the curly-furred girl as though she hadn't forgotten her existence seconds before. "Watch carefully." She swipes her tongue over parched, cracking lips, then leans forward for a few licks to her glowing chest. "These brutes hardly ever fight someone their own size." The calico hardly gives her a glance as she adds, "Watch, they won't use the trees as often as they should." She hardly expects an apprentice of half a moon to see the openings in which they should be doing so, but she feels it's good knowledge to put in her head nonetheless.​

 

[PRIMROSE.]

˚ .  ❀ 　˚✦　. ✿ 　 Regardless of the sort of life Primrose has led, fighting is not. . . entirely unfamiliar. The small scraps with fussy twoleg kits or even the stray feline kits (or not-so-kits) that would wander into her yard can hardly compare to what she sees before her now. She was meant to be a large cat– the ghost of her frame still says as much. But beneath her thick fur lies a dainty leanness not quite meant to weather blows like this. It was enough to distract her from her thoughts, of course. @DOEBLAZE had been a wonderful cat to learn under so far, and she was glad to see more of the territory. This was where they did much of their practicing. She simply hadn't expected to see it for herself so soon.

The thud of heavy paws makes her ears prick up, owlish gaze fixed on the two large cats. Brutes, the other cat (Cherryblossom, she has learned; their deputy) calls them. She doesn't disagree. Taking a half-step from her own mentor and towards The patchwork feline with Ricepaw, she nods respectfully and speaks up in between exchanged blows: "Do either of them climb much? I would think they'd worry about branches breaking."

perhaps in a different time . ✿  i would have named us hope ╱ 05.29.2024

• ooc: —
• "speech"
• ˚ .  ❀ 　˚✦　. ✿ 　𝓹𝓻𝓲𝓶𝓻𝓸𝓼𝓮.  she ╱ they. kittypet and prospective daylight warrior of skyclan. littermate to slate and cloverjaw. purebred maine coon  ——
  ——  a black smoke ╱ silver tabby chimera with soft green eyes despite the boxy breed standard of maine coon cats, the edges of primrose seem invariably soft. her thick, sleek fur is silky to the touch and eternally well-groomed, broken only by the lines of chimerism between her pelt colors and the pale purple collar she always wears. its rose gold bell is often muffled by her fur, but not entirely.

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[DUSKPOOL]

don't raise your voice . improve your argument .
︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

Ignorin’ the growin’ crowd, Duskpool emitted a hearty grunt, helm jerkin’ just in time for Slate’s paw to skim his cheek, nearly avoidin’ the would-be pain that’d ricochet through his nose and across his forehead. Better than nothin’. Molten hues dilated, muscles bunchin’ beneath quiverin’ fur with a half-formed sneer on scarred lips.

He ain’t a brute for nothin’, considerin’ his options, Duskpool jerked away, narrowly avoidin’ the hefty kick to his underside, no doubt to wedge the tom and gain some leverage. A rumbled huff escaped the older warrior, nostrils flarin’ outward, takin’ in the heady scent of green leaf ( hot and downright unbearable for long-haired folk like himself ).

In return, Duskpool allowed for a fraction of a second, muzzle wrinklin’ in thought, lightnin’ quick, he eased off the warrior, pullin’ a fake swat to the side of his helm, if it had been real, would have hopefully disorientated the warrior enough to land a killin’ blow, aimin’ a harmless jab to Slate’s exposed throat ( leavin’ him momentarily open, but it was a risk Duskpool was willin’ to take ), if claws had been outstretched would have certainly spelled doom if it had landed successfully. A rough pant escaped him, comin’ to a halt to press a paw against the junction where neck meets shoulder, attemptin’ to halt the warrior from surgin’ upward in retaliation. ​

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thought speech​