she'd heard of them before, the clan cats; they were a story spread through the street, ally, and stray cats - pesky legends made up to keep them from wandering too far into the forest and claiming land that was taken by other strays. mischa had never really cared for the forest in the first place, had known that if she went in she likely would get lost and she hadn't been prepared enough to survive in a place that did not work like the city. however, much had happened in the city as of late and mischa found herself considering how easy it would be to escape to the forest and ignore the terf war that had left many of her comrades and fellow street cats dying in ally ways screaming for the help that wouldn't come. it had all gone to hell and mischa had finally decided that she needed to get out - she may have made her own there and it was unlikely that any would try to take what was her's but she could not run that risk. her life mattered more the longer she went on, the longer her mind twisted and fell as her instincts slowly came to the front; she had to survive and if it left her "friends" dead then so be it. on the streets no one had any friends, you had allies, and even then... you trusted no one. it was a lonely existence, one fueled by paranoia and violence but after she had been abandoned it was the only one she knew. she'd been forced to learn the rules on her own and she had thrived in a dog eat dog world; she cared for herself and she took care of herself and the needs of others never slowed her down, never inhibited her from doing what needed to be done. she'd killed, most have, and she'd done it for selfish reasons but she did not regret it - her need to feed and shelter herself had come before their needs. did that make her cruel? she didn't think so but, then again, she never cared enough to see herself like others did. maybe she'd killed someone's son, brother, father, mother, whatever but it had been them or her and her desire to live had conquered those doubts instantaneously.

she may not know what she's doing or how she is supposed to find food in the forest but she was going to find out, she had before and she will again. maybe now she'd get a chance at prey that was crazed or skinny, maybe she'd get to taste other things besides pigeons and rats and the trash that the humans threw out in large cans. she couldn't be upset about leaving, that'd get her nowhere now - she'd left, she needed to own that and she needed to move forward and continue to do as she had done. it was a new place, not a new story. she would live, she would thrive, and she would continue to look for her son; however, she now had a reason to. the city had controlled her and forced her to focus on herself but the forest... the forest offered some kind of safety, tranquility, and while she did not plan on staying she would enjoy the limited freedom she was given before she would finally begin her hunt. her little boy was out there somewhere and she may have been idle for months, she now had the time, the resources, and the smarts to hunt him down. the silver coon closed her eyes for a second, blinking away the wave of emotions that hit her - she couldn't allow that, not now; she'd find him, she had no doubt and pissing around and being soft wasn't going to help at this moment but... well, she couldn't exactly help the feelings that overcame her.

she'd remembered when everything had been so simple, when she'd never gone hungry and had more pounds to spare... when she'd sat upon a velvet throne with her son and had never had a care in the world. many abhorred this image, many could never imagine living like that, but they had never known such a life - what were they to judge someone who did not need to worry? who was taken care of and had a life of peace and tranquility; of never wondering if tomorrow would be your last or if your children would live. maybe mischa was biased or maybe she was correct but she would always defend her kittypet life, always. it had been the place she had been born, been raised, been happy in and despite the fact others would find it soft and boring, she'd loved it. she'd cared for her people - another fact most did not understand, a kittypet owned their people; they worked for them and it was a thrilling thought to imagine - she'd loved them like they were her kits and despite the fact they had ultimately abandoned her, she still cared deeply for them. stray cats had always told her that kittypets were weak, feeble creatures who couldn't survive; well then what the hell was she? their argument would always prove invalid to mischa because they didn't understand - they were to narrow minded to know what being a kittypet truly meant.

to mischa, kittypets would always be the stronger breed because they were the ones who needed to change the most, who saw the most, who learned faster and became something better. others did not understand what they went through, what they had to prove and the sheer determination that was forced upon them. then again, others didn't care enough to see past a label, to see what greatness laid beneath. she'd done so much in just a few months and she was proud of that, proud of her heritage, and she would prove to anyone who believed her weak. she shook her fur slightly, pushing forward through the forest at a faster pace - she was calm now, determination seeping into her self again and giving her the boost of confidence that she had needed; all feelings of what was and what could have been drifting off as her mind trailed at a speed she could not keep up with. maybe no one would understand, maybe someone would, but her mind had long ago ceased to make sense and had ceased to follow a path that others could understand. maybe she was mad or maybe she was brilliant... hell if she knew. she paused when her feet hit the familiar feel of pavement - she cast a quick glance to either side before continuing her pace across, unaffected as she slipped to the other side. she'd crossed enough streets before to know when to worry and this one was empty compared to the busy streets she'd needed to cross in the past. whomever had said this forest was dangerous must have been driven mad with disease, foaming at the mouth as they spit story of fake dangers to keep them from wondering into an unfamiliar land. mischa had sensed no danger, and met no wild cats, and had seen nothing to make her see that the forest could have something beneath it will to kill her. however, she did not let her guard down, a lesson taught through time - even when you believe yourself to be safe, don't let your guard down, in the next second you'll be dead.

it was the sound of rustling that caught her attention and had her head snapping around and a snarling forming in her throat. her claws unseethed, and her back went up as she switched into a position of warning; she had no idea what was out there - whether it be cat or dog or fox or whatever, she dared not let herself be ambushed because she was unprepared and confused. she had more than enough experience in fights to be able to protect herself if a threat were to make itself known, she kept herself calm as she snarled again her body staying in the twisted position as she awaited the arrival of the beast. then... a smell hit her, it smelled of territory, swamp, and something akin to feline. it was unknown to her and it made her even more hostile, she did not do well with the unknown and she kept herself ready for a fight as she opened her mouth to speak: "hello?" it was rough, thick with disuse and for the hanging accent that clung to her despite having lived in this english speaking country for so long. she flicked the remains of her right ear as she focused her hearing, to try and get a better grasp of what was wandering around in the brush. the smell grew stronger and she soon realized that while she had been so consumed in her thoughts she had wondered into a territory that was not hers. maybe it was the owner wanting to start a fight or chase her out; they wouldn't get far of course, as mischa did not back down if the opportunity was right. her eyes narrowed and zoomed in as more scents began to appear, more sounds, and voices. she couldn't make them out but she knew that she was out numbered but she still held her ground; fleeing would give them happiness and she was not about to let someone push her around - no matter how many of them there were.

______

mischa hadn't exactly lost her people, not really, they'd left her on her own and while it stung she couldn't ignore the fact that they had at least tried to give her some kind of better life. she knew her people wouldn't do that unless they had a reason - they wouldn't take her away from her son unless they had to and while it seemed strange to some and probably pretty preposterous, mischa had forgiven them. she wanted to find them, she wanted to find smokey, and she wanted to return to the life they had before; the peaceful and happy life that had ensured the life of her family with little to no fear. she couldn't keep running as she had, fear burned away at you, fear drove you and consumed you and it had utterly consumed mischa. she'd simply learned how to force it far enough down that no one could sense it because if someone could sense it: you died. it was simple, it was so simple and the more she repeated it the more it made sense. here you could make mistakes and you could be okay but out there, on your own, if you made one mistake that was it, that was the end of you, you had no one to scold you and to teach you a better way because you didn't live long enough to do that.

mischa had fallen as the queen of her velvet throne, that could not be denied, although, what many did not understand was that when a king fell from their throne they could always rise again. it didn't mean the end, it never meant the end, it simply began a new story and a change for that monarch. if someone can fall they can get back up, they can rise again into whatever shape they want to - maybe they'll never achieve that status of royalty again but they can damn well get near it again. when mischa had been left alone, a queen had fallen, when she'd survived the streets, a general had risen. she would never be the queen again but she could still be great in the state she'd been left in, she'd ensured it. she had fought hard enough to get to where she was, had shown that housecats had more determination than any feral cat could ever understand; she hadn't wanted to die, and she'd lived up until this point despite the odds staked against her. housecats were strong, they were so strong if they were given a chance because they had so much to show, so much hidden knowledge that so many wildcats would never understand. they didn't starve because they knew were humans threw their food, where the best places to sleep in towns were - they knew more than the feral cats ever could and it's why they lived in situations like hers.

she body tightened again as a figure made it's way out of the bush - tiny and oh so young; she couldn't figure why the kitten was here or why he seemed to be faking some kind of bravery. she tightened her jaw slightly as her narrowed gaze seemed to soften slightly before she moved into a somewhat more relaxed position. not quite dropping her hostile stance, she couldn't be too careful, couldn't become comfortable just because this was a kitten - she didn't know if he was alone, she couldn't assume because, oh you guessed it, assumption led to death. although, she managed to let the snarling stop, and the sneer on her face to drop as she looked over the brown tabby; she could take him if need be, she knew it probably wouldn't come there and she wouldn't hurt him but... if the situation escalated it wouldn't take much to contain and stop him. the closer she looked at the fellow the softer her eyes grew until she finally noticed the collar resting around her neck and a soft gaze landed on the kid - almost ignoring the question he had asked, tossing it aside and placing them into an unimportant file.

"dat collar, where did you get it?" maybe not the first thing that she should have said but at this point mischa didn't care much about whether she was rude or kind - she needed answers and she wouldn't spare the child his time for pointless answers that would be lost anyway. she would answer him, would give him her name and her purpose but what would be the point? you don't remember fleeting people, you can meet them once and their face will be gone the next second and there was really no point in becoming acquainted with those who would never mean something to you. "your people, dey are close by, yes?" she did not trust strangers on the streets - you simply couldn't in the city. however, whoever this feline owned could be trusted, the collar showed that he ruled somewhere and that was important. although, she couldn't ignore the thinness of the child nor could she ignore the cobwebs wrapped around his leg [their purpose unbeknownst to her] and from there she came to the conclusion that he must have been lost but then... who was this shadowclan he had spoken of? she still doubted the existence of the clan cats but she could not ignore the way he had said that, as if he lived somewhere where there were more of him. more housecats? lost creatures like herself? she couldn't be sure, when could she ever anymore. "who de hell is shadowclan?" should she tell him who she was? no, no, never do that - ask questions first, don't respond until you have their trust. "and who de hell are you?"

_____

Feral wasn’t something you could be born with, something you could be given like a gift, no, no, there was a difference between wild and feral. A clear rift that separated them and it didn’t matter if you had the blood of some ancient wildcat running through your veins because that didn’t make you feral, maybe it gave you a better chance, but it just didn’t put you in her state - in the state of so many other strays and streetcats. There was a reason they were tainted the way they were - why clan cats and strays could never be the same and it was because of the rift; wild and feral, wild and feral, always two sides of the same coin, always there but never touching. You weren’t given feral, you achieved feral; feral beat you into submission until you were nothing but an instinct run being, until coherent thought mingled with the thoughts of pure animal: eat, sleep, breed. When you no longer could tell which thoughts were yours and which ones were the animal’s. You could believe yourself feral, could fake it in order to prove something but… but you would never understand the itch to fight, to kill, to eat, to survive on the level like them. There was simply no way you could understand it, no, no, not until you’d been awoken like she had been.

The feline was trying too hard, that was obvious - she wanted to match what she believed she could, it was funny really, watching someone imitate feral as if they had any clue what it really meant. Mischa didn’t blink, didn’t twist herself to look at the claws she knew would be out, the voice didn’t hit her - didn’t frighten her; if she was being honest, this was one of the more tamer situations she had been in. She found the little thing funny, she was trying to prove something that didn’t need to be proved; did she think that she was something frightening? After everything that Mischa had bore witness to, she was nothing. The lava wasn’t even a flame and her voice nothing more than a pesky child - the Maine coon had stared death in the face, had fought off dogs, rats, birds, foxes, anything and everything one could even think about. She’d watched fellow felines succumb to the mad disease and attack and brutalize, had seen true horror. This feline, this clan cat apparently, was nothing but a faceless and feeble thing that thought herself some kind of beast… a lie she told herself because it was what she’d been taught to believe. Lies, lies, lies - she couldn’t understand no matter how badly she wanted to, she had nothing for Mischa to fear. Nothing but a god-complex and a want to be some kind of impossibly perfect creature… she found it so terribly pathetic.

Icy eyes met fiery ones without hesitation, matching a stare with as much vigor as it was given - maybe the feline believed herself to be scary, intimidating, or something like that but to Mischa she was nothing but a rag doll; a toy that would get pushed around and destroyed where she had come from, maybe she wanted to prove something to Mischa, but she didn't know nor did she really care. The large Maine coon easily towered over the small female but she knew size could be deceiving, that she was small but she'd likely be fast and agile - that knowledge again heightened her ability, her chances, she accepted the other's abilities and settled herself into a lower position; unnoticeable for those who didn't know what they were looking for. Mischa held the gaze before pulling her lip back slightly, her blue eyes snapping towards the young child who had been hushed by the wildcat; she didn't know the relationship, but it had angered her, the way the wildcat had simply silenced the pet, the king, with simply a look. To some it wouldn't mean anything but to someone like Mischa, a kittypet by heart and a mother by soul, the sight of the weak thing infuriated her - sent a spike of rage throughout her body with the apparent treatment the child was getting. She supposed it was common, wildcats only cared for blood... in the kin sense, outsiders had no place - how pathetic, how had they survived so long? Mischa gave an internal huff of laughter as a sudden realization hit her - these mutts must have been so inbred they no longer could tell sane from mad.

"You'll get what you give." she said it calmly, her voice holding back the normal agression she would have used to insinuate authority; despite her feral state, she was not an idiot and she knew when a situation needed tact. Her chest puffed out before her head tilted towards the kid, her chin pressed lightly against her chest - protecting her throat. "As you have given, my name is Mischa - it's a pleasure Moc." she hadn't heard the end of his name but she used what she had and addressed him with as much respect as her muddled mind could give; maybe they didn't treat him right here but from what she could see, they were one in the same. She flicked her single ear before letting out something like a smile, it was awkward and looked off on her stone face but she did her best - it was all she could give when she'd spent so long as was. Now, it was time to address the second part of what the child had said, she gave a side eye towards the female before mentally waving her off as useless immediately - she wouldn't get what she wanted because the other was too interested in acting tough. “I trespass in a lot of territories, what makes yours so special?” her voice was still rough, slowing down and sharp - a soft hint of teasing laced in, territories meant little to her unless she owned them. She’d weaved through territories before - stolen from street gangs and left before they had figured anything wrong; had claimed and battled for scraps and she wasn't afraid of fighting her way out of this one. Fear wasn't rushing through her and she found no reason to figure this situation as danger - her body wasn't reacting and thus she felt no need to do so either, because you see:

Fear kept you alive.

It was a mechanism designed to do that, designed to keep you moving and breathing even when you felt like you had absolutely nothing left. It killed you when you gave in, not when you listened, that was something that needed to be understood. She'd lived so long because she'd listened but she had never given in - not when her crown had been shattered, not when her gown had been shredded, not when her kingdom had been taken away, not when her little prince vanished, and not when her supposed "king" had been left behind; giving in ended you... destroyed you. Those living haven't given up, those who survived struggled but in the end it was fear and determination that kept them alive. If you listened, you lived, if you didn't, you died. it was a simple concept and right now Mischa felt nothing - no fear, no desire to turn tail and get the hell out... wildcats were nothing but a weaker version of strays and she'd handled strays much longer than she had these mutts - fear wasn't something she would give them; she found them amusing at the very least. The female was trying far too hard and Mischa felt nothing but terror coming from the child - understandable, of course.

She titled her head again, she never left eye contact with the small male - bored with the female, and more focused on the easy and quick responses she was getting from the male - however shaky and unformed they were, it was something. She was confused as to what exactly they meant by "reason"; did she need a reason? She went where she pleased and it wasn't as if anyone had any sure claim in a land - Mischa had owned territory but she had never stopped people from coming and going as it would have been ridiculously stupid to even try. It was more than confusing to listen to them demand something that she didn't have - she was traveling, was that a reason? "Do I need a reason?"

stag had been born here, had been raised here, they had done everything that was expected of a clan cat and they had done it right here, in thunderclan. it was one of the biggest reasons that had their mind twisting, searching, trying to figure out why they felt as if they did not truly belong here - like they were a stranger among friends. maybe it was the madness that clung to their mind, maybe it was lies they were spilling to themselves in order to protect themselves; whatever it was it was, stagspirit wanted it to stop - they wanted it to stop so very badly. they knew they were not separated by the others, that it was their own fault they felt so isolated and so very alone but they did not feel like they could simply fix in; that however hard they tried they couldn't mold - it wasn't just with thunderclan either, stag didn't fit in no matter where they went. they walked in a land that wasn't made for them - they weren't who they were supposed to be, this wasn't a world they were meant to be in. maybe to some it didn't make sense, it didn't make sense to stagspirit and it was their reality but... they just felt so disconnected, so separated from existence that they couldn't make wits end of it. pausing slightly, they looked down towards their paws as a small smile twisted onto their face - lord, if anyone else could hear their train of thought they'd think them mad but tags simply couldn't help it, it often seemed as though their mind did what it wanted and rarely asked them what they wanted. although, if their mind did what they wanted too maybe they wouldn't be so constantly plagued by the invisible voices and the ever haunting deer that would always watch them from it's shadows. however, they weren't stupid and they knew their mind was a place of free roam - they didn't control it as it controlled them, controlled everything about them; it dictated their life and it was by no means a kind ruler. their kingdom was a shattering place, the king a bastard and a coward who took orders from a false prophet; it made no sense, but it never did, never making sense seemed to be the normal for stagspirit, at least, to the other thunderclanners it seemed that way.

they'd made their home a little ways from camp, a small hollowed out tree that had long ago died and was nothing more than a wooden home for stagspirit to escape the world around them. to the other warriors it appeared as if they were some reclusive who couldn't stand to be around them and, in a way, they would be right - not for the right reasons, but the general idea of stag being unable to be around people would be correct. they had lived out in the woods, alone, since they were an apprentice because it was the only way they could get away from... the feelings; the forest offered a sanctuary as they could not always be around others, could not always bare the burden of their "gift". as long as they could remember they could always just... read people, read them in a way that absolutely terrified them - they could connect with someone on a level that wasn't natural wasn't sane. they couldn't explain it to you, no, no, they could never explain it to someone who could not understand but maybe they could try - it was like... an imagination gone terribly, terribly wrong. they could feel and could understand what people were doing, could connect with those around them and read them like a book - who wanted to kill, who had murdered, who was sad, who was breaking, who was angry, who was grumpy, who was depressed - everything and anything that followed those lines was pressed into them without their consent. imagine being in your own body one second and... in someone else's in the next; seeing the world as they did. it was constant for them, always, always, always but the worst part about it was that they could always... could always picture the way someone had died, how they were killed, brutalized but it wasn't... they didn't... they couldn't see it through the eyes of the victim, no, it was always through the twisted mind of the murderer.

they chose to ignore it. that's how they went on living with the god awful gift that "staclan" had given them, at least, that's what had been told to them throughout their entire apprenticehood, that whatever this was, this beast inside of them, was some kind of gift bestowed on them by their ancestors. if they were being honest, they thought it was a load of bullshit - then again, they found the very idea of starclan a load of bullshit but that wasn't exactly the point at the moment; the point was that where everyone else called it a gift, stag called it a plague. a burdened they'd bore for far too long and simply could not rid themselves of, a plague that tore their relationships apart and secluded them because they were some kind of emotional freak. a freak, freak, freak. they paused slightly, huffing out as they lifted their pale eyes to the sky; they couldn't see much as the trees blocked it out but the brightness of the early sun still manged to shine through and land painfully into their eyes. sometimes they hated living so far away, other times they enjoyed it, but at the moment they wished they hadn't chosen to live so very far away because times where they needed to be at camp drove them utterly insane. they didn't want to go to camp, they were barely there anyway - only venturing from their secluded den once a week or, as of late, once every two weeks. to say that stag didn't know many people personally would be an understatement - they knew very few people, their siblings, older warriors, elders, but outside of that they knew no one. well, not really no one.

they'd been given an apprentice recently, they didn't understand why their sister felt the need to torture the poor kid with a mess like them but stag didn't bother to complain - it wouldn't get them anywhere anyway. they'd accepted it and had made a pact with themselves to get this poor kid through his time as an apprentice with little to no problems; stag knew it that a lie because they couldn't even care and keep track of themselves and they had no idea how they were supposed to watch and teach this apprentice. they couldn't even remember their own mentor - his image fleeting and forgotten with time, someone who had made no impression on them and maybe it was the fear of making no impression or making one that would have partridgepaw or someone else hating them that scared them. they didn't know and they really didn't want to think about it; the best course of action was to pretend they were okay, to pretend they could do this, and to pretend that partridgepaw would actually gain something from them as a mentor. they weren't confident in their own skills, had never been, but they wanted to make a difference and if that meant bullshitting a mentorship then that's what they were going to do. they shook slightly as they moved nearer to the camp entrance, shaking, harder, harder, harder and it only seemed to worsen when the familiar feel of cold eyes landed on the back of their head; they flung around quickly, eyes landing on the oh so familiar, feathered deer. they stared at it for a second - eyes meeting eyes before they blinked a few times and turned their back to it; they ignored the burning on the back of their head as they started up a faster pace towards camp, throwing another glance over their shoulder before reaching the edges of what was thunderclan's camp.

they moved into the camp slowly, their small paws hesitating slightly before they continued forward - eyes locked to the ground as they moved to the freshkill pile. they hadn't eaten since yesterday morning and even though they knew they still were not hungry, it was important that they at least try and digest something. they couldn't run on stress, anxiety, and fear (even though, if they could, they would never go hungry) and often times, normal food was something that they needed. while they weren't a fan of the normal prey that could be found around thunderclan territory, they were too exhausted from last night to even attempt to go down to the river to catch their own fish - their body felt numb enough and they didn't want to fall in and drown, well, no, no, no they did not want to drown. they let out a small, shaky breath as they finally stood before the pile of dead animals; they were shaking horribly, weren't they always, but at least they hadn't run into anyone - it was... too early for them to have to push them out, to ignore them, to try and play blind for a couple of hours until they felt they could no longer do so. shaking their head, the skinny savannah moved down to grab a smaller mouse, pulling away quickly to move towards a shaded part of the camp; they wanted to remain unnoticed, they always did, however they were too afraid to look around and to spot anyone who may be around the area and as they settled down they made a soft prayer to anything out there to simply eat in peace, however, being around such a large group of other felines all but dismissed that idea. they raised their eyes, begrudgingly, and sucked in a breath as they were slammed with the vision of warriors racing around camp to do their early morning duties - for a second, they stopped breathing.

in life, everyone believed that everyone needed a reason for what they did, how they acted, how they perceived themselves and the world and why they chose to believe in what they did, however, there wasn't one definite moment that oleanderpaw could pinpoint that would explain why it was utterly and completely angry at the world. they couldn't give you a reason why they hated their father, his siblings, itself, the clan - nothing, there was simply nothing that ollie could give you because they just didn't know. they had always thought themselves to just be a negative person but... did they have a reason for being negative? not one they could give, at least. they'd lived a good life, been raised and fed by the nicest queens their father was around doing whatever the hell he pleased, they had family, they were healthy and they just didn't understand why everything around them made it so angry all the time. it wasn't... natural and it didn't have a reason for what it did but it wasn't like they really cared enough to try and figure out why it thought like it did - didn't care much for thinking about itself, that only brought up thoughts it would rather keep buried beneath the ever present layer of hate and anger.

blinking softly they lifted their head from their paws to look around the cramped apprentice's den, it wasn't sure if any of the other apprentices were even awake yet - likely a few had gone out on the dawn patrol but oleander didn't really care enough to figure out exactly which apprentices those had been. they let out a low huff before moving to lift themselves onto their paws, they didn't know why the were up so early but it didn't really want to know and it was too late to try and go back to sleep because it would only get yelled at later if they slept too long. they pushed through the entrance of the tree den, blinking rapidly as the morning sun nearly blinded them and forced them to narrow their eyes considerably until their crossed eyes could properly make out what exactly he was seeing. ah, yes... the dilemma of his terribly and irreversibly crossed eyes a part of them most would consider to be some kind of unique difference but one that ollie could only see as a goddamn nuisance - maybe it didn't affect their vision constantly but it was getting freaking tired of being unable to sense where the hell a branch ended and falling to the ground. they may be able to see perfectly but there were times when their depth perception completely screwed them over and they looked like an idiot.

slowly everything came into focus and as they made out the twisting of the tree they were able to, carefully, clamber their way down the tree to the ground below. they gave an irritated huff as they landed, shaking their paws slightly as they continued to ache with the feeling of exhaustion; ollie was a grumpy individual and even more so when it came to mornings as the ache of their still sleeping limbs, the annoying chirp of the birds, and the idiocy that seemed to run through the sleep riddled mind always drove him into a sort of madness... a madness with a short fuse and a piss poor attitude, that is. they knew some knew to steer clear of the apprentice in the morning, least they bare witness to the aggravated words and actions that the young on was capable or starting drama too early for the early hours. most left him alone in general, too tired of his angry and pessimistic nature to even try to talk to it anymore - having long given up on trying to interact with the apprentice, but it was okay, after all this time ollie sort of understood what they did what they did. if it could, it wouldn't hang around itself as well.

letting out a loud yawn, oleanderpaw clamped his jaw shut as he moved towards the fresh-kill pile, hoping to get breakfast before it had to deal with anyone who was stupid enough to try and be friendly to someone who didn't want to be social. they shifted their crossed eyes to look over the camp, not many were up yet which was understandable and, honestly, it was a relief for the young feline - less people to confront, less people to annoy them, less people to tell it what it could and could not do and less people trying to pretend they actually gave two shits about it. oh look at them, the sun had barely risen and they were pulling the "everyone's fake, they all hate me, they're just pretending to care because that's what they have to do" card - this must be a new record for him, i suppose some kind of congratulations was in order. they let out a little huffed laugh before snatching a small sparrow from the pile and making their way to a rather closed off area of camp to enjoy their bird in peace; by now, it was sure most of the warriors would be waking up along with some of the apprentices and this peaceful morning [minus those birds who won't shut the hell up] would be ruined by the loud chatter of fake happiness that they were sure ran throughout skyclan like a plague.

they dropped to the ground with a loud thump before allowing themselves to dig into the meat that the bird provided; it was cold and a little disgusting which must have meant it was older and had been sitting out a little longer than the others... was that just fantastic and if ollie wasn't in a bad mood before the hardened flavor of the bird sure brought it down and deeper into the ground. it's face twisted up in a sour snarl as they pushed the bird away and pressing their head down into their paws as they watched the life around skyclan's camp slowly begin bustling with the waking of the other members. it hurt a little to see everyone greet and talk to each other like they were all friends, needless to say ollie may be a little bit of a hypocrite for both hating and adoring the idea of being able to so easily talk to others as if they weren't afraid, annoyed, or had generally given up on you; hell, even oleanderpaw's last mentor had quit and left the apprentice out on the curb to figure out how to deal with things on his own. it was probably well deserved but the warrior had been a childish brat who had gotten way too sensitive way too quickly - it wasn't it's fault that they hadn't been able to put up with a couple of insults, maybe they hadn't been prepared to be a warrior in the first place if a couple of words from an angry apprentice had sent them crying into the warriors den like a kitten. their eyes narrowed at the groups before turning away as if in disgust as they slowly pushed itself into a sitting position. "idiots." it mumbled under it's breath, uncaring how close it sat to a few groups; they could yell and moan all they wanted... didn't mean ollie wouldn't continue to call them bloody idiots.

a low hum left their throat as he moved throw the dark forest, a small hop in his step and a little smile curled across their face. it had been a long time since they'd been here, far too long, oh, when was it last? childhood? something like that or whatnot, he'd probably forgotten pesky memories such as those - unimportant, unneeded, boring. why waste time remembering pointless things when there was so much else to be done? so much more fun to have with the space you can fill up with interesting things... like murder or something, maybe less cheesy but something along those lines, of course. they let out a little laugh at their own joke before leaping over a fallen log and continuing through the territory as they began to hum some foreign tune that they had heard while screwing around with the loners in the city - some bullshit song about breaking free or whatever you could call it. they weren't sure if anyone here remembered them as it had been such a long time ago when they decided to mosey on outta here and go screw around in the big bad world... which wasn't as bad as he had hoped but oh well, pity, frustrating, just means he'd have to fuck it up himself because obviously the world wasn't doing a very good job at it. wait, what had he been talking about again? ah, yes! past stuff, oh, he wondered if whatever his face was still around - oh, um, thrushbaby or something; they didn't really care to remember the name of their weaker sibling. oh, maybe mother had offed the little dirt bag, how fun would that be? pretty fun in his opinion, whoops, he was having naughty thoughts again - hehe.

oh, what had been his name when he'd been here? pigeonkit? pigeonpaw? probably pigeonpaw but who knew anymore it was a shitty name and he'd dropped it as soon as he'd left so long ago and gave himself a more suiting name - crooked, had a nice ring to it didn't it? heart was just an add on, maybe a shout out to the place he'd called home or a tell off to show that he didn't need anyone to give him some magical name to make him a warrior; crookedheart, it fit him rather well and he was damn proud of it. he'd forgone the regular ol' loner name when he'd left the clans, deciding they were boring and didn't add the right affect to someone like him, if you know what he meant, fuck, did he know what he meant? oh no, there he went again - off confusing himself, ha! how old had he been when he'd given himself his warrior name? oh, hmm, 8 moons? probably, hell if he knew - he barely knew how long it'd been since he left... 8 months, 9 months? oh fiddle sticks, he'd been what? 7 moons? probably, he'd left pretty early already having grown bored of the ever repetitive ways of clans. oh, he wondered what had happened in his time away, well, no he didn't - he already knew what had happened, his little birdies keeping him up to date with the going-ons of this shit hole; blueberrystar or something was in charge now with q something as deputy and thrushbaby being a bitch and healing the wounded... how dull. he let out a loud laugh before pausing slightly, to glance briefly at the scent marker that started the beginning of darkclan territory, he let out a large smile before throwing his head back and letting out a loud:

"hello, anybody homeeee?" he singsonged as he slid over the border and into his birthclan's territory - oh, now he was starting to remember this wretched place; sad dead trees foggy-ness and stuff oh, now he knew why he had left. he scrunched up his nose and made a face before dropping it almost instantly to tilt his head towards the deeper parts of darkclan territory. his pale eyes were lit in mirth as the idea of finally being home hit him, no, not in the stupid sentimental way that usually caused more problems but in the way... of destruction you could say. he'd spent so long away fucking around with the loners and watching them kill and tear at each other, had built an empire but he'd grown tired of it and while the power had been nice it had been boring and it was time to start up something new. he'd heard from various little birdies that something was about to go down in the clans and crook had all intention to be part of it - oh how much fun he could have. "you know it's rather ruuude to keep me waiting you know... oh my feelings are hurt." he mocked happily his ears flicking as he settled into a comfortable sitting position and waited for the patrol to find him. he knew they would, he'd timed it, the morning patrol should be around here sometime soon or they had already arrived and were being paranoid asshats... good for them, trusting was nasty business.

____

"fantastic!" he puffed out, a large smile splitting across his face as his pale eyes snapped towards the little apprentice, his eyes catching the light in such a way that the lack of pigment shun a bright red; an effect played by the albino gene that ran through them. they blinked a few times and shifted so their eyes moved away from the sunlight streaming through the cracks in the trees and returned to their pale blueish color as they met the young one's yellow green eyes as the feeling of hatred built in them and they let out a giddy smile the faster she approached him; appearing to be interested in acting like a big girl warrior and it was utterly hilarious to the somewhat rouge loner. she still looked like a baby and he knew she had no experience in the way she walked and the way she spoke - easy kill, too fast, boring. he waited until she stood before him, looking just slightly up into the small feline's eyes as they, again, filled with an indescribable kind of mirth. crook had always been rather small and delicate in build - he blamed the fact that his body obviously had been born female, bullshit really but oh well, it made things interesting. he huffed out a long sigh before another smile split his face in two as he threw his head back as if he were stretching it, before snapping it back down and shifting onto his paws to look the little girl in the eyes; he was just barely taller than her which sent a glory shiver down his spin at being able to look down at someone without something under him. he found her dull really, little thing probably trying to figure out the way of the world by following some path laid out for her from the moment she was born - boring!

"oh, right to it then, not one to skip a beat are you? sad really, no chit chat? hmm, pity - how about i start yeah? crookedheart, gemini, i like long walks on the beach, summer evenings, and feeding the hearts of children to diseased dogs. alright, your turn! c'mon now, don't be a spoil sport." it was something of a joke and a mock, making fun of her while playing some sort of game that only he knew the rules to. "ha, i'm joking," the white feline let out a loud laugh before suddenly ceasing the noise and matching her eyes with narrowed slits as he let the area fall into a eerie silence before opening his mouth to speak in something akin to a whisper, low, raspy and meant to be the kind of voice someone shares a dark secret with. "or am i?" he paused for a minute as he continued to stare her down before letting a small smile curl over his maw before he pulled back quickly and let out a loud kind of laugh, bringing a paw to wipe at his face as if rubbing away tears as he continued to let out a little chuckle. he hadn't been here very long but he was already enjoying himself and he wondered exactly how long this place would be able to keep him occupied before the ever present need to be entertained rose too high and he found himself having to do something drastic to entertain himself. people were fun, their reactions were fun, their actions were funny but eventually they got bored and despite enjoying screwing around with his child he could already feel the rippling sense of boredom curling in his gut. he composed himself quickly as he went to answer the next part of her question - speaking slowly to get the words out effectively, hating repetition more than anything and wanting to ensure they got it the first damn time.

"business? oh hon, i always have business, move, move, move, never stop moving - always be in everyone's business." he answered easily, letting his eyes drift over to the new warrior - build, age, appearance, warrior give away - it only took the tiny albino a second to recognize the point before they let out a loud unexpected squeal; "oh look at you mr. bigshot, living it up in that leader gloriness aren't you... how fun, oh, oh, do tell how has life been for you blueberry?" ...or was it cherry? peach? pear? eh, he was close enough either way and he didn't really care enough to try and fix what he had said - his pale eyes shifting between the two before landing back on cherrystar. it had been a long time since he'd seen the other, or, it had been a long time since crook cared enough to remember the other kits who had shared the den with him when he had been nothing but a little blabbering mound of flesh and blood. he didn't remember a whole lot but remembered enough to at least recognize faces - an adept skill of the brain, he may have forgotten names but faces would forever be burned into his mind; how incredibly productive of it, yes? oh, crook did think so - the mind was such a great thing and he loved his dearly, oh how his mind was bloody glorious... what was he doing again? oh bullocks.

another sad realization about his mind... it often worked much faster than crook could truly keep up with it, often spitting out thoughts and words before he had a chance to comprehend what was going on or what was being said. his mind spoke to him more and more as time went on, a mechanism designed to try and keep crook up to speed within a place so fast no being would truly be able to contain it; except him of course, but he was a bloody god so that wasn't such a crazed idea. his voices weren't mad, or were they? was he mad? probably, but wasn't that just more fun? no, no, no, his voices spoke in calculated forms, never allowing paranoia to seep in as it instructed him on how to work and what to do and say and oh how he loved his mind, his beautiful, beautiful mind. he let out a soft hum as he lifted his head back as if ignoring the two in front of him as he delved into the screaming in his head, oh the screaming, too fast, working too fast - god how he adored that sound. he let out a huffed laugh before settling his eyes back to the two, "i've come back to join, rejoin, whatever you want to call it, oh, have any of you seen thrushbaby? oh, not his name but rather close i suppose - always such a pathetic little brat, even when we were little ahah."