Sharing is Caring (Open)

The golden shecat's laughter died down to a quiet snicker before silencing entirely as a grey and white tom shot into the den, his fur sticking up and his eyes wild. He was clearly very concerned about the kit. Just like he had been every time before this. The huge golden shecat rolled her eyes, her fun dying away as an errant feeling of guilt niggled in the back of her mind. She twitched her whiskers, trying to swat it away. She had just scared the mite a bit. It was no big deal. Yeesh.

Then the tom was storming up in her face. Sweetie felt her blood race, her eyes sharpening and her claws slicking out in the span of a heartbeat. Fight. Her breathing sped up and her heart pounded with anticipation. Fight. Fight. Fight. The urge pulsed in her veins. That wonderful, primal urge that she had lived by all her life. This tom was looking for one, and Sweetie was fully ready to give it to him. Ohhhhh yes she was ready to give it to him. She could grab him in a heartbeat and send him flying across the den. She could rip her claws into his shoulder, the second he was dazed. He would swipe out, too angry to be in control, too disoriented to dodge. Her muzzle would burn with hot fire, slicing open her cheek, but not stopping her. Oh no. Not nearly. Her mouth darted down, snapping around his paw and tossing him through the air once more, the dull thud as he hit the ground a glorious sound in her ears. She was on him now, and he was on his last leg, though he did not yet know it. He couldn't. The rage and survival beat in his blood was too strong. He was too soft to control it. He might have fought, maybe even for his life once or twice, -but not like Sweetie. No one fought like Sweetie. No one knew that intimate rush of pleasure that came from her blood pulsing frantically through her body, from her skin ripping open and her life hanging in the balance of a battle. No one knew but Sweetie. And it was intoxicating. The rush, the adrenaline, the taste of blood hot and tangy and bitter on her tongue and staining her teeth. The tom knew none of this. Battle was a regrettable necessity for him. It was Sweetie's life blood. He could not control the bloodlust. The death-craze that took every cat when pushed to the edge. He must have broken bones from his two landings. His body would be in it now. His eyes wild yet hard and focused, focused on taking her down. Yes. Yes! This was it. This was the best moment. Sweetie would lunge forward, her jaws wide and fangs at the ready. Her long legs tore over the den floor to end the short scuffle with a delicious bite of life blood running out into the floor. Soaking into her paws. Soaking into her teeth. Soaking into the dirt where Flickerkit lay and-

Sweetie blinked.

She was drawn out of the fantasy by the sudden memory of the kit. She held no warmth for the creatures. They were slow and weak and useless, this little brown and white one most especially. Still, every kit had a mother.

Sweetie's mind's eye pulled up an image of Starlingfur. She had not thought much of the 'leader' at first. It had amused her that these 'clans' chose to be lead by one so weak. Everywhere Sweetie had gone, the Alpha or Leader or Chief had immediately challenged her. It was the law of nature. Only the strong could rule. It was a challenge she inevitably won every time. The fact that Starlingfur had not done so was intriguing. The fact that her followers did not push her to do so was even more interesting. Were they planning an ambush? Away from camp where she could not harm their kits in retaliation? It would not surprise her. Such treachery had happened before. She was used to it.

This had drawn her to watch the tabby closely and that was when she had seen it. Starlingfur, the leader of this clan, was a Mother. A kind, gentle one at that. Sweetie recalled the image of the small cat curled tightly around her kittens clearly. She remembered the warmth on her face, the same face that had seemed empty and impassive otherwise. It had caught her off guard, and made her decide that perhaps this Leader of Cedar Clan was more than the others. Perhaps she was even more than anything Sweetie had ever known before.

Behind her father, the little brown kit woke up finally. She shook her head, rounding to glare at her golden tormentor, before her mouth dropping in shock at seeing her sweet, gentle father so furious. Her little amber eyes went wide with fear that was almost comical enough to make the huge beast laugh, despite the tom goading her into battle. Flickerkit visibly swallowed, getting to her paws and taking a slow, unsteady step toward them, worry outlined on her features as clear as day. She looked as if she thought to stop them. Now that really was funny. She could not even walk more than five paces, let alone stop any fights.

But Flickerkit was Starlingfur's kit. This weak, pathetic if amusing creature, was something Starlingfur held dear.

Sweetie might tease or even borderline bully the kit, but she did it in play. She did not wish to hurt Starlingfur's joy. There are some pains a mother should never know. Sweetie knew that much. She knew it very well.

Killing or battling Birchtail would get Flickerkit terrified (in a bad way) or seriously hurt (also in a bad way).

Sweetie, grudgingly, haltingly, made the very rare and difficult decision not to fight. Instead, she put a massive paw on Birchtail's face, pushing him away and rolling her eyes.

"Oi. Get off it, laddy," she mewed. "Aye haven't touched her."

Flickerkit's eyes narrowed at that one. "You hit me," she growled.

Sweetie looked affronted, putting a paw to her chest and gasping in mock indignation. "Me? Aye 'ave done nothin' of the sort," she snorted. "It was the mouse tha' got ya."

"You threw it!" Flickerkit hissed.

She was level with them now, having made it across the Elder Den's floor for the first time since her arrival here. Sweetie flicked her tail down at the kit pointedly.

"An' yew are walking, lass. Feel free ta thank me, not that you buggers will. Ungrateful lot. Aye always say, nothing loke the fear o' God to get the blood in the body movin'."

Flickerkit's amber eyes were wide amber disks, her ears brought down so far it almost looked like she didn't even have them! Her fur bristled up high in fright but she crouched low, low to the ground as if she could sink into the dirt and hide there. Star Clan knew she wanted to.

Mama was angry. Very angry.

Sweetie's eyes met Flickerkit's. For a split second, no more, the two were in perfect agreement: Starlingfur was a terrifying bad ass. -And she was going to kill them both.

But then the huge golden cat's cool eyes were drawn back to her mother's and Flickerkit saw contained defiance in them... and also a healthy dose of guilt. Well, it was nice to know the annoying stranger could even feel that. Too bad it took her Mama reaching Decon 5 to pull it out of her. Sweetie opened her mouth, ready to stand her ground and Flickerkit knew that was exactly the wrong answer. Was this cat insane?! You did not talk back to a Mom when she was like this! Hadn't her mom ever taught her that? The little brown kit suddenly envisioned what this monstrous cat's mom must have looked like and shuddered. Yeah. That would make her mind her manners any day.

"Nothing," the little kit piped up quickly. She shuffled around to stand in-between the two titans. Sweetie sent Flickerkit a sharp, suspicious look but she ignored it. She was trying to save their tails from the Mom beast! Couldn't the dumbface see that?

"Nothing happened. I was just playing. Sweetie startled me."

That earned a sharp snort of amusement from the beast behind her. Flickerkit pointedly stepped on the monster's paw, trying to get her to shut up. She doubted it was as forceful a rebuke as when she did it to Shrikekit though. That kit would have gotten them into all sorts of trouble if she had not made him shut his big mouth every once in a while. 

Starlingfur was watching her now. Flickerkit's little heart sped up. More and more and more. The little white splashed kit scrunched her eyes closed in terror. She was so scared. Her chest was fluttering so fast. Any second now the lightness was going to kick in. Any moment her paws would turn to spaghetti beneath her and she'd fall into the all too familiar blackness.

But a second passed. Two. And nothing happened. 

Flickerkit opened her eyes, heart still hammering, and hardly dared to breathe. She was not sure if she was more scared of passing out or of Starlingfur. Maybe she was equally scared of both and that did not make her situation any better, that much was for sure!

Sweetie would have to back up to get any sort of space between her and the grey ball of fuzz currently shoved in her face. Yeah. Some 'fairness' this lot had. Did they even care about her side? Nope. Not a lick. 

"Stand down, laddie," the shecat growled, her voice filled with menace and warning that reverberated in the tiny den.

She was not known for patience. She should be pouncing on this useless lump of irate fur already. She should be clawing into him. Smacking him down where he belonged the self-righteous tub of blubber. She did not think she was better than any cat. She knew she was and they certainly had yet to do anything to prove otherwise! They thought living together and their 'code' made them great? They knew nothing! From what Sweetie heard on her way here, that precious 'code' had done nothing to save them and this whole sector was ravaged by a war for seasons. This cat might act high and mighty but as far as she was concerned, he was all screech and no power. These cats seemed to think just because they lived in fancy dens and had fancy titles that every cat from here to the mountain tops should respect them, well they were wrong. Respect was to be earned, not just tossed out because someone was a high-handed ass. How did these supposedly 'smart' cats not realize that?

But one thing held Sweetie back and it was not the fact that Birchtail was Starlingfur's mate. Mates came and went as far as Sweetie had always known. She did not want to hurt mothers, but mates were hardly life-long attachments. They scratched a biological itch and made kits. Not exactly something any shecat got sentimental over.

No, Sweetie was held back by something else. Something she would die before she admitted to any of these pricks. - In all her travels and explorations she had been... lonely. She wanted something more than that now. She came here -she sought them out- because they were supposed to accept everyone. They were supposed to be equal. Alright, so maybe her social skills sucked, she wouldn't deny that, but what the hell did they expect? Did every rogue that came in here suddenly go through a nice-ifier machine? No. That's ridiculous! Sweetie had been out in the wilds, all her life almost, and she could tell these cats right now, her little games were paltry compared to some of the things she had seen. Some of the cruelty and malice other cats, -normal cats, not beast like her- were capable of was enough to make her sick. At least she had never hurt anyone here. That was more than she could say a few cats she knew would have done. They would have creamed Birchtail's arrogant ass by now, loneliness be damned. 

So why didn't she? Why wasn't she? She had no reason to listen to this jerk spit in her face. Any other place, any other time, and she would already have him dead of the floor, an annoying stain on her pelt all that remained. But, staunchly the shecat reminded herself why she was here. She wanted this.

Yeah? Well she was even more sick than she originally thought! These cats didn't give a crow's teeth about her. She was different. She was a monster. She was Not. Like. Them. And she wanted this? Honestly?! How the hell was this stupid clan worth it? They had not even let her stay in the same den as everyone else! They had put her with the sick half-dead kit and her deadbeat couch potato of a dad to minimize their losses if she turned out to be rabid!

It was so tempting just to let her rage go. She could probably kill half of them in vengeance. So easy. So very easy. Birchtail here would die first, prolly mewling to his kit like a little bitch. Flickerkit would be passed out and one stomp of her massive, clawed paws later she would never wake up. Starlingfur Sweetie would have a moral quandary with, she would not lie, but she was too fed up and sick of this biased treatment to let the 'mother' go. After all, she doubted the shecat would put up much of a fight when the shock of her kit's death was still registering in her mind. Three or four tosses into the Elder's Den floor and she would be gone too, not long enough to really suffer.

God, all Birchtail had to do was take one swipe. One swipe and she swore on her tail this clan would burn. She wouldn't get them all but who the hell cared? She'd take out a swath big enough that they never forgot what a pissed of Serval could do. Never forgot what happened when you messed with a rogue. They might be alone, but that did not make them weak! It did not make them chattel to be ordered around and talked down to like they were dirt!

Birchtail was talking to Flickerkit now. That ungrateful brat. Did she think Sweetie liked this anymore than she did? Did she think she enjoyed being trapped in a den with an annoying kit that whined when she was awake and cried when she slept? Did she think Sweetie didn't know exactly what the stupid mite thought of her? She had seen it! The first day she came! Flickerkit had looked at her like she was some kind of monster, terror and horror clear in her gaze. Sweetie had expected it. All cats did it. It didn't hurt. -Not if she laughed it off at least. Not if she put up her walls and made herself stronger than their fear and hatred. When Flickerkit woke up, did either of these cats even know what she did? It was hours later, Sweetie had been sleeping, when the vile little thing tried to claw her eyes out! Had anyone even noticed the scratches? No. They just lumped it all together with the head injury from that dimwit Bramblenose. 

They expected her to be cute and nice and polite even as they all spat on her and glared at her behind each others backs! FUCK THAT!

Sweetie's lip was curling now, her ears were forward and alert, her tail quivering with the urge to fight. She was done with this. So done with this. That rabid little kit narcing on her was the last straw. She was so sick of-

"How could you know if I'm lying?" Flickerkit snapped. "You weren't even here!"

Sweetie's battle-ready tail stilled and her face smoothed into one of surprise, her ears flicking thoughtfully now. What was this? What was that little flea babbling about now?

"I told you." Flickerkit was turned to Starlingfur now. It seemed the kit was very intent on calming her raging mother down. Sweetie suspected this was a kit-mom thing. She wouldn't know. "I just woke up and wanted to play with Sweetie's mouse. She tossed it at me but I wasn't expecting it. So I screamed."

"Three times?" Sweetie reminded, clearing her throat to hide a growl of amusement.

Flickerkit rounded on the shecat, baring her tiny fangs in irritation and anger. Oh. She was going to be a spicy one when she grew up. Sweetie could tell. "Yes," she growled. "I screamed a lot. It was very surprising."