home away from home [open]

Griffon had been having a lot of trouble getting used to the new camp. He had taken a few breaks to go back to his home, but most of the time he had to be here. He was partially glad he hadn’t been stationed in another clan, he had heard some crazy stories. But it was somewhat draining, nobody was exactly jumping at the chance to interact with an Asylum cat. Then again, maybe that was fair. The Nightstrikers were pretty intimidating, and made the rest of the group look a whole lot scarier than they were.

He hated the stares he got from older cats, almost as if they were sorry for him. If anything, he should be sorry for them. They just didn’t get that the Asylum was helping them. They would learn, eventually. The younger cats seemed to be less judgmental. Some of the “apprentices” were about his age, and it might be nice to have a friend or two where he was stationed. He sat in the middle of camp, near the prey pile. That way, he could strike up a conversation with anyone who approached.

Minkstream's ears twitched as he padded through the camp, catching unfamiliar voices, his nose catching unfamiliar scents. And both just so happened to be the regular, now. His paws brushed over the ground towards the prey pile as he ignored the pull at his still-healing wounds, little twinges of pain lancing through his body.

One of them was there now, a younger one. Minkstream's eyes narrowed at him as he pulled a vole from the pile, a twinge of pity squashed beneath the stony exterior as he ignored the tom. Just a kit, and he's probably going to slash my face in someday. His jaw tightened, the feeling of complete and utter powerlessness washing into his paws again, burning in his heart. He did his best to ignore that, too, sinking his teeth into the vole's flesh a little more viciously than the dead piece of prey warranted.

And we thought we were trapped before.

As the older tom approached, Griffon strained to remember his name. He had never had the sharpest memory, and there were so many new cats. But this one stuck out, just a bit. He was the deputy, the second in command. At least he had been, and he was probably more respected than even Eris to these cats. Just another example of how much they needed to learn. The older cat grabbed a piece of prey, glaring towards the Standard. Griffon’s eyes fell, flicking his tail nervously. After a moment, he looked back up.

If Minkstream wasn’t going to do it, then Griffon would. "Hi. I’m Griffon. How are you?" he asked, being careful not to meet the deputy’s eyes. He wasn’t sure what expression would await him if he ventured there, but he assumed it wouldn’t be a pleasant one. Maybe if he got a simple conversation going, he could break through the walls that seemed to be guarding not just this one particular cat, but the whole clan.

Minkstream ignored the other's downcast look in the corner of his eye, one ear twitching as the tom's voice broke the silence. For a moment he simply chewed, crouched over the vole, his gaze boring into the tom's not-quite-looking-at-him face, the suppressed sounds of the occupied camp all around them, the eerily loud whistle of the wind flowing through the ravine.

Finally, he sat up, his paws planted solidly on the ground, an unreadable look in his eyes as he bored them into the Asylum tom. If the kit really wanted an answer to that question.... "Look, kit. I don't like what your Clan or whatever's done to mine, I don't appreciate you coming in here claws blazing, and I don't care whether you think it's the greatest thing that's happened since salmon." He stood, the tip of his tail flicking, a mixed feeling of disgust and frustration twanging in his chest, his expression unreadable as his eyes stayed on Griffon, a vague challenge flashing in their clear green depths. "You trying to be friendly isn't going to somehow make this better."

Griffon was getting just a bit frustrated. He was going to go out of his mind here if he didn’t have some conversation. The Standards were supposed to help the cats train, but nobody would seek him out of listen to anything he said. Sitting around in Thunderclan was not what he would have done if he had the choice. He would have been back at the camp he grew up in, talking with his friends. "Look, I didn’t personally tell the Asylum to invade the clans. I followed my leader. If your leader here, Nettlestar, told you to go invade a camp, would you do it?" he paused.

"I’m not trying to say that everything is going to be perfect now, and I guess I can see why you might not love the Asylum, but we could try to make it somewhat more bearable if you lot didn’t just ignore us! The Nightstrikers are kind of creeps, but most of the Standards and Scouts would love someone to talk to." he explained, his voice straining just a bit. "Change is hard. I’m still not used to being stationed here, and I’m sure you aren’t used to us being here. But that doesn’t mean it’s necessarily bad." He sighed. "I can’t exactly just turn against the Asylum. They gave me a home, a family. Without them, I would be dead." He wasn’t sure why he had shared something he considered pretty private with Minkstream, but it had just sort of slipped out. Maybe if he showed he wasn’t just some harsh monster, he could start to understand.

Minkstream's eyes flashed at that question, a low rumble threatening in his throat, a hint of a crinkle to his muzzle. The toes of his paws flexed, just slightly, the faintest glint of claws sliding out against the grass. "That depends on whether she was planning to murder anyone who stood in her way." Suddenly his voice was ice-cold, the sleek darkness of a leaf-bare river.

The other tom continued on, a hint of strain in his voice, his eyes flashing with a similar frustration to Minkstream's own. No, being here in a camp full of hostile cats wouldn't be fun. The temptation to simply dismiss out of paw everything the other said, spit in his face, and take his meal somewhere else tugged at his paws for a moment. Otherwise he'd probably end up overstepping the rules of their new overlords and get himself beaten. But.... Forcefully pulling his claws and his temper back in, pain swirling in his chest, he caught the other's eye. "The Asylum may have saved your life, but it hasn't saved mine, or my kin's," He said, his voice low, an edge of tightly controlled emotion running an undercurrent beneath. "You killed my daughter's mate - left my granddaughter without a father. Not only that, you threatened to kill one of the elders of the Clan, a cat who couldn't and wouldn't have fought against your leader. If that's not bad, I don't know what is." He blew out a sigh, sudden tiredness like lead weights pulling his limbs down. "You, personally, I don't have a grudge against. But everything you stand for, I do."

A hint of hardness came back into his gaze, stone-solid once more. "Ignoring you is the least I can do."

It seemed like everywhere she turned, one of these Asylum cats was waiting. All the nooks and crannies she had carved out as spaces she could go to to be alone for a moment with her own thoughts had disappeared without a trace. The places that had felt familiar to her had been tainted by an unwelcome presence. They had come here and consumed her home.

Nettlestar watched for a moment as Minkstream spoke with one of ThunderClan's unwanted guests. She didn't know who the cat he was speaking to was, but then again, she didn't know much about any of the individual Asylum cats. She did not care much if there were differing temperaments or feeling about what had happened among them. To her, they were all responsible for the loss of her home.

And I am too... she thought, the guilt of her poor choices sparking in her chest. But I care about making it right. And I am sure they do not.

The tall gray she-cat grabbed a piece of prey and then made her way over to her deputy and sat down near him.

"Good evening, Minkstream," she said "Would you mind if I sat with you?"

After she spoke, her bright green eyes slid towards the young Asylum cat for a moment, lit by harsh indifference. "Why don't you go back to hovering in some corner like many of your friends, hm?" she asked coldly, before turning to her prey.

Griffon tried to mask the emotions he was feeling. He wasn’t sure if it was working. He wanted to run from here, far, far away. He wanted to look towards the skies and yowl, let out all he was feeling. But he couldn’t. So he stayed, his anger, his sadness, his frustration boiling inside of him. He wanted to slink away, to erase this from his mind. But that wouldn’t give the right message. He needed to do this, for the sake of the Asylum. "Do you really think I agree with the death?" He asked, eyes shining. "It was wrong, to kill those cats. And I’m sorry, okay? But stop acting as though we are all to blame. They didn’t tell us anything. They gave us our orders. I’ve tried, for the past sunrises, to make this better. But everybody here ignores me, acts like I’m some heartless beast! But I have feelings. And it hurts to be treated with the stone cold looks everywhere I go. The worst part is I can’t do anything. No matter what I say, no matter what I do, it doesn’t matter. Because at the end of the day I’ll still be hated." His ears pinned back as he silently cried. His voice dropped down to something barely above a whisper.

"I’m sorry. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go." Now, he wanted to sob. To curl up and lay there for however long he wished. Just when he was thinking that it couldn’t get any worse, Nettlestar approached. Under different circumstances, the she-cat would have been bombarded with questions. But obviously she felt the same way the rest of her clan did. Her words felt like a sharp stab to his chest. He felt drained. After his little speech, he didn’t have a comeback to the leader’s words. His tail drooped, defeated.

"Fine. If that’s what you want. I don’t know why I even tried." He turned, his tail limp as he cried. That had gone worst than he could have imagined. The tom had cried in front of them!  He felt surprisingly empty, a contrast from all the emotions he had felt. He wasn’t sure how to feel, and he felt slightly dizzy. He plopped himself down in a corner far away from the prey pile and the cats he had been speaking with. His tail curled around his paws as he stared out, not really seeing anything at all. After a moment, his chest let out a soft sob, and he sighed. So much for making things better.

But if they were going to treat him like that, he would treat them just the same. He was done trying, done being nice, done showing emotion. They hated him, they hated all of them. And he didn’t need that. If he didn’t let them get in his head, they would have to stop eventually. Even if they didn’t, at least it wouldn’t hurt so much. Maybe he could build up a hard exterior, impenetrable. He could be respected, and indifference would be fine with him. But that would take time. Right now, he felt as vulnerable and weak as a flower.

The other tom's eyes flashed, and Minkstream felt his own glint dangerously in return, his hackles bristling slightly. Sorry? You don't know what you're talking about, foxpelt. Struggling to hold on to his frayed temper, he kept his maw firmly shut, the sheer tension of his jaw muscles saying more than enough for him. The kit did have a point - he genuinely didn't seem like a heartless beast, unlike some of his Clanmates.

That didn't mean Minkstream wanted to adopt him.

Sheer frustration boiled over in the other's voice, hurt like a claw that only briefly connected with thick fur. "Because at the end of the day I'll still be hated."

Good - maybe that will make you leave us alone. The thought ran coldly through his mind, and he nearly let it rumble from his lips, the other's frustration sparking against his own and making his tail lash. But something held him back - maybe it was the pain in the kit's face, the look in his eyes as tears welled, like the wavering ripple of a memory.... Something in his heart panged, for a brief moment. Something he didn't want sent towards any member of Asylum right now.

Luckily, another voice saved him from having to reply to the other's broken apology, and one of his ears twisted back as he glanced behind at Nettlestar. Dipping his head to her, he forced his hackles flat, taking a step back away from the other tom. "Of course not, Nettlestar." At least she would be better company than his current companion. Though she quickly dealt with that. He glanced back to the tom, the flash of hurt in the other's eyes as if she'd just raked claws over his face, his tail drooping as he turned and left.

That feeling grew again, an accusation hovering in the back of his mind that he forcefully pushed away as he deliberately turned back to his leader. They don't deserve pity. Let alone sympathy.

For some reason, the vole tasted just a little bit like mud as he took it in his mouth and moved it to make a place for Nettlestar. "Kit seems to think the whole Clan should be friends with him," He grunted, turning the cooling body over with his paw and eyeing the red-oozing bites he'd already taken. No pang of hunger rumbled in his stomach. He could still see the tears on the young tom's face. Don't, mouseheart.

It didn't help - a feeling like wood chips ground in his stomach, sliding guilt swiftly growing even as he slashed at it. Of course, the tom had only wanted friends; there was absolutely no ulterior motive in that. Apart from, of course, trying to make them all friends with Asylum, and therefore trapping them by their own friendliness. Maybe that was just paranoia, but Minkstream didn't feel much like being friendly with the shadows lurking around watching their every move. It still hadn't stopped, either - he could feel eyes on him and Nettlestar, watching them, probably drawn by the confrontation.

"But everybody here ignores me, acts like I’m some heartless beast!"

Stars that look. The memory of Rainstrike's hateful blue gaze came back to mind for a brief moment, inexplicably, and he narrowed his eyes at the vole, one white paw resting beside it. Or more accurately, he stared through it. Why should he care what a star-forsaken rogue kit....

Something stirred in his mind, faint calls from a distant time.

The sun shone warm on his fur, the feel of greenleaf heavy in the air - thick in the scents of drying mud and marshflowers, the chuckle of the river beneath the deep blue sky, and the buzzing of flying insects through camp. A group of young cats, apprentices, tumbled by the river, a couple of them playfully fighting as the others looked on, grins on their faces.

His own heart, hopeful as he stepped forward, a smile on his maw. Their eyes twitched up as he called, his voice breaking through the laughter. Almost immediately the looks on their faces closed off, wariness replacing their smiles, paws shuffling. Those playfighting stopped, the biggest regarding him with no emotion. Short, sharp words.

"Go away."

He stopped uncertainly, his half-raised paw coming down to rest on the ground, the lilting smile fading. His voice replied, an attempt at a joke to put them at ease. The expressions didn't change, except for a scowl suddenly growing on the biggest tom's face as he deliberately stood and stepped forward, his head a half-whisker higher. Eyes cold, he looked down, the way he stood giving the impression of someone regarding a slug they were about to squish.

"We don't want you here, rogue-kit."

The flicker of memory flitted away as fast as it had come, but it left behind a sour taste on his tongue. Rainstrike and rogues and rogue kits.... Discomfort slid down his spine. I'm not like Rainstrike. I have a reason to hate them. He grimaced slightly, nudging the remains of the vole with his paw. There was barely anything left of it, anyway.

"But I have feelings. And it hurts to be treated with the stone cold looks everywhere I go."

Minkstream closed his eyes briefly. Dark stars and mouse-tailed foxdung, what am I doing? This tom was probably the only Asylum cat who'd ever actually bothered to talk somewhat civilly with their new Clan slaves, and he'd just torn the kit a new one, basically telling him to get lost and be like the rest of his kin. Yes, it was probably just an act to draw them in, but.... the expression on the kit's face.... Sure, he's as brain-dead loyal to the Asylum cause as the rest of them, but stars strike me down he's as sickeningly genuine about it as any cat can be.

He himself had just said he had no grudge against the tom in particular, just Asylum and what he stood for. So therefore now he hated the kit's guts enough to chew him over, too? Hypocrite. The end of his tail twitched at the accusation, mostly because it was true. Just because the kit wasn't going to denounce the whole of Asylum - something he'd lived in and been taught by since he was born - meant that he was an evil monster and every move he made, every act, was designed to bring them more tightly under its rule?

He had denounced the killing. And even if his goal was for them all to be one big happy Asylum family, well... that technically could go both ways. If he doesn't agree with the bloodshed, would he disagree about other things, too?

He vaguely felt like planting his head into the Highrock. Admit it, you're just soft. You feel bad for the kit because that was, in a way, you.

With a sigh, he pushed the vole back and stood, dipping his head to Nettlestar. "Nettlestar, I...." Vaguely, he realized that if she'd said anything he'd completely missed it, lost in his thoughts as he was. "Excuse me for a moment."

He turned, his eyes quickly finding the tom in a corner as far away from the prey pile as he could possibly be. Not a bad choice. He could remember another young tom who'd done a fair amount of wandering as far away from other cats as he could. Tail twitching slightly behind him, he padded over, the set look behind the tears on the other's face adding a fresh layer of grudging shame.

His paws came to a stop a tail-length from the tom's spot, meeting the other's still-wet eyes as they came up. Letting his maw twist slightly in a vague grimace, he sat. That look on the kit's face said more than a thousand accusing words from his own mind. "I admit you weren't the one who pulled Pinefrost down - you're not the embodiment of Asylum. Look, I..." There was only the briefest of pauses as he let out a silent, vaguely frustrated breath, eyes briefly flicking to a spindly, dead twig sticking out of a bush nearby before focusing on Griffon again, his head dipping, just slightly, in acknowledgement. "I'm sorry for treating you like a drop-dead toad, kit. No one deserves that, wherever they come from."

He halfway expected the kit to throw insults straight back, after the way they'd just treated him. Especially with the pain of it still fresh in his mind. That has to be the worst apology I've ever made. With his own pain still fresh, it was debatable whether he'd restrain himself enough to keep his own claws in, but oh, well. He was bound to end up in a fight with them sooner or later, anyway.

Griffon’s goal had been to become unnoticeable, to be left alone. It worked for a bit of time, and it felt good to sit alone in his sadness. He didn’t need the clans, they needed him. It didn’t have to be anything personal, just a duty. Maybe if he ranked up more he could move on from them. Or he could ask to be re-assigned, although he wasn’t sure if they would agree to that. The rustle of movement drawing closer to him made him tense, and he hoped that it was a cat passing by, that they would mind their own business and leave. He didn't dare look back until the tom was just near him, and he sat down. He grimaced. He had probably come by to throw more insults. This time he had to hide what he had shown before. Quickly brushing the tears off his face with his tail, he looked up with what he hoped was a steady gaze. He braced himself for what was coming next.

His shoulders relaxed slowly as the realization of what the deputy was saying set in. Was this some sort of trick? The logical part of him wanted to assume so, but the older from seemed so genuine. He wasn’t sure how he felt. He paused for a moment, studying the ground. How was he supposed to respond to that? It had been an apology, but Griffon wasn’t sure if he was willing to forgive yet. But it could be a start, maybe. He looked up again, meeting Minkstream’s eyes. "....thanks." He said. After another few moments of sitting in silence, he got up. "Well, I’ve, uh, got stuff to do so...I’ll see you around." He mumbled, padding off towards the exit of camp. He needed a moment to clear his head, and he hoped he could hop onto a patrol or something.