i’m the violence in the pouring rain [closed]

With the fox thankfully stunned, Briarthorn was able to leap forward and smash her large paw against the fox's head, unsheathed claws raking down its face as blood began to pour from its wounds. A sickening, absolutely horrid crunch rang out, and the fox suddenly stopped moving. Panting, she stood back a bit as the fox collapsed onto the ground, chest still as its breathing slowed to a stop. Her gaze shifted to Bloodstrike for a moment as blood oozed from the wound on his shoulder, but she quickly returned it to the fox.

Briarthorn used Front Paw Strike, dealing -9 Health Points and using -10 Stamina Points.
Night Finesse is active, granting an additional -2 Health Points.

Briarthorn:
20/45 HP
75/160 SP [-10]

Fox:
KOed

Slowly, she approached the fox, and inspected it carefully for a few moments to ensure that it was actually dead. After she was sure that it was, she turned and grabbed it by the scruff, and dragged it over to Bloodstrike, dropping it with a huff. "Take it." She mewed gruffly, giving her coat a shake and sitting down next to it. After a few moments of silence, she turned her gaze back to the tom, a serious expression on her face. "Perhaps you aren't so bad. I don't want to set my expectations too high, though." She teased, her pale green eyes set on his.

The fox shuddered and went still and Bloodstrike released his grip on it's scruff. It flopped to the ground and he stepped back and away from it. He wasn't sure why Namelessface told him to take it. He'd always killed most predators and left them, unless they were birds or snakes. He wasn't so sure he wanted to eat a fox. His eyes went to his shoulder, which he glared at with a slightly unnecessary level of intensity. Beechface would know that he went out tonight, that was sure. How did he wind up in a situation where his daughter was fussing over him all of the time as if he was the kit and she was the adult? Well, she was an adult... but Bloodstrike felt that he was an adultier adult. So there.

"Oh there is no cat alive that I would let die to a fox." He said to her with a small smile. "Keeping expectations low, I found to be the best course of action in most cases." He agreed with her. He thought about the last time they had met, knowing that he himself had changed drastically since then. Perhaps she had too. She didn't hold the same level of animosity that she had, at least not that he could remember.

"I've also been told I can be very pessimistic and broody though." He looked over to where the sun should be coming up to try to gauge the time. It shouldn't be up for awhile, and with his wound pulsing in time with his heartbeat he supposed he'd just stay out a little bit longer.

"Have I still not earned the right to know your real name?"

Briarthorn tilted her head teasingly when Bloodstrike looked down confusedly at the fox, and she prodded it gently. "What better to line a nest than the fur of a fox?" She mewed lowly, trying her hardest to push away the memories of the cats who'd worn the pelts of foxes for warmth, protection, and pride. It was a concept that interested the she-cat and truthfully, she didn't entirely mind the pelts. It was the obnoxious and entitled cats who donned them that she disliked. For a moment, Briarthorn considered returning Bloodstrike's smile but instead opted for a brief flicker of her ear to acknowledge the sentiment.

She couldn't resist a small smile and a light chuckle when the tom mentioned his more apparent negative traits. "Is that so? I certainly can't see it." Sarcasm dripped from each word, but rather than her usual ill-mannered sarcasm, it took on a more playful and light tone- something that was rarely, if ever, seen in the she-cat. His next question, however, elicited a thinly veiled glare. There was a reason she so often chose not to reveal her name. It served only as a reminder to her of what she'd lost. "It's Briarthorn." She mewed, pale green gaze drifting down to her large paws. She wouldn't bother explaining and simply left the conversation hanging where it was. Part of her hoped Bloodstrike might pick it up, and another part wanted, once again, to rake her claws down his severely scarred face. Her expression portrayed neither of these emotions, as her face remained blank and reserved.

At the mentioning of lining his nest with the fur of a fox, the only thing Bloodstrike could picture was seeing One-Ear's skin laying near the leader's den the night the Asylum invaded. With my mouse-brained son leading them in... It wasn't a happy memory. The pelt of the fox that had killed Sagelight had been worn by Dawnhawk, then left as a distraction for Bloodstrike when the Asylum slipped into every den around him and then finally, on top of him.

"Good point." He said, but it was all he could say on the matter of the fox pelt without being rude. And finally he got the she-cats name, though when she said it he thought he detected hints of... pain? He wasn't entirely sure. He just knew that he was mixed on his feelings of now knowing the name of the she-cat that set him on his journey to become who he was today... and that she seemed bothered to give it.

"Briarthorn." He nodded once, sure that he would remember it. It was fitting, but he wasn't sure it would be wise to say such a thing given her tone. "The way you hid it from me I was expecting something ridiculous. It's not a bad name. As I said, my clan is notorious for bad names." Maybe that would... help? He was ready to apologize if not.

Briarthorn nearly flinched when he repeated her name, the corner of her lip tugged back in a small snarl as she continued to stare at her paws. "It's ridiculous when you know the context." She mewed in response, borderline growling it. "My brother, Flintstar, gave it to me. I suppose he thought it was a good idea. He meant well... Didn't end up being that way, I guess." In an attempt to lighten the mood (which should've been shocking given her standards and general personality) Briarthorn released a half-hearted chuckle at the tom's comment about SkyClan being notorious for bad names. "SkyClan's are horrifically bad, but you should hear some of the names my brother comes up with. Or, rather, his mate comes up with and tells him to give, I bet." Scuffing at the dirt with her paws, Briarthorn finally lifted her gaze to meet Bloodstrike's. "Her name's Freckleface, and she's into all that love, peace, and kindness dirt. I bet she came up with my name. Everything has a meaning to that molly. She reads into everything. It's dumb, really." Almost abruptly, Briarthorn stopped talking. She'd realized that she was rambling awkwardly, trying to fill the gap that the silence would've made. It was unlike her, but it was so rare that she was left chatting with someone she'd been fighting viciously just moments ago. It was embarrassing, realizing just how awkward she was when (or rather, if, she spoke to others.