Hitting the Mark [open]

He had always called the streets home, in one way or another. The misting rain sat on his blazing pelt, barely registering to the tom as weight. Copper eyes searched around as he opened his mouth, trying to catch the scent of his mark.

It wasn't too long ago that Aster and his goons were chasing down some poor scrap of fur. They had apparently gotten into a scuffle, and after a scratch to the face, Aster wasn't playing nice anymore.

So, they all ran after the cat. Straight into the forest.

Idiots.

They didn't have a clue. Legions of cats lived in the forest. They were bizarre, nothing like them. Hank didn't know much about them personally, but those cats weren't going to give rats' tails to sunrise about Aster or who his daddy was.

But when Aster's dad started talking about a hit and a search party...

Hank had seen their target once or twice before, wandering the alleyways, trying to survive. They all were. That was just how the streets were. And, truth be told, this poor thing was a kit. Aster was a squawking jackdaw who (he hoped) didn't know any better, but when two cats came over to ask him to 'take care of it', courtesy of dear old dad, it was no mystery to him what they wanted.

They wanted a murder.

It was not the first time he had to dirty his paws. But those cats committed crimes. Stealing prey in leafbare, attacking queens, attempted murders, destroying territory. Those were things he understood that needed justice. There was a reason they called him Big Red- he was efficient and he got the job done.

But two kits fighting in an alleyway over pride? Stupidity.

By the time he weaved through the eastern thicket, he stared at the weirdest looking tree he had ever seen. Four gnarled oak trees intertwined, their bases combined looked larger than a car. The air here was different, somehow.

Thankfully, the scent was still there. So he kept going.

It was around this time that he realized that it was going to be duskfall. The scent had gotten stronger, or at the least, less weak. But it too was intermingled with a different smell entirely. It was as if the entirety of Second Street rolled in leaves and moss; so many cats' scents mixed into a weird hodgepodge. Whoever they were, they needed to be warned.

The mixed cat smell was blisteringly strong, almost like car breath. They must have just been by here.

He peered his head through the trees, the undergrowth feeling so foreign under his calloused paws. It made soft brushing noises, ones he was sure that the cats who lived here knew very well.

Big Red creaked over branches. One of the things that was awful about being so big--

His tufted ears pricked as a small noise came from his left.

He was being watched.

"Y'all got uh fugitive."

He scanned around himself for an ambush. With him being so big and with the scars he had, he knew that if they could flank him, they would.

"I ain't gonna hurt him. He's uh wanted cat, there's uh cat tryin' ta line his nest with his pelt."

"Over stupid dung stuff, too. It ain't worth nobody's life, but tell that ta the other guy's daddy."

The grizzled tomcat blinked, waiting for a response. Maybe one of them would come out of hiding; he had made no aggressive movements.

"Detain me if ya want, I ain't sellin' my soul over games. I'll tell ya everything I know."

His suspicions were confirmed; he was being watched. A black cat approached him, coming from the shadows.

She clearly was from this territory. There was a certain comfort this cat took in being here, navigating all these blasted twigs. It was good security, he'd give them that.

He caught in the corner of his eye more movement, two tails coming towards them. So, at least three cats, if not more.

Well, this is just a party.

The black cat was being pretty generous, all things considered. If there were three of them, they could of all sprang on him before he could blink. The fact that they didn't go to immediately skinning him alive showed they had some ethics to them.

"Big Red. Mama called me Hank."

He snorted. "That didn't stick. Wonder why."

If this was anything like the abandoned houses in the suburbs, they probably went off to get the cat in charge. And based on the fact there were several cats surrounding him, they probably were already here.

Big Red cleared his throat, and rumbled, "Six sunrises ago, there was uh fight. Between the cat y'all have n' one in the city."

"The other guy got uh strike ta the face. His daddy didn't like that. So he called uh hit. Two o' his buddies came by my corner, asked me ta get it done."

"I'm uh lotta things, stupid ain't one o' them. I asked around."

"This 'fight'? The one dear ol' daddy was so mad 'bout, he called uh hit? Between kits. The one y'all have is two seasons old at the most. The other one ain't been alive fo' three."

"My paws ain't clean, y'all can tell lookin' at me. I've taken out some bad cats. But I'm not gonna start killin' kits."

"I don't know what it's like in the forest, I don't pretend to. But the city? City's awful. If you don't offer somebody something, you ain't eatin' that day. It's all you, all the time. Can't even sleep with both eyes closed, unless ya got yo' own place. Even then, yo' sunrises are numbered. Don't know if somebody's gonna try ta kill ya for reputation, yo' turf, or if ya got uh hit on you."

Big Red paused. Could he live in the forest?

"Truth is, once full moon hits, I got no idea what this guy's gonna do. Me comin' bought time, otherwise he and all his buds would've shown up at y'all's borders tonight. I hope I got enough time fo' some hard rain. Once he's here long enough, the scents will mix n' they'll have no idea."

"As for me, well, that's uh harder question. If I go back with nuthin', they'll try ta kill me too. Not y'all's concern, I get that. I'd like ta find uh home, but if y'all ain't interested, I'll pass through, not bother y'all anymore. Just take good care o' the boy, ya hear?"

Hank blinked at the black cat in front of him, who he just rambled at. She seemed a bit more refined, delicate was certainly the wrong word. She gave an air of "I can very well take care of it myself, thank you," a trait he also had in spades.

"I will."

The sincerity disarmed Hank. So, they did have him? And she knew about it, and still wanted to protect him anyway?

Big Red took a deep breath. No one was itching to protect him, all those years ago, five moons old and sent to the alleys to fend for himself. A rare subtle smile formed on his face, his copper eyes meeting her gold.

His voice softened, a clear sincerity and gratitude behind it. "Thank ya. He's too young... he don't deserve this."

He turned as she walked away, a small twinge in his chest panged as she sat next to another cat, opposite him, looking at him with intent.

I guess it's time for the head of the house.

"I appreciate ya hearin' me out. I'm glad he'll be safe."

But what about him? He guessed only time would tell.

It was almost perfect timing as the rather large tom would be turning to leave, that a much, much smaller molly would appear. Even Comfreyheart near-dwarfed her in size, but there was an air of dignity and power around the tiny tortoiseshell. An air that demanded respect. She dismissed the warrior who had gotten her with a flick of her tail, and gave a nod towards both of her warriors. Of course, it was almost impossible to ignore the large tom in front of them.

Quickly did Mottlestar size him up. Push came to shove, she was certainly lithe enough to do some damage to his underbelly if she had to fight. Not to mention, it wasn't like her warriors were about to let her fight such a large tom alone, either. But something told her that wouldn't be the case. Not this time around, at least. His scent reminded her of the prickly one that had belonged to the newly-named Crimsonpaw, formerly Shamlain.

"I see we have an unfamiliar face on our borders. My warriors tell me you're not here on any ill will, so pray tell, what brings you to Thunderclan?" No hostility carried on her voice - just a curiosity. Outside of the dignified tone in which she spoke, the truly had no intention on fighting him. Not unless she had to.

"I can tell you're not from the Clans, and you aren't some soft kittypet either. There's a story to you, and I hope you don't mind my curiosity with hearing it."

When he pictured a house head, Hank wasn't expecting the itsy-bitsy tortoiseshell that came from behind. Her pelt reminded him of his mom, ages past, and his mother too was rather small, but not like this.

If this cat didn't walk with the authority she did, he would have figured she was a mere three to four seasons old at the most.

But she was far too assertive to be that young. And clearly, the others respected her. She must have been a complete terror in a battle. Is that how that worked here? Did she fight every cat in this place to be top cat? He didn't know.

"Name's Hank, yo' new boy might know me as Big Red. Nice ta meet ya... ma'am?"

What did they call head cats here? Did she have a title or something? Starting on great paws here...

"Well, I came ta... ThunderClan, you called it..? 'cause I was sent by somebody."

"Two cats told me ta take out uh target, follow him, take care o' it."

"What they didn't tell me, was that he's uh kit-- might be two seasons old, max. They put uh hit on 'im 'cause he got into uh spat wit' somebody's son, scratched the son in the face, n' the daddy got uh knot in his tail 'bout it."

Big Red paused, his voice becoming rather strained. "I... I ain't gonna start killin' kits. I've had ta do what I've had ta do. But those cats, they were murderers, stealin' prey in cold season from families, really bad stuff. N' they was grown n' shoulda known better. Preyin' on the weak, on uh boy, who ain't really been on his own. Disgustin'."

"I came ta give y'all time. If I didn't take it, they'd be here now. I'm just hopin' I got y'all enough time fo' some rain, have the scent fade."

Hank sighed, exasperated. "Now, I dunno what they gonna do with me if I go back empty-pawed. Probably kill me too. That ain't y'all's concern, I suppose. I ain't goin' back ta nowhere that's killin' kits, that's for sure. Bet my tail on that. But I'm grown, I'll figure it out. Always have. But I wanted ta make sure that boy's okay."

He looked at the tortoiseshell, trying to read her expression. If she felt anything strongly, she was really good at hiding it.

"To be honest, ma'am, I've lived on the streets uh long time. Paw ta mouth. It ain't no way ta live, ma'am. It can't be."

"Now, y'all don't owe me nuthin'. I'm on y'all's turf. I know I want different than what I've had so far."

"But, if ya don't want me here, that's y'all's right. I at least need ta get ta the other side o' the forest, n' I don't know about who owns what other than by smell."

"Even if y'all can't take me, you'll at least take care o' him, right?"

There was a tilt of her head. Calculation behind her eyes as she listened to his story. "Mottlestar." She answered with her name. Of course, she gave a deep nod of her head at being called ma'am. It reminded her of her younger days, referring to every cat she met by such. It was just... polite. And from the way he spoke, as much as life had battered him, he was polite. That was to say the least. Now, it was almost impossible to feel a bit of nervousness in her paws. If there were other cats out there, looking for one of the ones they had taken in... what would that mean for them?

It meant they would fight for their family. Same as she would fight for Thistlemask... she would fight for Crimsonpaw.

Perhaps she would fight for this stranger too.

"Clan life means belonging to a family. One you would lay down your life for, train in our ways for. I may not have seen too many battles, but I know a fighter when I see one. ... Hank, you said you don't want to keep living the life that you have." More calculations... curiosities... plans. All of it ran behind her eyes. Her deputy was a testament to the fact that rogue bloodlines didn't make bad warriors: they made great ones. They fought for their places. "Forgive us of our wariness, but we must protect our own. " She spoke cautiously. If his allegiance rested with the cats he once was with... it could mean great trouble.

"If you can look me in the eyes and promise that you don't believe in what your old Clan was doing, then we can make something work. I'm sure. If you would be willing to undergo a... trial of sorts... we may be able to offer you a new life here." It was one thing to ramble off at the mouth and mean nothing by it, but if the moons she had spent in the forest taught her anything? The eyes gave everything away.

A family? He used to have one of those. Seasons and seasons ago. His kin scattered after his dad died and his mom pushed them to the streets. He was about Shamlian's age, maybe even a twinge younger.

"Haven't been part of uh family in a long time."

There was a wistfulness to the comment, an unspoken pain. His expression remained stoic, but the voice told otherwise.

Hank looked up at Mottlestar, his gaze even. Certain, almost, with a weird resolve.

He tried to enunciate better, but the twang remained. "I came here alone. I have been alone."

"No cat pickin' off kits gets uh whisker of loyalty from me. Bet my pelt on it."

A trial? To be honest, he never heard of such a thing. Was it like carrying stuff, a fight? Whatever it was, it was a promise. A promise of a life outside of sleeping with one eye open, doing the dirty work of others, not having to jump at every new set of pawsteps.

"Whatever it is, Mottlestar. I'll do it."