why can't i be your golden boy [O]

Rowanpaw

Things were changing within the nest. Cats came and went– among them, Sootspirit and Minksplash had joined the hovel. Rowanpaw had been elated at their appearance, overjoyed to know that they were safe and alive (even if being safe meant being here), and that RiverClan was doing as well as they could. They'd only arrived recently, so he hadn't gotten much of a chance to bother them yet, but he would often stay near to his siblings' side when they turned down for the night. During the day, he often lost sight of them, despite the cramped space, but he knew they were there so that was alright. He would make sure to cling to them a little closer in the mornings before everyone parted ways for the day. Today, though, he had a different mission.

Among the cats disappearing, Crookedpaw had become one of them. But he wasn't escaping– just... disappearing. Being picked up and coddled and kissed by the twoleg and trotted off for little stretches during the day. The being willfully cuddled was bad enough, but whenever Crookedpaw came back, there was a... peculiar scent clinging to his teeth. It was like fish– it was fish, Rowanpaw knew the scent of fish –but there was something sharp and artificial to it, as well. Though he wasn't sure exactly where Crookedpaw was going, what he was doing, he could make a pawful of educated guesses. None of them made Rowanpaw particularly happy.

So, he'd sat patiently, back straight and tail curled over his paws, waiting for the other apprentice to make his appearance from behind that unfamiliar door. He wasn't sure exactly how long he'd been waiting, but eventually, the door creaked open and the twoleg stepped out, familiar cat in her arms. When Crookedpaw leaped to the floor with a solid thud, Rowanpaw lifted gracefully to his paws, stepping to cut off the SkyClanner's jaunt before he could fully make it down the hall. "Hello," he mewed smoothly, the slow flick of his ear the only sign of his mounting agitation. "Where might you have been, friend? You have been disappearing awfully frequent of late, and I am starting to grow some concerns as to your whereabouts. You would not be so kind as to fill me in now, would you?"

Crookedpaw

As pathetic as it was, and as much as Crookedpaw would never want to admit it aloud, he was rather enjoying the momentary refuge with the twoleg. He was not happy to be here, and he would escape at a moment’s notice if he could; he was not a kittypet and never would be. (Or so he kept telling himself.) However, it was nice getting out of the cramped room and being able to stretch his legs. It was nice to eat something other than dried pellets, even if it was not as good as fresh kills. It was something different, and Crookedpaw desperately needed different while he was here. It was always nice to return and spend some time with Rowanpaw, even if the RiverClanner had been growing more agitated as of late.

Now, Crookedpaw stopped short as Rowanpaw confronted him. His ear twitched and his paws drew together nervously. He told himself it was fine. In the same lilted tone as Rowanpaw often used, he replied, “The twoleg likes me. She takes me to another room in her nest and gives me some fresher food; I think it is fish, but it is not like the prey of the forest. I’m not sure why she does not do this to other cats, but it is a nice reprieve from the monotony of this other room, don’t you think?”

Crookedpaw’s heart picked up in speed. He spoke plainly and like it was not a big deal, but he knew that he was toeing the line of the warrior code in regards to rejecting the life of a kittypet—if he had not walked all over it already. But was this not different? A warrior rejects the life of a kittypet because he lives out in the forest, with the clan. He is not to go into a twoleg nest of his own accord for these simple kittypet pleasure. Is it not different if you are being held captive?

A small part of him whispered that it was different, but that Crookedpaw even still was not acting very warrior-like. He tried to ignore it as he held Rowanpaw’s gaze.

Rowanpaw

Hard green eyes flicked downward to observe the way Crookedpaw drew into himself at the confrontation. Just as quickly, the gaze returned to Crookedpaw's own. The clipped ear flicked again– then, both his ears folded backwards, pinned against his head. Rowanpaw could not keep his lips from curling in distaste at just the first of the SkyClanner's words, nor could he school his expression before it had reached a full, teeth-baring grimace. His paws itched with the desire to smack Crookedpaw as hard as his muscles would allow him.

Leering, Rowanpaw stepped closer. He bent down until there was barely a whisker's width between their noses; he could even feel Crookedpaw's hot breath stirring his whiskers. "You spoiled kit." Rowanpaw hissed, quiet and cold. He had not meant to start so harsh, but red had clouded his vision and fogged his reasoning. "A reprieve? A reprieve?! What grants you the right? While the rest of us bicker, fight for food, pray we might return to our homes while resigning ourselves to knowing we likely will not?" His tail lashed as he spoke. Cats had escaped before, Clan cats, he had seen them go– one of them had been Crookedpaw's own, even. But even more came, and it had been some time since any left. There was some appreciation in his family's presence... but what if they were to remain here as long as– He and Crookedpaw especially... they had been here so, so long.

Rowanpaw did not want to admit it, but quietly, he had started to lose hope. For himself, at least. And that this tom, who had become his closest friend here, that had spent every day with him since arriving– for him to spit in the face of it, of everything he thought they both longed to return to...

He jerked backwards like he could not bear to be so close anymore. The ringing of his bell only made Rowanpaw's sneer deepen. "Yes, I am sure it is a nice reprieve. You are so comfortable here, aren't you? Being doted on by that furless beast, being pampered because you are soft." Rowanpaw could not explain why he had been so infuriated by this beyond the reasons he had already shouted, beyond what stewed in his mind. But it had; it felt like he had been struck physically, right upon his heart. To combat the pain that underlied the anger, he forced out a rumbling growl. "You have let your time here weaken you. Either your special feedings have been quietly rotting your mind, or you were born with the heart of a kittypet. You tell me."

Crookedpaw

Crookedpaw’s body slowly tensed as he watched Rowanpaw’s body language grow more outwardly aggressive. When he suddenly leaned closer, Crookedpaw flinched back and his ears pinned behind him. He stared with wide eyes, trying to keep his expression cool as Rowanpaw hissed at him. His heart beat wildly in his chest, but he found anger starting to slowly overtake fear the more that Rowanpaw spoke.

“A kittypet?!” Crookedpaw demanded. His tail lashed behind him. His body felt hot. Shame and embarrassment and fury washed over him all at once and made his vision double. His panic and anger got the best of him as he leapt at Rowanpaw, bowling him to the ground and pinning him down. His claws were out now, but they did not quite sink into Rowanpaw yet…he’d never used claws on anything before. But it made him feel better already to have knocked Rowanpaw to the floor. He felt like Blackbear was at his side, cheering him on, which only fueled his anger and shame more. “Do you think I went up and asked the twoleg for this?! You think I would choose to remain here a moment longer if I could? I am not a kittypet. I am not the one who was taken to the Cutter like some kittypet. Do you think your clan would still recognize your scent after how the Cutter changed you?!”

Emotions unidentifiable slammed into Crookedpaw like intense rapids. He felt like he had fallen into the river in the forest, being beaten senseless by the current. Being called a kittypet made him feel as though his heart was being pulled out of his chest. He wanted to tear at Rowanpaw’s face in retaliation, and it was only his cowardice and lack of experience in fighting that kept him from it.

Worse than even that, a tiny voice that sounded just like Rainpaw asked him if it was wrong to be a kittypet. Crookedpaw’s tail lashed more and he wanted to tear the voice out, just for a little while. It was probably the first time Crookedpaw wished he could not think of Rainpaw.

Rowanpaw

A part of him had been expecting– no, hoping for –a strong retaliation. He was being mean; it was deserved, yes, but Rowanpaw knew his words were cruel. He did not want a fight, but he wanted to be proven wrong. When Crookedpaw's body went rigid, tail lashing and hissing back, adrenaline swelled in his chest to match the burning rage. But he was not braced for Crookedpaw to spring at him: the flash of claws in the light and the weight forcing him to the ground made Rowanpaw yelp with surprise. Now you want to act like a warrior, he wanted to hiss, but hitting the floor had left him winded.

Whatever messy, hateful pride he felt over being pinned, he was not going to accept the blow to his ego. Rowanpaw squirmed, thrashing under surprisingly heavy paws. He did not want to move too much and risk impaling himself on claws only used to threaten... but he needed to be back on his feet. Still writhing, Rowanpaw peddled his hind paws, trying to gather himself to give a firm shove to the belly and an opportunity to scramble back upright. But Crookedpaw was still spitting, and... Rowanpaw went still under him.

It was not a new thought. The same concerns, however he tried to beat them into nothingness, plagued him. As much time as he spent fantasizing about RiverClan... he was not sure if they would even want him. Minksplash and Sootspirit, they were here with him, they had seen him, recognized him. Maybe it was just the sight of his face (which he was frightened to think of how it had changed), but... they knew him. They had not commented on his scent, or lack thereof. They had just been grateful to see him, and the rest of RiverClan would be too, and... and he was still plenty capable as a warrior, but... but...

Rowanpaw's stomach turned with fear, with pain, with... with... with rage. It hit him hard and fierce, blinded and strengthened him. Bracing his shoulder and forepaws against the sleek floor, Rowanpaw shoved up hard, knocking the other apprentice off of him with a screech. Before he could be pinned again, he let his momentum carry him fully onto his paws. His own claws were unsheathed now, whining as they scraped over the tile. He wanted to rip Crookedpaw to shreds, draw blood, make him hurt. The intensity of the thoughts would have frightened him if any conscience wasn't drowned by the torrent of emotion wracking him. "You– you have no idea what you are talking about, you mouse-hearted wretch." Rowanpaw's legs shook under him. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, forcing the rising heat out of them. He was not going to embarrass himself now.

"What, you think RiverClan will reject me because I do not smell the same? Because I cannot bear kits?" Rowanpaw put a paw slowly forward. "You did not choose this, is that what you said? Then why have I not seen you put up a fight? You are a warrior, are you not? If you were a capable one, at least, you would defend yourself before exposing your own belly. And yet you rolled over without an attempt of resistance. Pathetic." Another step. The muscles in Rowanpaw's haunches tensed, preparing to drive forward. "I fought. I care about my Clanmates and the home I intend to return to. And do you know what, Crookedpaw?" The steely look in his eyes had turned wild, too many emotions to read swirling in the frenzy. "It is leaf-bare. I bet SkyClan is starving, while you are happy to gorge yourself on whatever bile you are being fed. While I may have seen the Cutter's– a trauma you are blessed not to have experienced, you thoughtless rat –I have at least maintained what dignity was not forcibly stripped from me."

Rowanpaw did not leap. Instead, he rose slightly onto his hind paws; not enough to tower, but to hit his mark. "You are not a bold cat, so do not start thinking highly enough of yourself now to challenge me." When he came back down, he dragged his claws along the length of Crookedpaw's chest. He did not bother to soften the blow as the SkyClanner had done for him. Fur pulled away along his claws– and so did skin, flesh. Before he could level properly on the ground again, blood had already started to well to stain the white fur. The sight of it made the rolling in his stomach worse, so bad he thought he might retch there in the middle of their spat. It was just the sight of the blood, just the sight of the blood... that was all. It was not guilt, it was not shame. It was not. He... he still wanted to hurt that excuse for an apprentice, turn him inside out, but he couldn't raise his claws again. To keep himself steady, Rowanpaw snapped his attention back up to stare at Crookedpaw's face.

Then he shoved forward. He did not pin the other apprentice, but rammed into him hard, forcing him off his paws even just momentarily. There was no kindness in his expression when he glared down at Crookedpaw. "You have become a kittypet, complacent and helpless. I am nothing, nothing! like you. I will come home to celebration and joy– what will your Clan say when they learn who you really are?"

Crookedpaw

Blood thundered in Crookedpaw’s ears. His mouth was dry and tasted of dirt. He felt flesh up against his claws when he pinned Rowanpaw down, but he did not want to use them. This was not a border dispute; this was not even home. They were not a couple of rogues…and yet, the anger boiling in his gut did not stop. The thunder in his ears did not wane. Everything hurt and was awful, his vision was overlain with red, and Crookedpaw had never felt such the strong urge to dig his claws into another cat as he did now.

Every word from Rowanpaw cut deeper and deeper into him. Deeper than the claws that tore at his chest and dripped blood down his white fur. It would scar, there was no doubt, given the deepness of the wound. In that moment, Crookedpaw did not care. He could barely feel the pain that tore at him. He hissed, ears gone flat, and there was no longer a pretense of a fight. There was simply a fight  as his claws flexed. “You dare draw blood and expect me to not retaliate? You know nothing of me, Rowanpaw. You speak for hours of yourself, do you ever listen to anyone else?” He lunged forward, clawed paw swiping down Rowanpaw’s face. His claws narrowly miss eyes, instead drawing along his nose in a rough cut that draws blood just as Rowanpaw had done for him. Crookedpaw is so enraged that the shame and guilt of pulling his weapons on Rowanpaw is drowned out by the satisfaction and rage of the fight. “A kittypet? You are either so stupid as to be a martyr for nothing or you long to appear braver than you actually are. With such vile words and heartless actions, you are no better than a rogue, so you may as well look like one, you foxheart.”

Crookedpaw then sprung, along with a vicious yowl. His claws dug into Rowanpaw, along with teeth. His mind turned to bees as he tore and bit and rolled around with Rowanpaw. Anger overtook everything. Shame and embarrassment and guilt and fear—it all turned to fury, because at least he had something to take that out on. Through the mindless buzzing of his brain, thoughts that were tossed around and shredded like they were in the midst of claws. He thought of Blackbear who was wary of anyone outside their clan, who despised the soft ways of kittypets; would she hate him?. He thought of Birdstar who was so big, strong, and led the clan bravely; would she think he was not worthy of being a warrior?. He thought of the horribly scarred tom and the half-faced molly who had entered SkyClan during the great shake, and how he’d been scolded for not acting enough; was that a sign of how he was unworthy of being a warrior? He was born into SkyClan same as everyone else, and yet…was he just born wrong? Rainpaw was a kittypet, and he had the soul of a warrior. It was why he was adopted by Birdstar, mentored by Birdstar; he was destined to be a fantastic warrior. Perhaps their lives should have been swapped. Crookedpaw to be the kittypet, and Rainpaw to be the true warrior.

Is that how it should have been?

The thoughts tore into Crookedpaw, and he only tore viciously into Rowanpaw in return. He cursed out at this apprentice, slinging insults, some of which probably made no sense. They were all lost in the yells and yowls of their fight. Crookedpaw lost sight of any other cats in the nest that may have seen their fighting. He barely even saw Rowanpaw for who he was. Crookedpaw just wanted to tear and claw and bite and hiss and destroy. He was not soft. He was not soft. He was a warrior, stars blast it! Wasn’t he proving that now? Wouldn’t this be enough? Wouldn’t Rowanpaw eat his blasted words and realize he was not some soft kittypet who wanted this life?

Wouldn’t it push those very thoughts out of Crookedpaw’s mind?

Crookedpaw and Rowanpaw are fighting viciously with claws! Topic is now OPEN; feel free to intervene!

Honeylight has been… well. Out of it was putting it lightly. He has never felt quite this lethargic before. His visit to the cutter did not help matters. The first few weeks of his arrival were nothing but stress and anxiety, desperate attempts to go home. Eventually that fell away into a sort of… agonizing numbness that made it hard to keep track of the days or what was going on around him. He had some passing conversations, but for the most part, he slept the day away in whatever tiny corner of the nest he could find for himself. He had lost weight and felt as though he was wasting away. Part of him worried that he would not be able to return to his warrior duties, if he ever got home.

Perhaps it took the golden tom longer than it should’ve to take notice of the heated voices nearby. He was curled into a ball in the corner, tail over his eyes to block out the hideous artificial lighting of the twoleg nest. But something roused him from his sleep. The sound of shouting and then-- fighting? Here?

The fog briefly cleared from Honey’s mind as he tensed, instinct having him on his feet and prepared for the worst. His eyes scanned from the threat until he found the bundle of teeth and claws in the center of the nest. Black, white, and red fur flew along with the vivid crimson of blood. Honeylight tensed further. His mind flashed back to moons prior to the fight with the Dark Forest. It was the last time he had seen cats fighting with each other, so perhaps that is why even here of all places, he thought of Swiftheart’s white paw coming down on Fawnpatch’s throat.

He knew both Crookedpaw and Rowanpaw. Not well, he had not been able to get to know any cat well, but Rowanpaw had been one of the first to speak to him upon his arrival, and he and Crookedpaw had several conversations in passing. Both seemed like good cats, just as stressed and overwhelmed as the rest of them by all of this. And he knew the two were friends. Even in his addled state, he had noticed that much.

Honeylight lurched into motion. He didn’t hesitate before shouldering his way through the two fighting toms. He may be skinnier and weaker, but even a few weeks of neglect could not dimish his larger size and stature. “ENOUGH!” He raised his voice, booming and deep and louder than he can remember using it.

“What by the cursed stars has gotten into you two!? Have you both gone completely mad?” Honeylight hissed, standing between the two apprentices to prevent them from bowling into each other again. His head felt clearer than it had in days, but that didn’t make him feel any better. He may not be from either of their clans, but he had no desire to see two almost-warriors tear each other apart in the midst of this cursed place.

Rowanpaw

There was no time to be hurt by Crookedpaw's words. The apprentice had reached, claws outstretched, raking them over his muzzle. The pain was hot, and all the rage that had prompted him to strike in the first place swelled into wildfire through his nerves. Rowanpaw had started to backpedal, to shake the welling blood out of his vision, but that stupid rat kept talking– and being called a rogue, being called foxheart, stunned him long enough that he was easy to roll over when Crookedpaw bowled into him again.

There was no recovering from it, then. While he'd never been one to deny a challenge, nor to hurt his own ego, Rowanpaw might have stepped off if Crookedpaw cowed. Instead, hissing, they tore into each other, leaving spots of blood across the floor where they went. If that was how Crookedpaw wanted to be, then fine. Rowanpaw was equally shameless and relentless with his own weapons, uncaring when his claws dug in deeper than he should or blood welled against his tongue when his teeth sought flesh. He fought like his life depended on it. If the SkyClanner wanted to call him a rogue, then he would play the part of one; and if he would play the part of a rogue, that meant there was no warrior code to keep him from clawing his neck out.

He had never actually used his claws against another cat before, he realized right as they ripped across Crookedpaw's flank. Only ever, a goose, and... a fox. Both the beasts had earned more mercy from him than his fellow apprentice.

The realization was knocked out of his head by a sharp blow somewhere– it was hard to tell where all the soreness came from now –and Rowanpaw was rearing, ready to let his teeth find home in Crookedpaw's neck, when weight shoved into him and he was nearly knocked off his paws. He staggered, spat, shook his head to clear more blood– and realized, however hazily, that it was Honeylight. He was tempted to ignore the large tom, leap right over him and continue the fight, but what sounded like scolding kept his paws rooted in place. "No!" He started to protest, voice strained with frustration and exertion, when another cat came to push him back. His head whipped, bloodied maw curling to bare fangs at the second challenger... but it was Sootspirit. Though his body remained tense, tail whipping wildly back and forth and eyes blazing, he couldn't bring himself to spit at his brother, especially not when he looked so... hollow. "Don't–"

He was interrupted again, though the cat that barreled into him now did so with much more force than the others. Rowanpaw slipped backwards, blinking wide-eyed at Minksplash as she shoved him further away from the fight. His whiskers trembled, claws curling against the floor. There was the tiniest flicker of affection in his chest for his siblings, but he could hardly hear it over the pulse of his fury and pain. Especially when his blood sister spoke– he'd been peering around her, glaring hatefully at Crookedpaw, but his gaze immediately went to her.

What would Poppyshine say? Before he snapped at her, Rowanpaw looked down at his chest. Blood dripped off his muzzle, the initial cut still leaking blood. The lower part of his chest, usually dove-white and clean, was stained red too, wounds he hadn't even noticed in the heat of battle.

What would Poppyshine say, if she knew he'd been ready to tear out another Clan cat's throat moments ago?

The realization that he had been ready to do that hit him like a monster, and for a few moments, Rowanpaw only stared at his own fur, stunned. His mind whirled, disappointed faces flashing through it, and his jaw worked uselessly. Then, remembering his anger, he snapped his head back up. "You will have to remind me, sister," he hissed, tail starting to lash again. Speaking to his family so coldly made him ache– or just ache more, standing still for more than a second had let his body catch up to the fight he'd been through. He'd never been good at holding his tongue, though. "It has been nearly an entire season, has it not? Unfortunately, I may have forgotten the sound of her voice during my absence." It... it struck him harder than he thought it would, to say. The words wavered, hot with ire but shaking with misery. It was a lie... it was an exaggeration, he could still hear Poppyshine's sweet voice when he thought about it, but... the thought that one day, it might not be...

Rowanpaw jerked his chin stiffly upward, holding in a wince. His eyes were burning, though whether he'd shaken blood into them or it was a warning sign of tears, he wasn't sure. Silently, he begged it was the former.

Crookedpaw

Whereas Rowanpaw had his brother and sister to help hold him back and talk him down from his anger, Crookedpaw just had Honeylight acting as a wall between them. His body remained tensed and his claws scraped against the tile under paw.  His heart hammered in his chest. But with no cat actively clawing the fur out of him, Crookedpaw could feel his own heat and anger disintegrating. He wanted to remain angry. And he was, to a degree, angry. He was angry over every word that Rowanpaw had spat at him. He was angry for the bloody stings in his pelt and the worst pain on his chest. He was so, so angry.

But he was also tired. Was it really so bad what he did? Was Rowanpaw correct, in declaring that he was no true warrior because he tried to get something nice in this wretched place? Perhaps Rowanpaw was right. There he was with his sister and brother. What did Crookedpaw have? No one, aside from a twoleg who was busy in another room. A real kittypet after all.

Crookedpaw said no more, but he finally did turn away from the scene. He did not acknowledge Honeylight who had tried to keep them separated, and certainly did not give a second glance towards Rowanpaw or his siblings. He walked off to a corner of the room, facing away from all of the other cats. He started to lick and clean at his bloodied fur.

The mention of Rowanpaw’s mother made him think of his own mother. And his mentor, Blackbear, who surely would hate his soft kittypet attitude. And Rainpaw…was it really so wrong that he indulged in a kittypet life for a time, when a former kittypet was the best cat that Crookedpaw knew? He was not sure. His mind simply would not let him wonder.

When he had cleaned off a majority of the blood, he curled up tightly and shut his eyes. He shut himself out from hearing anything else from the other cats who had involved themselves in his fight. He shut out any thoughts of Rowanpaw. He shut out thoughts of home. Crookedpaw just wanted to sleep. Maybe he could convince himself that this whole afternoon was a terrible, awful dream, if only he could sleep.