#closuretainer

Warrior Cats AU starter for @ofdusk @plumeriinae @viridescent-lance @closuretainer @cavalry

He didn’t know why.

His owners had been fine. They fed him and left water out for him, and he’d enjoyed a life of comfort. Granted… they never pet him much, they hadn’t bought him a new toy for quite awhile, they never let him outside, and he didn’t have a lot to do, but he did sleep on nice carpet whenever he wanted. It was an alright life compared to this.

Jakob tilted his head back and yowled with frustration at the DIRT in his fur. 

There was dirt EVERYWHERE. Under him. In front of him. Behind him. Everywhere he looked in what he’d only ever seen from a window was dirt and dust and grime and trees and bugs and ewwwwwwwww!

He had to step on dirt to go anywhere, and it disgusted him. Jakob thoroughly licked his paws, legs, and tail clean, coughing up hair balls with a miserable scrunched up hiss. How was he supposed to survive without a bowl of food and daily swept floors? 

Jakob looked up to the sky, branches above him letting some sunlight through. He meowed pathetically and then yowled again, hoping his humans would hear and take him home. 

Nothing. 

He tip-toed forward, long tinted silver fur fluffed out with displeasure, striking violet eyes narrowed. Complaining again, he growled in time with his stomach, certain he was going to starve to death or come down with something from all the dirt nearby. 

Crinkle-crunch!

“MROOOOW!!!!!”

Doing a somersault, Jakob screeched and landed on his feet, hissing at the offending object he’d stepped on. It was brown with jagged edges… a leaf?

"YOU!"

Steel pierces through the delicately arranged pile of leaves before her, and Ash’s head shoots upright just as a yell cuts silences all of the other students in the yard.

Of course it doesn’t take more than a moment to recognize him -- standing some twenty feet away and clad in the exact same black and gold as she. Her mission’s entire focus glares across the courtyard, accompanied by the eyes of just about every other bystander.

She had hoped to make this reunion far less public.

“Elm,” a frown pulls at her lips as she pushes herself to stand. The dagger he had so kindly lodged in her lunch is removed, held away from her between two fingers with a look of something like disgust. 

“I had not anticipated seeing you here,” a lie, but there are too many onlookers and to reveal her true purpose would likely be foolish. “What a... peculiar coincidence this must be. For your Lady Embla and my Lord Askr’s own orders to align in such a way...”

Hopefully the little front of hers isn’t made too obvious -- betrayed by her expression or that nervous tone to her voice.

"That was you singing, wasn't it? Encore, oh, encore! A little word of advice though: lower the volume. Low enough so that nobody can hear it."

Rinea's head turns quickly, abandoning the books she had been organizing upon her desk. She hadn't heard the door open, and yet within its frame stands quite the jarring figure.

Hues of crimson spit poison masked in kindness and Rinea blinks twice, lips slightly parted. How is one meant to respond to such a thing?

( Tigridia -- a spotted flower often of striking color, meant to symbolize cruelty. )

"Would you shut up?! Having to look at your ugly mug is one thing, but watching you squeal like a pig is sure to drive anyone insane!"

self indulgent prompts — ( always accepting ! )

IT’S THE BLATANT AUDACITY that darkens ophelia’s expression in distress.  she gasps, a grimace set upon her face at the insults that fill the space of elm’s voice.  ignorant to the iron sword aimed at her.  sensory stimulates her vision, allowing her to at least bear witness to the distance between them.  the distance that either of them could easily cut down with little struggle.  despite the sheer anger that taints elm’s words, he easily adjusted his position into an offensive stance.  while he may be awful, he is clearly a master of weaponry.  even if it’s only over a stance or two.

and reason would call for ophelia to listen, seeing as though it is not her hand that wields iron.  but father did not raise a coward.   (   a fool, though, is questionable.  objective.  are you truly foolish for moving upon a belief?   )

“   me?!  obviously, you are quite the one to insult!   ”   ophelia pushes herself to her feet as she speaks, dusting her uniform off and unclipping the tome from her hip with a flick of her wrist.  her cape sways with the movement, sturdy enough for the magic that begins to hum throughout the expanse of her hand.   “   to mistake words of fate as squealing is insensitive.  downright atrocious!  and now i see that the ugliness of arrogance is in the eye of the spoken.   ”

sepia skin flushes at the repeated voice of his within her head.  her ugly mug?!  deserving of an insult, she is never!  as responsive as she hopes it is, the tome hovers and opens its pages, a glow of ambition that darkens the sky above elm’s head.  it is easy to miss if not for the crack of thunder that echoes immediately as ophelia aims her hands forward.  to be within the training hall only means to beckon forth the means of training.

“   you wish to hear the noise?  then i’ll make you squeal   —   BY CELICA’S WRATH, REXBOLT!!   ”   and that is the only warning to the pillars of lightning that strike down to target elm’s figure.  dark clouds crackle and simmer for each bolt that forms.