R.ain R.ain G.o A.way [come warriors!]

[{Otter}]

((This is a break-off from the other thread. Any ThunderClan cats are welcome to join )

"Get some Warriors to move the fresh-kill pile under some coverage. Singedpelt suggested near the Warrior's den."

Ginger head dipped in response to her leader's command, and Vixenfang's deep amber eyes watched the two cats tread out of the camp. The rain continued to fall, the fat, icy drops drenching her to the bone until she shivered slightly with cold. But rain couldn't stop the Clan from doing their duties, and it was time to awaken the cats who were still sleeping, warm and cozy, in the warriors den.

Mud squished beneath every pawstep as the scrawny ginger she-cat made her way back to the den. With one glance inside, Vixenfang's mind drifted to the wonderful idea of sleep...sleeping warm, dry, and comfortable beside her Clanmates. The thick leaves of the bush would stop most of the rain, though even the warriors den was not safe from all wetness.

Eyes hardened and Vixenfang shook her head roughly. Enough of that. She was the deputy now, and there was work to be done. Poking her head inside the dim den, she studied the steadily rising and falling of warriors' flanks as they no doubt lost themselves in all kinds of interesting dreams. Well, they were about to get a wakeup call. Literally.

"If any of you lazy kitties are still asleep by the time I get back to the freshkill pile, I'll make sure you're patrolling all day in this downpour," she mewed, just loudly enough to almost be yowling. Hey, they had to wake up, didn't they? "Rain's coming down like a waterfall out there, and the freshkill is getting drenched. Any of you want to eat soggy mice? Come on, now?"

[/b] her last sentence was broken by a slight purr as she withdrew back into the downpour. Vixenfang lifted her tail high and padded her scrawny body back towards the relatively large freshkill pile. Upon reaching it she sat, wrapped her dripping tail around her forepaws, and glanced back over her shoulder to see who was up and who wasn't.[/color][/b]
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[charlie]

TIMBERPELT

If there was ever a time when Timberpelt regretted living in a forest, now was most definitely it. He couldn't take a single step without his own weight pushing his massive paws into a mire of soggy leaves and pine needles, the bark on the trees was so water-logged that it gave beneath his claws if he tried to sharpen them, and every fern he brushed against only added to the unpleasant wetness of his fur, which must have weighed an additional five pounds by now. Needless to say, rainy days in the forest were not his favorite. At all.

The large warrior sneezed for what was probably the twelfth time as a wayward drop smacked him in the nose, almost making him drop the vole clamped in his jaws, and then proceeded to trip over himself into a healthily-sized puddle, ensuring once and for all that he would probably never be dry again.

"For the love of StarClan!" He bellowed in frustration, smacking angrily at the air with his legs, not even bothering to get out of the puddle. "Rain. Blasted, fox-hearted, StarClan-be-damned rain..." He grumbled, incensed, as he rolled to his paws, shaking his soaked pelt and picking up his catch once more, fully determined not to be defeated by something as pathetic as a bit of water.

After much muttering and defiant glares skyward, the warrior finally pushed his way into camp, completely water-logged, and in a decidedly foul mood. He didn't even bother to acknowledge the deputy sitting by the fresh-kill pile, dropping his catch amongst the others and glancing around, determined to find something or someone to vent on. Where in StarClan's name was everybody, anyway?!

[{Otter}]

None. Of. The. Warriors. Had. Followed. Vixenfang's deep amber gaze narrowed as she glared at the bush that was the warrior's den, seeing no sign of movement from within. StarClan help them if they don't get their sorry tails out here soon, she thought darkly, rising slowly to her paws as her tail lashed in irritation.

Through the heavy, soggy air a familiar scent reached her nostrils, and the scrawny ginger she-cat's head turned just as the massive, earth-colored form of Timberpelt pushed his way into the camp. He appeared to be in just as foul a mood as she was, and Vixenfang watched through narrowed eyes as he dumped his prey on the freshkill pile. Even freshly-caught, the vole was already soaked with icy water. Great. Even the prey the dawn patrol brought back would be wet and nasty.

"Yo, Timberpelt,"

[/b] she growled, ears flicking back when he didn't so much as acknowledge her. "Help me move this freshkill over to the warriors den. The rest of our 'partners' are too lazy to get their tails out in the rain." She really wasn't that annoyed, but Timberpelt was one of the only cats that would actually listen to her grumpiness, and she was perfectly willing to return the favor. He'd ranted often enough that she felt she deserved to take her annoyance out on him.

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[charlie]

Timberpelt turned an impassioned gaze onto the deputy, finally realizing she was there. He grunted noncommittally and shook his pelt, spraying water everywhere, including the fresh-kill pile. He opened his mouth as if to respond to her, looking fully ready to throw out some caustic, snarky retort-

-only to sneeze almost directly in her face.

"Ugh..." He grumbled, realizing exactly why he hadn't noticed Vixenfang before; he couldn't smell a thing. Apparently, the elements had further conspired against him and allowed him to get sick; just great.

"Lazy, or smart." He snapped angrily, though he didn't disobey. He snatched up as many pieces of prey as he could fit into his mouth, then stalked over to the aforementioned space of semi-dry ground, tail lashing in irritation.

"Why're you out in this nightmare, anyway? I would'a thought all the peace-loving 'warriors' would be holed up somewhere dry."

[{Otter}]

Several tails packed into her mouth, Vixenfang made her way across the muddy ground to where Timberpelt had dropped his load. The four or five mice hanging from the she-cat's mouth weighed down her scrawny body an almost embarrassing amount, and as she set the prey down onto drier ground by the warrior den, her dark amber eyes drifted over Timberpelt for a brief instant. He was large, this warrior, and very muscular. His attitude was one of confrontation and lack of fear. Sure, he wasn't very agile, but when strength was needed, Vixenfang knew Timberpelt was never lacking...her eyes narrowed in slight envy. Sure, Vixenfang was fast and had quick reflexes, and a biting grip almost unbreakable. But she was small, and no enemy was ever intimidated by her on first look. So why was she deputy of ThunderClan? Why not Timberpelt? Why not another warrior as large as he? What had Elkstar seen in her that made her more qualified? Oh, shut up, mousebrain, she thought, shaking herself roughly as she drew away from her pondering. You are what you are. StarClan has a plan... Right. She barely believed that.

"Why're you out in this nightmare, anyway? I would'a thought all the peace-loving 'warriors' would be holed up somewhere dry."

"Don't get me started,"

[/b] Vixenfang growled in reply, glaring up at the dark sky with loathing. "Real warriors don't hide in the den just because of a little splash from StarClan." With that, her amber eyes shot towards the dark entrance of the warrior's den. "And what about you? You seem to adore this weather we're having. Why aren't you curled up all comfy in the den?"

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[charlie]

"The Clan needs prey, and someone's gotta go out and get it." Timberpelt replied as he returned with a second mouthful of prey-creatures, the entirety of the pile almost already moved; it was a little depressing to see how little prey there was on the pile. He wasn't much of a hunter, and it was of secondary interest to him on any day, but suddenly the single vole he had brought back seemed far too little. He hadn't even intended to hunt when he went out early that morning, but nevertheless...

"If we all holed up in the warriors' den whenever there was a bit of bad weather, nothing'd ever get done; I have to deal with enough incompetence already." He snorted, looking the new deputy up and down, as if assessing a prey-creature. He was not envious of her position; rank meant next to nothing in his opinion, but he sometimes doubted Elkstar's decision in her appointment. Sure, she had a strong jaw on her, but could he see her as leader in a dozen or so moons? He wasn't sure. Strength was what he respected above all things, and if the way the she-cat was drooping under the fresh-kill's weight was any clue, she didn't have a lot of it. The ever-present aggression in his eyes sparkled mirthlessly.

Without warning, he sneezed again, puffing out his pelt as he did so. He shook his massive head, blinking his eyes rapidly.

"As if I didn't see enough of Dawnheart already." He mewed with a scowl, ears flattening to his head. It was common knowledge amongst the clan that the gargantuan tom loathed the medicine cat's den, and everything that came along with it.

[{Otter}]

As she watched Timberpelt pad back with another mouthful of prey, Vixenfang considered getting him to go on patrol with her. She, too, had noticed the pitifully small amount of prey, and it bothered her. Surely rain shouldn't be stopping them from providing for the Clan. However, the massive tomcat placed his mouthful of prey down and spoke...and her fluffy ginger fur would have bristled had it not been plastered to her skinny frame.

"I have to deal with enough incompetence already."

The statement itself would not have bothered her. Yeah, there was plenty of incompetence in the Clan at times, and it often got on her nerves. No warrior was perfectly on-task all the time, and there were always weak links. But...as her gaze drifted from the freshkill pile to the face of her fellow warrior, she caught the look (which, after all, he didn't seem to be trying to hide). That demeaning, undermining look that she had suffered through all throughout apprenticeship. Oh, yes, she was the shrimp. She was the midget of the Clan. Blah, blah, blah. Had she not proven herself yet?


There was nothing Vixenfang valued more than honesty. Beating around the bush, hinting at subtle things, strange (even if obvious) looks...she appreciated none of that. In fact, she loathed it. And she wasn't tactful enough to make her opinion known without flatly blurting it out, and she didn't have enough patience to find out if he was meaning to insult her. "Come on, Timberpelt. Say what you're thinking," She challenged, amber eyes narrowed into slits as she padded forward. Having to look up to see his face didn't help, but she didn't care. A growl rumbled from her throat as she lashed her sopping tail. The rain was slowing, the fat, cold drops lessening so that there was no longer a constant rivulet of rainwater rushing down her pelt. The back of her mind realized hunting would be reasonably good now. She'd go out soon....her mind shifted away from those thoughts and focused on the large tomcat standing before her. "Or are you too much of a coward to say it? Am I incompetent, Timberpelt?"

[/b]

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[charlie]

Timberpelt's lips drew back over his teeth in a sardonic smile, achingly close to a snarl, his eyes glittering with pleasure. This was what he needed to vent his bad mood; leave it to fiery Vixenfang to give him the rush of confrontation that he needed.

"I never specified you, woman." He spat, ears flicking forward, shoulder-blades jutting dangerously. "But since we're on the subject, I may as well speak my mind; I know you appreciate that." He smirked, getting right in the deputy's face.

"I've seen how you fight; you dance around real pretty, lay on your fancy moves, but in the end the only thing about you that's strong is your bite." His black-striped hackles rose slightly, giving the aggression in his eyes an animalistic look. "I'm slow, and I know it, but I make up for it by never going down, no matter how badly they hurt me. You're agile, but what happens when you find an enemy who's as fast as you, and as strong as me? What ace do you have up your sleeve, woman?" He backed up slightly, raising his massive head high, grinning at her viciously down his muzzle.

"Frankly, I won't believe you can handle it until I see it for myself."

[{Otter}]

Well...truth be told, she did really appreciate his honesty. His words, while rude, were bluntly honest, and he delivered his verdict in the same way she would have--plain and simple. No beating around the bush. Were it any other topic, she might have calmed down. Her fur might have flattened, her ears might have pricked back up, and she might have been okay with everything. But...not this topic. She had spent too many moons being looked down upon because of her size. Even as a deputy she couldn't escape it. There was no point in pretending she was okay with that. Plus, what he was saying was a pile of foxdung.

"And I see the way you fight, Timberpelt,"

[/b] she retorted as she glared up (yes, up, and she hated that fact) into the warrior's pale yellow eyes. "You throw your bulk around, you land big ol' punches that can knock most cats out, but when faced with a fast cat, you're left looking like a blind badger. Faced with a scrawny little dancer, and you're too slow to land a single blow."[/b]

Her voice has risen steadily, and as she opened her mouth to growl out something else, a realization struck her like a physical force. They were out in the open camp, growling loud enough for any cat to hear. They couldn't do this...they were both too influential to be making a scene like this. She was the deputy of ThunderClan, and he was one of the strongest warriors they had. What kind of message did this send to anyone watching? So Vixenfang lowered her voice. She was too stubborn to stop talking yet. "You're strong, Timberpelt,"[/b] she hissed quietly, ears flattening as she studied his face. "But you're no more competent than I am. What happens when you find an enemy who's as strong as you, and as fast as me?" Such a cat didn't exist. She knew it. He probably knew it, too. Bulk didn't come with speed. Speed didn't come with bulk. Simple laws of nature. Everyone had their weaknesses.
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[charlie]

Timberpelt's vicious grin widened as his jabs elicited the desired response from the deputy, a rumbling growl vibrating deep in his chest as his claws slid out, digging gouges into the muddy earth beneath them as they flexed.

"Woman, if you had any idea what you've just said..." He snarled, blatantly ignoring the hint to quiet down; he already had a reputation for being confrontational and angry, what did he care if he added some fuel to an already burning fire? "I have waited for that day my entire life; when I meet an enemy that can give me a challenge, that can truly beat me. I've never lost a single battle, but I haven't won one either; someone always has to turn tail and flee, whether by orders or cowardice, and that's little more than a victory by default. When I find an opponent that can fight me until I drop, until I can't so much as flick an ear, or hell, until I die, well...let's just say I'll be able to die happy."

"What about you?" The tom asked tauntingly, resisting the urge to start circling. "Do you have the guts, the rock-solid foundation to lead a clan? To be honest, I could care less, but you did ask for my opinion, eh?" At this point, he was just trying to get a further rise out of the ginger she-cat, trying to keep the spat going. Immature? Maybe. But damnit if he wasn't getting stir-crazy chasing down voles and sloshing through the mud all day.

[{Otter}]

That was it. She'd tried her best to back off from the fight, to give him a chance to get out. But no, he'd decided to flare it up again. Stupid mousebrain. "How old are you?"

[/b] she spat, tail lashing furiously. "Hearing all this, I hardly think your mind is advanced enough to be a warrior."[/color] What kind of warrior continued a fight like this? She shouldn't let it keep going, but...she couldn't back down now.

"You are a fool," she snarled, keeping her voice low. She refused to be the one who caught all of the Clan's attention. "You may only be interested in a good fight, but I actually care about my Clan. Like a wild little apprentice, you just want a challenge. I care about ThunderClan surviving. What would I do if faced with a cat I couldn't defeat?"

She grew silent for a moment, playing through a scenario in her mind. There she was, in the midst of battle, and faced with a cat she couldn't possibly defeat. What would she do if that ever happened? After a few long moments, she looked up with hard eyes. If what she was about to say didn't used to be true, it sure was now. If only true from this moment onward, at least it was true. Timberpelt had made her think of something she'd never really thought of before.

"I would not let myself die and leave my Clan without a deputy,"[/b] she decided at last, eyes narrowing in resolve. "I would lead them out of the battle. I would call for help. I’m not afraid to admit my weaknesses. You may only care about dying in an epic battle—I care about living to keep my Clan strong and safe." She did have the ability to take Elkstar's place one day. Whether Timberpelt "cared" or not, she knew she did. "I have the makings of a leader because I care more about ThunderClan’s lives than my own honor—I could lose a battle. I would retreat if I had to. It would hurt my pride, but I’d do it. I would live until I had to retire and die an elder, if I had to. But I would not die and leave my Clan in chaos. I can make that choice."

She spat on the ground. Hell if she didn't respect Timberpelt for what he'd said. He wasn't lying, she knew--he really did want to fight a cat that would truly give him a challenge. Few warriors longed for that with such resolve and courage. Vixenfang, proud as she was, sometimes harbored such feelings, but never had she really longed for it. But...if Timberpelt ever did get his wish, what would that mean for the forest? What would that mean for the Clans? A cat who was as fast as Timberpelt and as fast as she...surely such a cat could take over.

"You say you've been waiting for the day when you'd find a cat that would finally defeat you. I hope to never see that day,"[/b] she mewed finally, shaking her head roughly at the very idea. Surely StarClan wouldn't let such a thing happen. "I hope and pray to StarClan that we are never faced with such a warrior, for the sake of ThunderClan. You think that cat would stop at killing you? No. It'd take over all of ThunderClan, so while you're smiling up in StarClan about how great you fought, your Clan would be picked off by that cat. And we wouldn't have you to toss your weight around and help us survive."[/b] She shook her head, tail lashing with what was not so much fury as it was frustration. Was she getting through his thick head? "Dead and gone, with the rest of your Clan left to struggle through life. Yes, what a wonderful way to die."[/b]

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[charlie]

Timberpelt blinked, seemingly stunned by her words, though his position remained resolute and his expression firm. His tail ceased to lash, lying limp in the mud like a dead snake as his saffron eyes scrutinized his deputy, letting her words sink in, taking in the fire in the she-cat's gaze, and her unrelenting stance. He frowned just slightly, head tilting just a fraction as his brows knitted together.

He knew himself to be a loyal warrior of ThunderClan, whatever his ideals might be, and her words made him think, at least for a moment. He knew that all he wanted to do with his life was fight; it was his nature, his birthright. When it came right down to it, the rush of combat was the only thing that made him feel truly alive, that excited him. He knew that it was just about all he was good for, and damn if he wasn't illogically pleased by it; they were called warriors, after all - there would always be need for strong fighters, fighters brave enough to support their Clan with everything they had. He didn't desire, had never desired the destruction of his Clan; what he wanted with all his heart was to fulfill his purpose, to test and push himself until be found his limits, then push past them with obstinate tenacity. He didn't desire chaos because he wanted to see his Clan fall, he desired chaos because he wanted a chance to protect it. In the heat of battle, nothing mattered but he and his opponent, and he lived for that.

But Vixenfang, she was different. She had just as much fire in her soul as any warrior, but she had an intelligence, a sense of ethics that he utterly lacked. He knew it was an admirable quality, but he couldn't quite bring himself to respect it. To accept defeat was not the warrior way! To look one's enemy in the eye, then turn and flee? Cowardice, not reason! Unswayed, he glared at the deputy with a certain degree of condescension.

"Well, we can't all be politicians, can we?" He rumbled with a bitter grin. "That's your job. I never asked for anyone to depend on me, or to be important to anyone; when I'm dead and gone, you'll just have to put that diplomacy to work and find your own solution, yeah? Cowards have their own way of surviving; otherwise there wouldn't be any left." He laughed venomously, a frank, reverberating sound that made his chest vibrate.

[{Otter}]

((*heavy sigh* I started reading this post and I was like, "Yay! The fight is ending!" And yet...x.x Good ol' Timberpelt ^.^ I like this, though...it's so easy to write plenty o.O))

Several long moments of silence met her final words. Timberpelt seemed to actually be taking what she'd said into account...he seemed to actually be thinking about her words. How strange, but...good? She supposed so.

The rain had lightened until it was hardly even sprinkling. A few fat drops fell here and there, bouncing off leaves of bushes and stones and, in doing so, bringing to life a sort of music. Plink. Plink. Plank. Plop. Plop. Plink. Over and over again. It was almost soothing...except not for Vixenfang. She didn't like water. Even the sound of it bothered her. At least her fur was starting to dry--on impulse she sat down and began to rapidly lick her chest in an attempt to clean the mud and cold rainwater from the ginger fur. There wasn't much point--the camp was covered in mud. She shouldn't really bother with her fur for the next few moons.

Naively, Vixenfang figured the argument was over. Timberpelt was quiet. He was thinking, although...the look on his face wasn't one of submission, but of resolve. Of course. He wasn't the kind of cat to be swayed by just one conversation. He had his beliefs, and he'd stick to them. Vixenfang had to respect that, somehow.

And then that look! Oh, she hated that look. Elders had used it when she was younger, older warriors had used it when she was just an apprentice...any cat who thought they could look down on her because of her size. This time it wasn't just about size, she realized, but it didn't matter. The look was the same, and her hackles raised automatically.

"Cowards have their own way of surviving; otherwise there wouldn't be any left."

His first words didn't surprise or bother her. She could take the honesty there. She might not like it, but she respected the blunt, frank words. But...no respectable cat could just sit idly by when the word "coward" is flung in her face. Even so, Vixenfang was sick and tired of this. The argument had exhausted her--she didn't get to let go like this very often. Usually she had to maintain the image of reasonably-amiable deputy. But...something about this tomcat just made her tail twitch angrily. Perhaps it was the fact that, despite what she didn't like about him, he was still a huge asset to ThunderClan. Still possibly the strongest warrior muscle-wise. And brave enough to plunge into any battle he was called to fight. So she couldn't just dismiss and ignore him, even if he was a thick-headed mousebrain. That was what bothered her.

But...she raised her head and looked him in the eyes. He was stronger than her, he was tougher her, he was possibly even more stubborn than she. But he was not the deputy of ThunderClan. "Until you're "dead and gone", Timberpelt, you'll just have to answer to this coward,"

[/b] she hissed, her voice as low as it had ever been the entire conversation. "ThunderClan listened to me in the Second Battle at Fourtrees. I didn't prance about hoping to be deputy--it never even crossed my mind. But whether subconsciously or not, our Clan chose me to lead under Elkstar. StarClan forbid I should last longer than Elkstar's final life, but, if I do, let StarClan decide if I'm not fit to lead my Clan. If the judgment of our Clanmates isn't enough, is StarClan's judgment good enough for you?"[/b]

She sat back, glaring up at Timberpelt as she waited. Would he keep it up? Clearly they weren't going to agree. It just wouldn't happen. And whatever, so be it. Not every Clanmate had to get along.
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[charlie]

((Sorry for the short post, my brain fails at life today. XP))

"I suppose it'll have to be." Timberpelt mewed, that aggressive grin still plastered across his maw; he was enjoying this little spat, to be honest. Not near the physical fight that he craved, but he knew better than to try to find that in his own clan; he never sparred with his clanmates, if only for the reason that he found it difficult to keep his claws sheathed and his fangs behind his lips.

"StarClan's made mistakes before, but only time will tell, eh?" He drew closer, until they were virtually nose-to-nose, then smirked. "As for me, my opinions are unchanged until you see fit to prove me wrong. I dare you." With a final lash of his lengthy tail, he turned to the fresh-kill pile they had just moved and snatched up a mouse of semi-decent size, just large enough to offer his sizeable body a boost of energy. He'd need it, if the beginnings of a cold he could feel in his chest were any sign. He'd be damned if he'd be kept from his duties by so intangible an enemy as a common illness.

The great tom padded over to an overhang of brush, where the ground was fractionally more dry, and proceeded to sink his fangs into the soggy, water-logged meat, grunting in displeasure at the flavor. It was as if he no longer noticed the deputy at all, as if nothing had transpired.

[{Otter}]

((That's okay ^.^ Sorry, I don't have it in me right now to continue the fight. We can strike up another one later )

He would regret all this soon. Vixenfang glared after the large tomcat as he turned his back on her and snatched up a piece of freshkill. She wasn't one to let something like this go by unpunished. Just because she was deputy now didn't mean her vengeful attitude had tapered away. Just as she swore to find the fox that had killed her father, she swore to make Timberpelt eat his words one day. How, she didn't know. Only time would tell.

"Watch your words, mousebrain,"

[/b] she growled quietly, perhaps loudly enough for him to hear, perhaps not. "You may be big, but you aren't fast enough to lay a single claw on me."[/b] Of course she wouldn't attack him. Of course he wouldn't attack her. Who knew what would become of a fight like that? On one hand, she'd be able to dance around the bulky tomcat and lay scratch upon scratch on him. He'd never touch her. On the other hand, if she did let her guard down even once, he'd pin her and there would be no chance for her to get free. So...the only conclusion she could come to was that it was good that they were both loyal members of the same Clan.

An odd feeling of pleasure pricked her mind as she watched Timberpelt feast on his waterlogged, frosted little mouse. A moment later she reproved herself--this was no way to think. If the Clan was having to survive off soggy prey, that was nothing to find pleasure in. Leafbare had barely begun; the prey would become scarcer and scarcer. Less soggy, yes, but covered in more frost. Get it together, mousebrain, she thought, flicking her ears black in irritation. It's time to get your tail out of this camp and hunt.

She stopped, a flicker of eagerness sparking in her gaze. Rabbits! In her mind, the Moorlands belonged to no Clan yet, no matter what ShadowClan or RiverClan said. And only a few cats were fast enough to hunt rabbits well...and she was one of them, without a doubt. One of the few. And Timberpelt was as far from a rabbit-hunter as...well, as the east was from the west. This was one thing she could take pride in.

The rain had even stopped, which allowed a little pleasure to seep into Vixenfang's irritated mind. Her tail was almost high and her ears were almost pricked forward as she turned her own back on Timberpelt and trotted towards the camp entrance. Every pawstep made mud squelch between her toes, but at least there was no water coming from above. Perhaps the Moorlands would be drier.
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