Riff Raff 𝙙𝙤𝙣'𝙩 𝙢𝙚𝙨𝙨 𝙖𝙧𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙙 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙝 𝙟𝙞𝙢 ✼ [ 𝙧𝙚𝙩𝙪𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙝𝙤𝙢𝙚 ]

[Leroy]

Pawsteps thunder under the weight of full bellies and raucous company. The congregation of rowdy cats rolls against the beat of night, enjoying every moment of revelry. Their trajectory is towards home; that ratty little strip of paved stone and desolation, sandwiched between a dark and boarded up structure of some sort, and an equally unimpressive twoleg nest.

An alleyway is what the kittypets would call it. But the Riff-Raff ain't just alley cats. They're a phenomenon unto themselves, and the land they rule over is far greater than this dingy stretch of ground.

"AND I SAID, 'LOOKS LIKE YER RUMP HIT EVERY BRANCH ON THE WAY DOWN FROM THE UGLY TREE'!" Leroy would roar in an overzealous burst of laughter, as he rounded the corner to their home. He's just finishing up a ribald anecdote about that one time he jumped over a kittypet's fence, beat the ever-living snot out of the cat in his own backyard- "AND I STOLE ALL HIS KIBBLE AFTERWARDS, WITH THE DOGS WATCHIN', TOO!"

All it takes is a story of a trivial conquest, spun with embellishment and vulgar pomp, to have his fellow ruffians and vagrants chuffed with delight. The gang stands strong on stories like these - from all cats almost equally - thriving on the notoriety and legends of the acts that get them the food off other's tables. Together, they live as lions among mice. And though they tend to dive into the twolegs' crowfood and discarded goods on occasion, the bottom line is that no one goes hungry.

Pale lamplight spills over the entryway to the alley. Two goons guarding its entrance pick up from their indolence to welcome in their peers. Many voices spill together, falling in a crumpled heap of noise that seeps across the stone. It is all garbled, broken fragments of boasts and retorts in kind. Insults, petty jabs, puns, comebacks, you name it. These cats were family in all but blood, and shared the same confidence of strength that made them certain of their survival in the streets.

All that laughter has Leroy heaving, as though trying to push up a burden lodged within his gut. He loiters behind a little ways, no longer sauntering but slinking, where he can watch and listen to the others for a moment. Those keen emerald eyes of his glide across his companions' forms in a reflective tilt, before they come to a skidding halt on the fleabag nearest to him.

"Well, well!" the tom remarks. His teeth spread in an ebullient sneer, beaming. "Whad'ja get up to tonight, tough fella? Strut around town showin' off yer mangy hide or what?"

// RIFF! RAFF! THE FUN BEGINS! @Haunted Plush @deidre @beatles @senatorwii @lavs @euphoria @ovenemoji @nanocoffee @shinyotachi

 

[Chili]

"Hah."
Chili flicks an ear at his leader, not making eye contact, which some might assume was out of arrogance, but was really just the way he was. He thought it more rude to stare someone down, anyway. If anything, he was being more respectful.
"Yeah, I had a cat come up to me with a look on their face, and I thinks to myself, 'oh, heah we go.'" Chili talks with his paws, gesturing and nodding his head as he speaks, relaying the story to Leroy.
"'So they tells me that there's some kinda infestation goin' on, some rodent problem, opossums or raccoons or sumthin'. Nothin' any capable cat should be worried about. So I says to them, I says, 'Well, ya best go take care of it, then!' But 'a coirse dey says 'nooo there's too many of em! It ain't like no little rat family, there's a whole whorde of em! Like nothin' I ain't ever seen before!'"
He sighs, as if tired from dealing with the other cats.
"Anyways, I takes a small patrol out with me to see what's what. I took that cat with me too, even though they said they didn't wanna. Gave em a swat ovah the eah for that one."
Chili swipes his paw, claws extended. He grins a little as he does.
"Aftah a while, we gets to the place, and I havfta say they wasn't lyin', there's what seems like a whole swarm of em. But you already know I took care of em lickety-split, knockin' em out left n right. And eh, the rest of the patrol helped too. But don't worry boss, we won't be seein' the likes of them for a while, I thinks. Might need to check up on it again sometime, but I think I chased em off pretty good."
He puff out his chest and a smug smirk spreads across his muzzle, and he turned to show Leroy his flank.
"Plus I got me a spiffy new souvenir to rememba my victory by." He had three thin parallel scratches on his side, under his dark thick fur. They looked like they were pretty fresh, and had only recently stopped bleeding. Chili's whiskers twitched with pride at them.

 

[Swan]

Swan watches the interaction from a few paces away, calm in the face of the rowdy atmosphere as she groomed the dirt from her fur. She had been one of the cats to join Chili on his little excursion—not to do any exterminating, but to chase after any rodents trying to hide and shove them towards another cat's waiting claws. It wasn't the typical kind of thing she'd consider fun, but she wasn't going to say no if a trustie was offering. It hadn't been a challenge, but it was exhausting—what does a rodent need that many family members for, anyway?

Oh well, Swan thought, swiping a licked paw over her ear, seeing Chili swat at that pinhead was worth it. Should know better than to try and skimp out on something a trustie says.

​

 

[selma]

Selma

Selma had been half dozing on the windowsill of the abandoned twoleg nest when a portion of the little group she joined up in the alley, loud voices bouncing off the stone walls. She merely opened a ruby eye to observe them silently, internally sighing as she acknowledged this would no longer be a spot to gain some beauty sleep. Not with all the chatting of stories. Unfortunate yet not surprising. Stretching out her limbs briefly, the cream feline began to groom herself as the casual chattering reached her ears. Perhaps her attempt at beauty sleep can occur later, once this group had run down their excitement for the night. Oh well.

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[Cheese]

Padding across the alley, Cheese watched his mate talking with his leader from afar, not joining in as he stayed back. He had been assigned to go with that group earlier, although he was about to find something to eat when he was called. He didn't want to go, but he knew better than to talk back to Chili. His stomach was still empty now, and he hadn't had a chance to find anything yet. At this point, it was probably better to wait until Chili brought him something anyway.
"I never had to wait this long to eat with my housefolk," he muttered under his breath.

 

[Latte]

LatteRiff-Raff​

She had heard the rowdy group from several streets away on her perch, a half rotten fence that ran along the confines of the abandoned twoleg den they all called home. Tufted ears pricked to catch any new gossip before it would be practically yowled in her face when they arrived. Nothing new, nothing particularly interesting or out of the ordinary. Ah well, perhaps another day. Maybe she'd hear something juicy the next time she wandered outside the twolegplace. Those forest cats seemed to be struggling, last she heard. Latte didn't envy them one bit, fighting amongst each other for every last scrap of food one could find, even if she felt she was hiding right under Leroy's nose. This still felt like the better option. Marginally.

With a stretch the cat jumped down from the fence as the group neared, purr rising in her throat.

"Welcome back~! Hear anything interesting while you all were out~?" The question was a near sing-song tone, meant to butter up her fellows into perhaps sharing more with her than they normally would. Some had grown wise to the act, others, not so much. "You at least have to have had some fun, I could hear you from two streets away." She chuckled to herself.

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[NIKOLAI]

Many personalities comprised the infamous Riff-Raff, ranging from smooth-talking manipulators to unhinged cold-blooded killers to loud and boisterous macho men like Leroy. Nikolai supposes that he had always been somewhat of an outlier in that sense. Not that he was the only reserved feline in the group, but a majority of his comrades were so... colorful. Nik was drab and dull, a stone-faced gargoyle who lurked in Leroy's shadow and carried out the crew's dirty work like a dutiful working hound. The bruiser was not to be mistaken for a mindless subordinate who would blindly follow Leroy to the ends of the earth — although the rogue would follow him far, there was a limit. He had yet to reach it, though.

For the past several seasons, Nikolai was content with playing the role of a solemn attackdog as opposed to a rowdy troublemaker. The ragtag crew had picked him up off the streets when he was a fresh adult; he owed his full belly and survival to them all, really. The Maine Coon would be aimlessly wandering the city ( or even dead ) if not for them. Their rip-roaring and unruly nature was grating to Nik at times—unnecessary and chaotic for the sake of chaos—but he hadn't a reason to turn his back on them... yet.

Leroy and his chosen lackeys for the day were back, with the rest of the crew flocking to him like pigeons to breadcrumbs. The brute watches the scene unfold through a steady ochre gaze; cats exchange stories of the day's conquests like usual. It was nothing substantial, really. Nik, for one, had a rather uneventful day. Perhaps tomorrow would present an opportunity for him to use actually the muscle that made him a Bruiser.

𝐌𝐎𝐒𝐓 𝐏𝐄𝐎𝐏𝐋𝐄 𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐊 𝐀𝐓 𝐇𝐈𝐌 ✹ . + ˚ · 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐑𝐎𝐑 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐅𝐄𝐀𝐑

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  — nikolai / 22 moons / he/him
  — bruiser of the riff-raff
  — lh solid black maine coon w/ rusting, amber eyes. scars litter his form but are prominently present on his face.
  — click for tags

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[Leroy]

Every victorious venture culminates in this well-worn tradition. Tales of triumph and merriment, about the spoils reaped and the vanquished left behind. There is no shortage of eager mouths, all too willing to spill and share. This is one of many reasons why the Riff-Raff thrives. They live for every moment of glory, and the stories they weave are a great unifier of spirits. A morale booster, if you would, as well as a bottom-line motivation for keeping on with their exploits.

Leroy is pleased. His olive-green eyes are bright with interest whilst Chili recounts his excursion, rolling through the rat-culling event with all the dramatic fluff of a yarn ball. When the dark-furred lummox swivels his flank to put on display the battle wounds, he cannot help but offer his own take. "Well, lookie here," mouthes the head honcho amid his appraisal, bending down to examine the mottled scrapes along Chili's flank, before he sits upright with an approving simper. "Could give ya a meaner-lookin' one myself, but I think ya wear it well. Imagine ya had yerselves a fine ol' feast after the fact. Good on ya!"

With the facetious threat still hot on his lips, the heat of it burns itself into a cackle that fills his throat. A beat later, and a toothy grin is left in its wake, splitting the head honcho's splotched muzzle in a jagged crescent. His ears prick at a nascent murmur from somewhere unseen; sounded like Cheese's timid warble, though he's too distracted by another voice piping up to check. Latte is making a beeline for him and the rest, a smarmy tone and expression plastered over her pretty face. He can practically sniff her out when she's in a piquing mood. Howbeit, it doesn't bother him any.

"You bet we've heard things," he remarks to the molly, tail lashing in a to-and-fro swing, as the fur along his spine begins to bristle. "Said things got me thinkin' 'bout things, too. Got some ideas on how we'll keep the food comin' in steady, and in bigger portions." His eyes flicker towards the assembled crowd, and he takes one moment to scan the area, in order to spot any cats who might be loitering. Among the lot is a sooty figure, shrouded in shadow and silent as the dead of night. Tall, dark, and brooding. "C'mon over here, Nikolai. Come, come." One paw beckons the bruiser nearer, and his voice rises into a boom: "Everyone, round up! I've got some things I'd like to discuss."

It doesn't take long for the others to settle around him in a hodgepodge of colours and shapes. Once every cat within earshot is seated and listening, Leroy clears his throat, and begins his spiel. "There's a reason we do what we do." There's a pause in the air, as if the leader were fishing for confirmation that his audience was indeed listening. "We're the strongest cats here. The smartest, the toughest. We fight, and we win. And we fight for food, for all of us. We've had a few good nights of eatin' well, but I'm not gonna lie 'round like a deadbeat and wait 'til we're all hungry again. Especially if our... collective is gonna keep growin'."

That last word is stressed with a particular inflection, a certain lilt. The coals of ambition stir in his belly, fanning into sparks that light his irises in a bright green flame. "We need a bigger slice o' this pie, or else we're gonna starve. So, to make it short, sweet, an' simple, I'm gonna be makin' some moves an' expandin' our territory. All of twolegplace ain't gonna be big enough for us soon." His head cocks to the left, away from the alley, and in the direction of the greater, wider beyond. That, and the shipyard, and the barn, and the forest. Everything. "Before the next full moon, I wanna pay a visit to them cats hangin' about the docks, an' the ones skulkin' around that barn. They're livin' real cosy, I've heard. Probably more food than they know what to do with."

By now, he is practically chomping at the bit, as he continues. "Now, I'm not lookin' to start up trouble, least not at first. We're gonna ask nice-like, an' see how much they're willin' to part with. If they're stingy, though, well... the Riff-Raff's got plenty'a goons 'n bruisers to make sure they're givin' us a fair cut." His tail flicks, lashes, and then curls behind his haunches, the tip of it a blur in motion. "We're all gonna eat, and eat good. An' that means no slackers. You wanna be a lazy fleabag, find yerself some twolegs, or take yer chances out in the wild. I don't want no-one bringin' us shame. Got it?"

It is a rhetorical question, but his tone leaves no room for negotiation. The gang will follow his orders to the letter, or else they will not belong here. That is just the way things work around these parts.

 

[ZII]

ZII OF THE RIFFRAFF

The orange eyes peer down from the place the tom had claimed his own for now after a few jabs and sneers to another who had tried to take it from him and received a few swats in return. He observed, as ever he did, the tip of his tail twitching every now and then as he listened to the interaction between Leroy and Chili, ears pricking forward momentarily. He listened to the story told, intrigued... Watched the movements of Chili as he spoke, his upperlip curling in a toothy grin momentarily. These rag tag group he called his home, or the closest thing to a home he's ever had. The sharp eyes shift, eyeing the markings left on Chili's body. There is a certain pride to the way it is shown, and understandably so. It was a sign of survival, it was a sign of being the better one, the one who lived to tell the tale in a sense.

His eyes soon drifted to their infamous leader, one scarred ear twitching once as he watched the other's reactions to what Chili had been saying. A cat who knew how to get on top and stay on top, surely their leader was one who demanded respect as well as earned it, one could say. It could be a pain sometimes, of course. But that was the way of the world of the riff raff.

He let his eyes wander some more, watching the cats who were paying attention to the conversation at hand. A mixture of emotions and replies... His eyes lingered momentarily to a cat that remained in the back, didn't quite join them... Wasn't that the mate of the one who so lavishly spoke of his conquest? Odd for him to linger back... Squinting his eyes, he turned away.

A voice that piped up, familiar to his ears. Ah, Latte had joined them too. It caused a fanged grin to touch at his muzzle, glancing toward her for a second. He couldn't quite get his paw on her yet... But he supposed she could prove to come in handy. It was a shame she claimed to hate fighting, however. With her size, she could be a brilliant one.

His ears swivelled to the side, listening to Leroy as he spoke before finally the grin faded into a look of intrigue as the tom stated he had something to share with them. Laziness aside, he finally pushed himself into a sitting position, gazing down curiously as he watched the others join in on the fray. A second longer, he jumped down from his perch, landing with a thud on the ground and lightly brushing against Latte in a greeting of sorts. " Whatta delight t'see your face around here, Lat. " he purred, settling himself down and gazing at Leroy as he started talking. The tom was right, they were pretty much the best lot that could be found here. Nobody was stupid enough to make trouble with them, it usually didn't end well for the other party.

Ah, the shipyard cats. " Sounds like a good place, they're sure t'have 'nough food layin' 'round. " drawled the spotted tom, a lazy grin to his face. " I'm sure they'll see reason."

ARM YOURSELF, A STORM IS COMING ——･ﾟ✦​

･ﾟ✦ —— Well kid, what you gonna do now?

 

[Jophiel]

As if she was completely alone, Jophiel stayed in the cardboard box it was laying in as the leader approached their home base, not looking up from the bone she was gnawing on as he struck up a conversation with one of his trustees. It ground and pinched at the bone with her fangs like there was perhaps something important inside, or like it had done something to her personally. But it was just one of those strange things it did. No one tried to understand anymore, which was all the same to it anyway. It seemed to never notice anything that mattered, the plans that were made, conversations that were had, anything real that happened. It only noticed things that, conveniently, no one else ever saw or heard. Voices. Flashes of fur from cats who weren't part of the gang. If you ever caught it at the right time, you could swear that one blind eye was seeing right through you. But as Leroy had everyone leap to attention, Jophiel's eye remained focused on the task at paw. Although if you looked, you would notice the ear that remained pricking towards that direction, listening to his voice as he rallied his troupe. By the time he'd finished, it was sitting up, staring out with a wide eyed yet distant look on her face, jaw slightly open.​

"Hmm, Jophiel smells mischief, it does..."
She went back to its bone, chattering teeth sliding over the hard dry surface.

"Blood will be spilt, blood it says..."