Private MAKE YOUR OWN LUCK ☽ vanilla

[vampire]

Talk of spirit-blessings and patrons and fresh names is all well and good, but it's still just that: talk. While Sable sorts through the particulars of paws and kits, Vampire has made a decision of their own. The young of their Clan cannot go defenseless, armed only with haphazard experience and hotblooded instinct. What if, stars forbid, Hawthorne's dregs decided it were time to take a stab at their budding Clan's heart? To seek vengeance?

Unlikely, but still possible. Possible enough to unsettle Vampire.

" Vanilla. "

He thinks that's the name of the young cat with the thick black mane. A good head on her shoulders—he'd seen her step in front of another of the 'paws-to-be out of the corner of his eye, as he'd pinned Timber. If there's any of these strange younglings he'd trust to defend the others when it came down to it, he supposes it'd be this one. Admittedly, his knowledge is limited.

" Would you care to learn a couple of proper battle moves? "

He can only assume she'd not been taught; and if they are to be any sort of proper collective, young ones shouldn't have to cut their claws in the heat of battle. It'd be no Clan at all if they retained the loose coalescence of the Colony, after all. Vampire tilts their head thoughtfully.

" Just the basics, but they can be quite useful in a pinch. "

// @Vanilla

​

 

[VANILLAPAW]

She won't lie and say that shes been in a great mood following the battle, in fact, its been quite the opposite. An untamed flame dampened by the gentle paws of Fennel and Ginger, though hardly kept together at all. She had failed at protecting them, she had failed her one mission as the big sister, she had failed her goal. Every time her eyes flutter shut, she sees him standing there, bloodied as she cleans him. Fennel hadn't deserved that. Fennel was… sweet. It should have been her. It should have been anyone but him.

She flicks her tail back and forth in thought, only brought out by a voice ringing across. Vanilla. An adult is talking to her, green eyes sliding over to look; slightly guarded, but willing to listen to authority for once in her life, she gives her attention with a flick of her ear, her head dipping ever so slightly. Before her stands Vampire, the one who had swiftly disarmed the intruder. She would not entirely mind listening to him.

Would you care to learn a couple of proper battle moves? Her eyes glimmer at this new proposition- but they quickly dim, for Vanilla knows that in the colony, the gift of knowledge rarely ever came for free. "And whats the catch?" she meows, skeptical. Whether its food, or something else… The thought of being able to properly protect her siblings is more than tempting, and maybe, when the time comes, she could finally dig her claws in to the one who had shredded Fennel. "… But okay. Yes. I want to learn." hesitantly said, but regardless of the cold caution displayed in her voice, theres a burning fire in her gaze as she meets Vampires own. Just the basics are better than nothing at all.

 

[vampire]

Clever, this one is. A slight glint of self-satisfaction takes all too easily to their eyes; a good choice, then, for their imparted lesson. The sentiments she holds might be depressing cast in another light—a cat so young already so jaded—but for Vampire's purposes, this is good. And there's no reversing it, besides; scrub as they may, blood will always clot the grass of the battleground. It lingers on all of their paws, for better or worse, as clinging as the pocosin's silty muck.

" No catch, I assure you. "

From the suspicious glint in her eye, he suspects she won't be taking that at face value. No matter, as long as she's willing to learn—and she is.

" Splendid. Well, we'll start off simple. I assume you've heard of, or seen, a pin? It's quite instinctive, but it can be honed. Improved upon. Instinct rarely suffices, at least not when one's opponent is skilled enough. "

" Try it on me, "

she suggests, taking a graceful step back, settling into a battle stance. It's a natural form to her, so practiced it's all but instinct, like good battle is. The fluidity of instinct, the precision of practice.

" Just pounce, like you were on a mouse. I want to see what you've got to start with before I start making suggestions. "

A pause punctuated by a silken chuckle.

" Expect a defense, though. "

​

 

[VANILLAPAW]

No catch, I assure you, she eyes him suspiciously, like she had been. She does not believe it, but she decides to tuck it away for later. As long as no harm befalls her family, as long as she could defend… The love for her siblings is a sword that she will gladly wield at any time, something that will help drive her, something she will form in to her main focus. She takes this thought to heart and stores it away for later.

She watches, eyes trained on Vampires every move. Their battle stance is something to be jealous of, that's for sure, and Vanilla can feel it in her chest as she observes. Burning, bright green jealousy that she has to physically swallow down. You're not good at everything. You'll never be as good as that. Insecurities flare up and she places her left paw forwards, dipping down to poorly mimic Vampire's own stance. I can try. I will be as good as that. I have to be.

I want to see what you've got. She nods, a soldier obeying an order.

She springs forth. As sharp as Vanilla thinks herself to be, poised and graceful and ever-plotting, her physical work is less than fancy. Clumsy and unpracticed, she's never had to raise claws against another; its foreign, the way she had swung, had aimed to mindlessly slash at whatever she could have gotten her claws on. As long as she could catch them on something, she had ripped and tore skin over and over again, and she could have sworn that was part of the reason her shoulder hurt so bad. Perhaps it was not fully the fact that she had been thrown to the ground, but the fact she had favored her right again and again in battle. She won't make the same mistake now that the revelation had dawned on her with the dull thrum of pain that pulses beneath the skin.

She misses her first move.

There is no more time left to think. She lands heavily to Vampire's right, a fake out she had resorted to using during the colony battle when she had overshot her own pounce once trying to dodge flashing claws, and then she pounces right at her with paws outstretched and ready to grapple whatever limbs she could get ahold of if she does land. Despite her own height, lanky from youth and awkwardly shaped, Vampire was still older, more experienced- she had to use whatever she could to bring her down to being pinned.

 

[vampire]

As she might have anticipated, she receives a suspect green gaze in the precursor to her impromptu pupil's attack. Vampire would have expected nothing less—if anything, she could nearly claim to admire the younger cat for it. Suspicion was one of few pests good to harbor these days, when the Clan clawed for its footing and the cats within it for some footholds of their own. Compare it to a mountain, perhaps, with Sable as its unlikely summit. He suspects that as the moon shifts, so too will the cliffs and valleys—the ambitious few revealing themselves as they scrabbled for their places.

Oh, yes. Their spar. Jolting back to himself with time to spare, mahogany eyes watch carefully as Vanilla advances on clumsy young paws. A miss, and then she lunges rightward, pivots and heads straight for the white cat with her paws outstretched. Their muzzle twitches ever-deeper into her usual small, serene smile—a comparatively simple strategy, but effective thinking for one so young.

" Good, "

they encourage, even as they surge forward to meet her, aiming to punch their shoulder into the center of her chest and knock the wind out of her. Skittering away as fast as they did forward, they flick one notched ear, feeling the sting in their mending chest wound as healing muscle pulls.

" That was good. On a bigger cat than I, it would be especially effective. "

No matter how their defense goes, when the dust settles, they step back and return to lecturing. Shaking out their white pelt and dislodging a few lumps of mud, they continue,

" It can be beneficial to consider your opponent's size when attacking, especially relative to yourself. Smaller cats like me often fight fast and agile, like a weasel—but pin them and they're easily crushed. Larger cats are slower-moving, but one good swing from them can take you down. "

Almost curiously, they tilt their head and meet her eyes with their own whiskey-dark ones, driving a question into her,

" Knowing that, how might you approach attempting to pin a cat my size? "

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