Open Territory WarriorClan worms tail // warriorclan patrol

[cheddarspark]

✧ . ° ✦

Dainty paws of a well-kept, spoiled feline carried across uneven ground with practiced grace. Cheddarspark held her head high with enthusiasm and confidence, she was WarriorClan's Heart Guard after all! She would do her leader proud by presenting their Clan to these decrepit lands with respect and fairness.

"Hark mine own fellow warriors! Careful as we stepeth into unknown lands." The tabby meowed without any effort to conceal his presence to any nearby strangers. The air here was stuffy with dust and the scent of decayed scraps. He sneezed once, twice, each with a quick, aggressive shake of his head. "Alloweth us to continueth with haste."

✧ ° . ✶ . ° ✧

ooc Information

• ooc: — "mew"
• 

  CHEDDARSPARK — any/all ･ 36 moons ･ heart guard & warriorclan ･ penned by gonkpilled!

  a short-haired ginger-and-white tabby with blue eyes. cheddarspark is a purebred scottish straight born to two champion show cats. he speaks with shakespearan mannerisms and enjoys boasting of great feats that are secretly not her own.

 

[firefly]

Firefly hears them before they see them. A group of cats, unfamiliar, and on their land. They signal quietly with their tail to the Rustclaws with them, lowering their body to the ground and slinking under a scrap heap of a car, observing the newcomers from afar. Kittypets. Soft, round, loud. If not for Nonna back at their camp, they'd have jumped them immediately, but they suppose the old leader would want them to be… diplomatic. Besides, they seriously doubt these soft bodied creatures would put up any fight at all, so it'd be no fun anyway.

They slip out from under the car, approaching the newcomers with a neutral expression, though their eyes glint like the edge of a knife under the sun.

"Someone's a little far from home, aren't they, princess?" They say to the one who'd spoken so loudly, with that silly accent. "Lost, are we? I'd remember seeing you around, and if you'd been here before, you wouldn't have come back."

 

[Socket]

why you lookin here

Nose to the ground, Socket moved carefully alongside his fellow Rustclaws, green eyes looking out for any sign of herbs in this area of the territory. Though usually they came back empty-pawed from here - cars running over plants would do that, so close to the twolegplace whatever the cars didn't get the twolegs were sure to think were either pretty or weeds and they'd pluck without mercy - there were times they came back from these patrols with a small bounty of useful things. Sometimes it was only one or two plants, other times it was five or six, today however it seemed as though it would be none as was the norm, and the loud voice of another calling out to a patrol made the surgeon's thin tail whip in annoyance, nose wrinkling up as head moved from it's downward position as ears swiveled around.

He'd look over to Firefly for a moment as they moved towards the sound, following behind silently as eyes land on the one who spoke. Socket knew they were near kittypets but didn't think they'd be brave - or stupid - enough to venture out this far away from their cozy nests where they could get killed or taken. Eyes would keep watch on them for now, claws sheathed until they were needed - and though he wasn't opposed to them being needed he certainly hoped they wouldn't be, for wasting herbs on the cats for a bunch of kittypets was not something he wanted to do.

 

[Gingerbread]

———————————————— Overboard, lost in the wilderness. ✦

The cinnamon tom trudged behind Cheddarspark, always unable to take the high and mighty speech of the prissy little feline seriously. But there was a reason Gingerbread begrudgingly agreed to the Warriorclan, to protect these softie cats who thought themselves strong enough to face real strays.

He rolled his eyes a little, trundling along slower than he liked; the uneven terrain was still a pain in his ass to handle, but he managed as well as he could. It was unlikely anything awry would happen today; nothing ever seemed to.

But, like the tom manifested it to existence, the bitter scent of strangers hit Gingerbread, and he narrowed mismatched eyes as scraggly, thin-looking cats came to view. His fur stood on end, looking back at Cheddar with a teasing sneer, narrowing tired eyes. "Aye now feller, ain't no need ta' get prickly with 's, ya' hear?" He took a step closer, voice low and gravelly as it often was, but lacked his usual relaxed charm. He had known the feral life, one day so long ago, weary claws hadn't seen bloodshed in a long time.

And, honestly, he didn't want to change that. "We ain't here fer trouble, right?" He looked to the patrol, ear flicking, he'd signed up for this to protect them, but he really wasn't prepared for a fight. "Who even 're y'all, knew there's strays out here, but ya'll seem... Organised."

———— I wasn't big, I wasn't small.

I wasn't anyone at all. ————

• 
  Gingerbread
  ✦—Warriorclan Tussler | 44 moons
  ✦—He/Him
  ✦—"SPEECH", 'THOUGHTS', ATTACK
  ✦—A large, cinnamon tortie with mismatched blue and green eyes, missing a back leg and wearing a green kittypet collar.
  #DD4531

 

[Giavonna "Nonna"]

Dull as her senses had become in old age, Giavonna didn't miss the scent of strangers. As if it were easy to miss, so different from the filth and tang of rust that her kin wore. These intruding scents were tinged with warmth and softness. The kind of softness that clings to cats who've never had to claw for their next meal. Giavonna would know, she had worn that scent once too, a long time ago now.

Her gait was awkward, steps dragging softly through the dirt with a limp. Despite the stiffness in her joints, she moved with poise. Navigating her kingdom came as naturally as breathing.

She caught the sound of unfamiliar voices echoing ahead. It had taken her longer than she liked to catch up to the others, but that was of no matter. Let the young bloods move swiftly and meet danger first—if there was any to be had.

She crested a small mound of debris just in time to catch Firefly eyeing down a group of strangers. Socket stood close behind, looking grumpy as ever.

Cloudy eyes narrowed with curiosity as she descended the slope, light casting shadows across her bony frame and sunken cheekbones. Nonna stepped up beside Firefly, plumed tail brushing her lieutenant's shoulder. "I would sure hope it's organized." She snorted, a dry chuckle rattling in her chest. Her humored gaze drifted across the gathered guests in all their polished fur and plumpness. "No trouble here, long as you didn't come looking for any."

Her attention shifted to the cinnamon tom in their midst. There was a seasoned look in his eyes, more so than the other. She gave him a small, delicate smile. "You've all found yourselves on Rustclaw land." Best to set clear boundaries, no matter how their discussion ended. She wouldn't want them getting confused, thinkiing they could come and go as they pleased... At least not without an even trade. "Not that I mind visitors." Nonna's eyes flicked back across the rest of the patrol. "So long as they come with good manners and…" Her clouded eyes dragged long on the shiny collars they wore. "…perhaps a gift next time? If you seek passage through our land, it's only polite, no?"

They were soft but not oblivious. Her soldiers could have sent them running with their tails between their legs, but what was the point of wasting claws on easy prey? Bloodshed was always an option, but that didn't mean it was the only option. She was far more interested in what might be gained than what could be taken.

___________________ But how she was before the tears ☆ And how she was before the years flew by ___________________

• "speech"
  
•  
• Giavonna she/her & rustclaws
  ☆ Blue sepia w/ twlight eyes.
  ☆ Hunched back from age.
  ☆ Just your sweet neighborhood grandma, nothing else. ;>
  ☆ Smells of rust and honey suckle.
  ☆ Peaceful and healing powerplay permitted. For other DM.

 

[AMBROSI]

Ambrosi lingers at the edge of the gathering, ears pricked, eyes shifting between the glossy pelts of the strangers and the rust-worn silhouettes of those he knows. He moves with a certain leisure, though nothing about him is careless; every step is considered, every pause measured, as if he is weighing the air itself before slipping further into it. Where Firefly's approach is sharp and pointed, and Nonna's presence heavy with age and authority, Ambrosi threads himself through the moment. He tilts his head at the strangers, studying them with a flicker of curiosity rather than immediate hostility. Their collars gleam bright against the grime of this land, foreign as jewels in the dirt. He notes the way one of them carries themself like a banner, chin lifted high as though ceremony itself shields them from dust and claws. Another hangs back with mismatched eyes, their weariness familiar—there's survival etched in that one's bones, however softened by the company they keep. Ambrosi stores the observations away like trinkets, as though every glance might prove useful later.

"You walk loud for cats who don't know the ground they're walking on," he says at last, voice even, unhurried. It isn't mocking so much as it is thoughtful, a tone that hints at amusement without leaning into it. His eyes wander, not just over the visitors but the space between them—the way they stand, the distance they allow each other, the gaps where fear or confidence sits hidden. He steps closer, slow and unthreatening, though there's no mistaking the careful intent in his movements. "Our land isn't much to look at," he continues, nose twitching faintly at the sour tang of rust and oil clinging to the air, "but it's still ours. You must've had a reason to come this way. No cat drifts here by accident."