Hot Potatoes [Blasphemy/Open For One]

[Deleted]

DeathClan's leader was sitting in the main clearing, perched on a thick branch of a large tree. He'd recently finished digging out his new den among its roots, and had taken to watching the cats as they passed through the clearing during the day. Although the pseudo-Clan didn't have a true camp and the cats had scattered their dens throughout the evergreen forest, this was one of the most frequented areas. As a result, the spotted cat had deemed it the best place for him to live.

Drought stifled a yawn and flexed his claws idly. He'd sent Badger out to do some spying, but the tabby tom had not yet returned. Although the scar-faced American Shorthair wasn't one to worry, he was growing somewhat concerned. If the Elite didn't come back from his mission soon, Drought would have to begin searching for the tom.

He was distracted from his thoughts by fresh cat-scent from the clearing below. The leader's gaze settled on a new arrival - now here was a cat whom he didn't recognize.

[Blasphemy]

The slender, spotted feline marched into view, as loud and cocky as ever. With her head held high, Blasphemy caught a somewhat familiar scent - that of Drought, the new leader of DeathClan. The two had never had a conversation - DeathClan cats' paths rarely crossed, after all. Regardless, the feline met the tom's gaze with ease.

A sly, cat-like smirk spreading across her maw, Blasphemy bounded up the rocks that separated her and her leader. The she-cat took a seat as if she owned the place - as she always did - and turned her attention to the clearing below. There was the soft bellow of a mouse coming from the wind-stirred bushes. Said wind came through and ruffled her short fur, making her flick her ears.

Finally, Blasphemy decided to give her leader the time of day, having almost forgotten why she'd bounded up these rocks. It was a good idea to make the acquaintance of your leader, was it not? Drawing her smirk back, the feline flicked her tail at the tom. Hello, Blasphemy purred, crouching slightly and wrapping her tail around her paws.

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Drought half-narrowed his eyes as he made note of the cat's cocky expression. If he'd been in a mood to fight, he might have climbed down just for the sake of clawing that smirk off Blasphemy's face. However, he was soon spared the effort of jumping down. The older feline drew his lips back in a half-snarl when she climbed right up into the branches of his tree and settled down nearby, as if she intended to relax and stay a while.

No, this certainly would not do. Any DeathClanner with half a brain knew that the leader's den was strictly off-limits without invitation. It was an unspoken rule, yet one that was quite well-known. Drought had already claimed this tree as part of his territory; it was right above his den, so it was only logical that other cats wouldn't be permitted to leap about in its branches like sparrows.

He stood up quite abruptly and glared at the female. "I don't remember inviting you up here, peasant," the leader growled, not attempting to hide the traces of hostility. "The last time someone intruded upon my space, they made the smart decision to leave before I removed their ears. I sure hope you've got a good excuse."

[Blasphemy]

Blasphemy was met with a firm, hostile cat - exactly the kind that one could expect to find in her clan. His words, although harsh and rudely delivered, only made the spotted she-cat claim the spot where she currently sat more firmly, although she adjusted her tone to be more reverent.

The last time someone intruded upon my space, they made the smart decision to leave before I removed their ears. I sure hope you've got a good excuse, the tom said. Blasphemy responded by narrowing her eyes and flicking her tail. I don't believe in excuses, she said boldly. They're just a way to weasel yourself out of something. I don't believe in that, I have a very straight-foreward reason for being here.

Blasphemy found herself staring in the tom's eyes, her brow slightly ruffled at the thoughts going through her mind. The she-cat wasn't stupid - she was just young and naive. This was, obviously, unbeknownst to her. Still, the she-cat readjusted the height of her head and set her shoulders back. She sat up straighter and looked the tom cat even more directly in his eye. I came to introduce myself, she said bluntly, her tail flickering back and forth.

Although there was no way she would ever admit it, Blasphemy wasn't here to challenge her leader. She wasn't here to get in a fight or get her ears torn off. The young she-cat was cocky and often uncontrollable. Still, she didn't want to fight with her clanmates, especially not her clan leader. Blasphemy desperately craved a strong relationship with her clanmates. She truly believed they could unite and conquer. This is why she only fought with those outside her clan. This is why she was the way she was - the unrealized dream she'd been living with had long since been wearing down on her. Maybe a semi-decent - at the very least - relationship with her clan leader was the way to go.

[Deleted]

At this point, Drought was starting to like the idea of giving Blasphemy a quick swipe to the side of the head - just enough to unbalance her. That would probably lead to her falling off the branch and breaking a bone or two on the ground below. The only thing stopping the leader from doing just that was the fact that he'd have bloodstains around his tree for a while, and the vultures would probably be drawn to that for a while. He didn't feel like dealing with those winged scavengers.

The spotted she-cat's answer didn't impress the leader, and it certainly didn't make him re-consider forcing her to leave. "And in order to introduce yourself, you decide to climb up here without asking first? If this is normally the way you act, I'm surprised that you're still alive."

His claws sank deep into the branch, causing pieces of bark to spiral down to the ground. "I'd recommend climbing down now unless you want to see if you can fly." No bluffing there; the black-and-white feline wouldn't hesitate to act on his threat.