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Post by Fawn on Aug 22, 2014 23:31:38 GMT -5
Juncopaw | His insides were not so made of ice that he was impervious to the current situation; not only was the battle to take place directly within StarClan's Claws (which, in his opinion, seemed to be slightly ironic given how much the senior warriors and the elders all stressed how no fighting was to occur on such sacred ground), but it was his name that had been called first. Of all the apprentices eligible for the competition – of which he knew could only be a small number – the smoky NightClan tom was the first sacrificial pawn opponent to enter the designated area, turning to face his LightningClan rival for this decidedly brief, 'friendly' battle.
As the youngest and unexpected kitten in Roughthroat and Gracklefire's litter, combined with his quiet nature, suddenly being granted the attention of every cat in the forest was a surefire way to make the would-be-warrior uncomfortable in his own skin. Having all eyes turned in Juncopaw's direction during his apprentice ceremony had not been anywhere near so nerve-wracking—it was a ceremony he'd witnessed with his very own eyes once before, so he knew what to expect the day Ravenstar had all called them up for their advancement through life.
This was not just Ravenstar watching.
Several NightClan cats mewed supportive words in his ears as he'd passed through the throngs of cats milling around the mock battleground, and one distinctive voice stood out from the others. ”Don't lose.” Juncopaw resisted the urge to swivel his sharp yellow eyes onto the mismatched gaze of the jet-black tom who'd spoken, the words hovering on the tip of his tongue like thorns on a stem. Don't be such a toad-faced bully and maybe I'll take your advice. With the spotlight suddenly thrust upon him, Juncopaw felt snippy, as if every single one of his senses were alive and he was being scrutinized under a hundred, staring eyes all with opinions formulating about him as fast as lightning– though he tried tuning out those around him as best he could.
Only one cat's movements and words would matter right now.
Juncopaw sized her up. It was difficult to miss who her mentor was, he had seen the infamous Whiteshade of LightningClan having words with Juniperpaw earlier in the gathering, which could have meant anything, really – had it not been for the interested look in the albino's macabre red eyes once Juniperpaw's name had been called just after his own. What sort of dark techniques has he taught you? And further more, was it anything comparable to how Sandviper had trained him? Rather than look for his mock-mentor and his real mentor amongst the congregation, Juncopaw chose to attack. Funny how claws unsheathed would serve him no purpose here, after Sandviper had nearly shredded his ears to get the point across just how important they were.
The gray tom circled her in a wide circumference that deceased in size with each turn, finally lunging forward and swiping at his opponent's chest in the hopes it would land a quick blow. A test of her reflexes, as well as a test of how aggressive she was when it came to retaliation. He strongly doubted she'd unsheathe her claws and try to snag both the tips of his ears like the NightClan warrior had, but his guard was up nevertheless.
He tried to ignore the pounding of his heart, and the silly notion that StarClan – and Roughthroat – was watching.
| 12 Moons. Male. NightClan. | 550 Words. Insidious |
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Post by Insidious on Aug 23, 2014 15:36:38 GMT -5
J U N I P E R P A W - - - - - - Fight like an animal. Fight like your head is screaming that your life depends on it; like, if you do not destroy he or she who stands across from you, and if you do not rip them apart and tear them apart until their insides are on the outside, then you have not truly won. Then you are not truly safe.
That was how Whiteshade would fight, which made it only the safest of assumptions that his kitten in training would learn to do the same. Nightstep would do the same. Everyone looked at her like this inner maniac, this inner monster, was itching to release itself into the open. Everyone thought that the demon who was meant to corrupt her way of thinking and shape her into a warrior would have made her see by now that there was only one way to win: to have her opponent pleading for his chance to get away, and then to break all of his legs so that he can’t.
Perhaps there was a chance that those feelings were hiding somewhere inside of her. Perhaps a piece of her her heart was already blackened, and was thus in the process of manipulating her paws and making them strike in a way that she once would have thought repulsive. There was always a chance. There was always room to be changed into something other than what you are. But things like that took time. If Whiteshade wanted another little monster on his side, then he wasn’t working hard enough, or fast enough. There was still a lot of good inside of her. She wasn’t so wanting of his attention and his praise as to go against her morals.
But on the outside all that young Juncopaw would see was the apprentice of Whiteshade. The apprentice of someone with eyes the colour of what he liked to spill from his enemies. If he was basing his opinion of her on that, then he had every right to be cautious and afraid. She was basing her opinion of him, however, on what she had gathered in the seconds after his name was paired with her own: he was the apprentice of a dead mentor. He had lost a lot of important cats in his life; maybe even to the point that he expected as much? She certainly hoped so, for then it would come as no surprise when he was faced with yet another loss in the form of ‘friendly sparring’.
When he dashed forward in a sudden burst of speed, intent for his paw to make contact with her chest, she was ready for him, calculating him and anticipating him. Her pretty eyes were shadowed by something fierce, something focused, as his paw skidded across its mark, the she-cat having chosen to endure the blow for the sake of ensuring that he remain close to her and relatively exposed to her next attack. Moving to his right in a flash, with the velocity and the wildness of a lightning bolt, she aimed to ram as forcefully as she could into his shoulder blade with the full weight of her body, her intention being to slightly knock him off balance so that, if her forepaws successfully tangled themselves into his back legs in her best efforts to trip him up, he’d fall to the ground. - - - - - - Tags: Fawn Word Count: 579.
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Post by Fawn on Aug 27, 2014 0:41:34 GMT -5
Juncopaw | Unexpected was the sensation of someone hurtling their body at his with enough force to jar his shoulder and he felt it tingle straight through to the paw, his teeth soon bared for impact as Juniperpaw sent him pellmell in an undignified heap. He was not the type to get easily riled, nor was he the type to take whatever was given to him personally, as if it were designed to irritate him. She was trying to win their sparring match – not make him look like an featherbrained fool before the staggering crowd of onlookers; that did not mean the taste of dirt didn't leave a bitter flavor upon the roof of his mouth. He had learned something though, both in his fight with Sandviper and the movement Juniperpaw had executed with almost lightning fast reflexes; it was necessary to get close to the lion's jaws in order to deliver a devastating blow.
Trying to turn this battle around, the smoky tom struck out with his paws, intending to swipe her legs out from under her if such a thing were at all possible – if this failed, then it would be time to bring their weight into the equation. Sitting on his opponent was not the best or the most dignified of strategies, but if his weight did prove superior, then he fully intended to use it to his advantage. No claws. Juncopaw's yellow eyes were flickering with intelligence, working strategies and analyzing her even as they fought, the desire to genuinely win beginning to course through his heart as if the circuits had at last been properly connected.
He did not wish to win in order to earn his warrior name. He wanted to win more as a testament of his intelligence and being able of outwitting his foe; sometimes battles were won merely by who struck first, who struck the hardest, who had the element of surprise. Battles could be short and full of blood and confusion. And then there were fights like these; no blood, no confusion, no Clanmates to worry about coming to the aid of, no enemy teams to encircle him and make him accept defeat due to sheer numbers alone.
It was just her and him. And a chance to exercise his mental strengths.
With the chance of her seeing through his plan to knock out her paws from out under, Juncopaw was prepared to follow up that failed attack with a well-timed leap, either to use his momentum to crash into her as she had crashed into him – or pin her to the dirt in what was, in his mind, a potentially finishing move. She's fast. He'd have to be faster, or at least, faster at reading whatever body language she unconsciously displayed, faster at reading the signs and knowing just when he was in danger of taking a 'critical' hit. Juncopaw almost smiled, a silent applause of her skill displayed in his eyes; if she had done that to him in a real fight, he highly suspected her to be biting him hard and sending him into a well-deserved retreat.
I still have a lot to learn.
| 12 Moons. Male. NightClan. | 528 Words. Insidious |
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Post by Insidious on Aug 27, 2014 17:46:42 GMT -5
J U N I P E R P A W - - - - - - She was extremely mindful of her paws. She was mindful of them to the point that it was almost excessive and unnecessary, for there had been a time when she was anything but mindful, and during such a time Whiteshade had nearly knocked her down in seconds flat because of an unimpressive hunters’ crouch. Her wariness of her paws in times of battle - or was it times of stress upon this occasion, knowing of her mentor’s bloody eyes being fixed on her every move, as if he’d very well lift himself up, walk on over, and push her down again for similarly unimpressive tactics - wasn’t exactly driven by the healthiest of motivation, but it helped her out considerably in this particular situation nonetheless. Because when Juncopaw swiped at her paws, wanting to knock her down just like Whiteshade almost had, she was ready for him and had been able to move fast despite the way that her heartbeat was drumming painfully in her throat. After all, it was simple for a small and agile cat to jump, especially when they were so pathetically attuned to the way it felt to nearly have their paws taken out from under them. She didn’t want to know how it actually felt to hit the ground, and to know how it felt when it was happening because of another cat being able to push her around and make her fall. She didn’t want to be powerless. She didn’t want to be worthless and unable to defend herself. If someone wanted to have her falling in an ungraceful heep, they’d have to do a lot better than aim for her paws.
Because, truthfully, ungraceful wasn’t something she was interested in getting to know on a more personal level.
It seemed, however, that Juncopaw was capable of doing something better. She was fast, yes - but she wasn’t necessarily the strongest. He had already been close to her because of the failed attempt at taking her paws out from under her, so there hadn’t been enough time to move, or to prepare, for him ramming into her in a manner incredibly similar to how she had to him only moments before. She skidded sharply, her shoulder throbbing where most of the tomcat’s weight had successfully landed. She found out straight away that his ultimate intention had been to pin her to the ground shortly after leaping, for when the ache in her shoulder didn’t subside, and she familiarized with the fact that he hadn’t only crashed - he had latched (in the absence of claws, of course) - she knew that she’d be going down just like he wanted if she didn’t think of something fast. Her legs were beginning to tighten in pain under Juncopaw’s weight, so with a split second decision, she thrust her body to the side. If she was going to be hitting the ground, it’d be of her own doing, not his. Plus, doing so at an angle as she had, she was hoping that he’d be dislodged from his position - considering there were no claws in this battle to help him with holding on - and that he’d therefore soften her landing at the cost of having the air knocked out of his lungs from her body harshly landing on top of his own. If everything went according to plan, she’d get up as quickly as she could muster with her aching shoulder, twirl to face him, and throw herself against him all over again if he showed any sign of trying to get back up, too.
If he so happened to fall to the ground underneath her, then she liked to think that she had this fight in the bag. She would do everything in her power to keep him from getting up again so that she could maintain the advantage, but if her plan failed, well… she’d still have to get up as quickly as she could muster with her aching shoulder, and on top of that, she’d have to hope that Juncopaw had a bad reaction time so that she could properly collect herself and deliver a running strike to the soft space between his neck and his shoulder. - - - - - - Tags: Fawn Word Count: 735.
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Post by Fawn on Aug 29, 2014 23:32:00 GMT -5
Juncopaw | It was instinctive, really. As soon as he was given the sensation of falling, his claws had sprung from their sheaths like hooks to latch onto Juniperpaw's pelt - perhaps before he could begin to register what had even occurred. The landed that followed was as awkward as it was painful, particularly for the tom bearing the full weight of the LightningClan she-cat down upon him with enough force to knock the wind from his lungs and make him gasp, but also owing to the fact that by driving down on top of him, Juniperpaw was unintentionally sinking his claws in deeper.
Aware that he was by now wholly disqualified, and the prickling wave of hisses and murmurs from the crowd confirmed as much, Juncopaw wrenched himself free and rose onto his paws. A yellow-eyed stare was directed the pretty she-cat's way, and he almost felt a sliver of apology creep into his heart over accidentally gouging her, but there was no use apologizing now - victory was hers, and whether he wished to openly admit it or not, she had earned it. While this likely wasn't doing NightClan's reputation any special favors, Juncopaw had inherited their Leader's almost snobbish indifference towards the opinions of the other Clans - whatever they thought of the shadowy marsh-dwelling group would be proven or debunked on the battlefield. That was the only reputation that truly mattered in the end, whether or not they could measure up to their territorial, sneaky and aggressive means of attack and defense.
With Sandviper as his mock training mentor for a few short sessions, as well as the hardness in his heart as a direct result of loss, Juncopaw could say in earnest that he felt as though he measured up. He was not a young naive creature, nor was he caught up in petty, senseless rivalries or possessing an overabundance of arrogance. With a curt pivot on his ashen paws, Juncopaw dipped his head in a display of good sportsmanship. "Good fight." He didn't need to be told to exit the battle arena, pausing only long enough on the outskirts of it to recover the rest of his breath that the fall had robbed him off, blinking away the spots. It was not his proudest battle, and he knew in his heart that it should've been Starlingcry in his place, ready to bring victory to NightClan as they so rightfully deserved (or whatever it was the latest NightClan elitists were spouting), but they had simply had to make due with him. He would not openly apologize to Ravenstar for getting himself disqualified, if an apology was even necessary at all.
He could hardly claim to know her like Palepaw did, but enough moons of observation had given him the impression she wasn't particularly bothered by the occasional broken rule, particularly if it caused unpleasantness for another Clan. If she was cross with him, however, then he would thus display the proper amount of remorse back at camp - ignoring the brief look of exasperation that crossed over Blackwolf's face.
| 12 Moons. Male. NightClan. | 507 Words. Insidious |
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Post by Insidious on Sept 1, 2014 10:16:40 GMT -5
J U N I P E R P A W - - - - - - Her tactic had been smart, for she was not meant to worry about the opponent’s teeth, claws, or the damage that they could bequeath as a result of the decisions she would make on the battlefield. There was no reason for her to have expected the kind of pain that exploded in her side, such making it perhaps twice as painful as it likely could have been, had it been anticipated. Even though she had been the one to knock his breath away with having landed on top, she still felt the distinct sensation of oxygen depletion contaminating her throat as an agonized hiss threatened to build and then burst. In a mess of frantic paws, she leaped away from her opponent - momentarily unaware of his grounds for disqualification - accustoming to a defensive stance even as the slow trickle of blood from the wound inflicted upon her side fought for her to give up; it wasn’t worth injuring herself more in a competition that was supposed to be friendly.
Juncopaw’s lack of defensive or offensive counters, alongside the unimpressed murmurs of the crowd, had Juniperpaw realizing quickly that the battle between them had come to an end. There was a hardness in her expression, accepting his words - good fight - with a curt, unintentionally rude dip of her head. She wasn’t certain whether or not his tactic to bring claws into the fight had been purposeful, or simply instinctive, but with him turning on his heel to walk away, it was too late to find out. Watching him for only a moment, the gray-and-orange apprentice cautiously lapped at her injury to clear away some of the blood stains.
Since she was the victor of this round, she’d have to be facing one more opponent. A weary sigh escaped her lips as she spun around, slowly dragging herself back towards where the crowd consisted mainly of LightningClan cats. Rookfrost or Snowheart would probably be enlisted to temporarily derive into their job as a medicine cat to ensure that her wound stopped bleeding so that she would be good as new in time for her next fight. There was a couple of other paired apprentices that had to battle before it would be her turn again, this she was grateful for, so she lowered herself into an exhausted sit and focused on collecting her breath, accepting whispered congratulations and gentle nudges to the shoulder from those of LightningClan that wished to revel in her success. - - - - - - Tags: Fawn Word Count: 432.
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