[Insidious]

Grayowl and Crimsonpaw

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Along the outskirts of camp was seated a dark gray shadow, flanked closely – almost protectively – by his unassigned apprentice. The warrior's expression was one of indifference, blankly analyzing his surroundings at a constant, calculated rate in search of his smaller mirror image. He had planned that Mockingpaw be properly introduced to Crimsonpaw this afternoon, wanting his two most prized puppeteers to meet and, if all went smoothly, establish a bond and learn to harmonize their one shared perspective: loyalty to Grayowl. Seemingly nothing had changed despite the lack of time the pair had gotten to spend with one another. Crimsonpaw remained clingy, as if he was glued to Grayowl's side and prepared to take orders at any given moment. He had, surprisingly, carried that trait with him from kithood. They had exchanged plentiful a glance, yet even still Crimsonpaw's emerald eyes were rounded with that same mixture of admiration and respect. A sideway glance informed Crimsonpaw that he had managed to stick himself a little too closely upon this wait for Mockingpaw, the almost-warrior reacting in an instant with an awkward shifting of position, returning an expectant gaze toward the older tom's features as soon as Grayowl's silent, though not any less obvious, demand was carried out.

“Finally.” Grayowl muttered beneath his breath, straightening his spinal chord in a stretching manner, his dark gold eyes pleasantly fixating upon the she-cat's form as she approached. A pair of light green eyes matched Grayowl's direction, the spotted tom leaning forward slightly to get a better view of the dark gray warrior's daughter. It wasn't anything he hadn't seen before – he knew enough of Grayowl's children to have familiarized with their appearances – yet he still wished to establish eye contact with her regardless to learn of precisely what kind of interactions were to follow this meeting, doing so without Grayowl stating it directly.

Crimsonpaw arched his back as the newer apprentice neared, presenting his full height, keeping a steady eye upon her at all times. When Grayowl spared a glance toward him his form instinctively shriveled – it was almost like an Omega crumbling to the terrain after receiving nothing more than an aggressive glance from their Alpha – but he was quick to return to his former posture as soon as the warrior's gaze was averted. Grayowl greeted his daughter with a smile, dipping his head in a curt nod to indicate her arrival was treasured, regardless of the slight timing deficiency. There remained an introduction that was in Grayowl's place to begin, the tom-cat acknowledging this seemingly vain responsibility with a flickering glance between the two apprentices, settling upon the features of each individual as their names were spoken:

“Crimsonpaw, I'd like for you to meet my daughter, Mockingpaw.”

[Fawn]

6 Moons - TreeClan - She-Cat

"I apologize for the wait. Getting away from Skyfall took longer than anticipated." Though this explanation was for Grayowl and Grayowl alone, the miniaturized version of the TreeClan warrior still cast a burning, golden gaze upon Crimsonpaw, introductions made and followed up with a curt nod of politeness. It was almost an immense point of pride to be named Grayowl's daughter in front of others, particularly when she knew there could be no closer link than the one she already had; it would matter more in the end, than say mentor and apprentice ever would.

Pupils came and went, but family was forever.

That dramatic flinch the spotted tom had made from a single look from her father had not at all gone unnoticed, Mockingpaw's cold golden orbs had momentarily flickered with a kind of smug amusement, knowing she need not act like a sniveling weakling around her father. There was a difference between obedience out of devotion and obedience out of fear. Fear was an incredibly powerful motivator, but so was familial love, and Mockingpaw felt satisfied she was the better of the two.

So you are father's apprentice?

A bloodless stare accompanied these curious thoughts, the she-cat surveying her father's charge with something that appeared close to indifference, though her insides were teeming with unanswered questions; Has he taught you anything he has yet to teach me? If there was ever a time where we needed to be rescued, which of us would be catch and which of us would he let fall? Mockingpaw was not of the impression that there could be two right-hand-paws in her father's life. He wouldn't need two, unless Crimsonpaw wanted to play the backup, put there by lack of blood-connections and what she was already assuming to be slightly lower skills when compared to how she could be.

If Crimsonpaw was an excellent fighter, then she would become a phenomenal one. If Crimsonpaw could climb trees and hunt the most dangerous of prey, then Mockingpaw could climb the tallest and pursuit equal quarry.

Perhaps suddenly remembering her manners, Mockingpaw added after a lengthy delay, ”it's nice to meet you.” She didn't have to fake politeness when around her father, not unless they were in public and she had to pretend to give all the same sickly sweet compassion and concern for others that her mother did, but there was a familiar note of falseness to those words that Mockingpaw couldn't quite get rid of. Still, it was better that she didn't start off trying to make friends with Daddy's other puppet, not when she planned on cutting his strings.

[Insidious]

Grayowl and Crimsonpaw

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It's nice to meet you.

The spotted tom forced a nod, his pale green eyes failing to waver from Mockingpaw's own pale gold. He knew not what secrecy she was involved with, nor of what thoughts regarding him so happened to be afloat in her mind as she played the charade of one that was willing to meet him, though not necessarily willing to establish anything beyond that of a standard acquaintanceship. Was it even a charade? The apprentice regarded her thoughtfully, continuously skimming her youthful features – smaller, though eerily similar to Grayowl regardless – with a skeptical eye. There was a hunger in her eyes, one that existed just beneath the surface. Perhaps Grayowl didn't see it, though he didn't think there was something he could witness that would go unnoticed by the older, more experienced warrior. If he did notice it, he chose not to pay it any mind. Crimsonpaw couldn't blame him for this, however – he couldn't, or more fitted, wouldn't blame him for anything. If Crimsonpaw had plentiful a minion surrounding him with awe-struck eyes and an ever-growing hopefulness for his attention, he too would not pay it any mind. It was, to some extent, a semblance of supremacy. As of now, Grayowl was superior: to Crimsonpaw and to the tiny, yet equally as creepy mirror image mere mouselengths ahead. If he knew of his superiority, he certainly payed it no mind. The red-black-spotted tom finally averted his gaze from Mockingpaw in favour of examining Grayowl, searching the warrior's blank expression for any indications that he treasured this twisted form of authority. Despite his thoughts seeming somewhat doubtful, that was far from the true case. It was clear in the fixation of his pale green eyes that he was just as awed as he had contemplated earlier. The life of a puppet perhaps wasn't the life he had pictured himself leading when he had been younger, but ultimately it was the life he had chosen. He did not regret it, of course. Having a certain connection, it to be labeled as such, with Grayowl gifted him with a sensation of self-confidence. When not meant to be lowly flanking the charcoal warrior, Crimsonpaw was able to stride with some miraculous form of dominance. Being feared for having a relationship with TreeClan's most violent, menacing warrior was something he envied. It was all within the grasp of his paws: he could have all of this, perhaps even more, at the cost of his free-will.

“Oh, Grayowl, there's something that I have been meaning to tell you. I think you'll be most pleased.” The warrior flicked an ear to signal that he had, in fact, heard Crimsonpaw's words. His attention, however, remained fixated upon his daughter, thoroughly analyzing everything from her body language to the way she had addressed Crimsonpaw. It was not disappointment that clouded his dark gold eyes, but instead an element of intrigue. He was curious of why she looked upon Crimsonpaw in such a manner, and though he wouldn't voice aloud his desire for insight, it was clear that he was mildly concerned with her intentions not mirroring his own throughout the duration of this arranged meeting. “It's about a she-cat, one of StoneClan to be exact. I have her right where I want her.” Once again, the spotted apprentice's voice was acknowledged, though this time it was given a touch more of the attention he had likely wished for it to receive. Such was stolen from Mockingpaw and transferred to Crimsonpaw, Grayowl's form twisting to face the older apprentice, peering upon him with newly interested eyes. It would seem as though he had suddenly forgotten Mockingpaw's presence, wishing to fully contemplate the words he expected to follow Crimsonpaw's news – he simply could not focus upon two at a time; not when such a precious life-or-death situation was brought to the forefront of their verbal exchange. This was, truly, when it was decided whether or not the student was capable of being named a master. “Continue.” Grayowl beckoned, inclining his neck in wait of Crimsonpaw to proceed.

Crimsonpaw spared a sideway glance at Mockingpaw, the arrogance seemingly oozing from every fiber of his being to indirectly inform her that she was no longer relevant to this conversation. If she wished to play a game – one that Crimsonpaw wasn't even fully aware of participating in – he could play them as well, doing so in a manner that ensured whatever it was she strove to accomplish would not be achieved easily. His posture straightened, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his lip as pale green eyes matched Grayowl's own. The warrior cared not for what pride he was fueling within the younger tom, factually caring for nothing other than the news that had yet to spill from Crimsonpaw's jaws. “I met her in the mountains a while ago – we've been talking here and there ever since. I'm almost positive that she's grown fond of me, enough so that she trusts me to the point I could probably kill her without a problem. I'll be meeting with her again in the next few days – a few last minute sparks of charm – before I lure her into the final trap. I believe that you'll be pleasantly surprised with my work once everything is finished.”

The warrior was silent, seemingly frozen in place as he considered this new information. “You realize that you have put yourself in danger by going behind my back and deciding for yourself that you wish to execute this she-cat, yes?” A scowl outlined the dark gray tom's muzzle, Crimsonpaw's form shriveling due to having believed himself of angering Grayowl. The tables turned, however, within a split second's time – something that could almost be mistaken as pride glistening in his dark gold gaze. “Regardless of the training you lack, I'm glad to see you have gotten this far without my aid. Continue with your doings, though I want you to come to me as soon as you encounter even the slightest flaw in your plans, should one be encountered.” Grayowl's ear flicked curtly, throwing a glance over Crimsonpaw's head as if his expecting this StoneClanner to be lurking nearby and overhear their conversation revolving around her pending death-bed. “As of now, however, well done Crimsonpaw.” At long last his eyes returned to Mockingpaw, though they did not linger upon her, once again glancing toward Crimsonpaw and firmly nodding his head in acceptance. It was no secret that Crimsonpaw had caught him off guard with this news, though nevertheless, it had pleased the warrior despite what dangers it put in Crimsonpaw's path. He had proven himself to have cherished what experiences they had shared throughout their evenings in the forest, and for this, Grayowl was confident in his status as a minion... for the time being.

[Fawn]

6 Moons - TreeClan - She-Cat

The arrogance leaking out of every pore of Crimsonpaw's body disgusted her, and the kitten kept her features stony, listening with deadened ears to the red and black tom's curious new adventure involving a StoneClan she-cat and his apparent ability to lead her into a perfect trap. Mockingpaw rolled malevolent golden eyes, her insides seething and boiling as though burned; if the other apprentice wished to initiate a game, then she would most certainly play it, she would prove to him that she was the better of the two.

Her emotions took a sudden as her father's voice became imploring and not at all ushering forth the praise Crimsonpaw had likely been searching for; though her father couldn't see it, Mockingpaw's expression quickly arranged itself into one of wicked delight, reveling in Crimsonpaw's obvious fear of angering the one cat that linked them together. This emotional high was short-lived, however, as Grayowl surprised them both by taking a liking to Crimsonpaw's plan, and becoming further in support of it by telling the spotted would-be-warrior to come to him should he encounter any difficulties.

I'll be there when you make a mistake, Spotty. Just wait and see.

Unsettled by her own lack of "plans" to share with her father, when his attention was finally returned to her, Mockingpaw did not feel the usual thrill of excitement when it did; instead, she felt agitated, wholly disgruntled by Crimsonpaw's announcement that suddenly placed her at the bottom of the metaphorical totem pole. She would never consider him truly above her, but as of right now, the status quo had changed, and Crimsonpaw had earned Grayowl's praise, despite having acted out without permission.

Mockingpaw would make no such attempt to follow in the same vein as Crimsonpaw. Whatever she could come up with would not be worth the risk of Grayowl's ire; if she came up with a plan, she would discuss it with him first. They could possibly bounce ideas off one another, or she could be content to listen to whatever advice he may give - always valuing his words just as much as his actions, always eager to absorb anything that he may teach her.

There was nothing she could say at present to trumph Crimsonpaw's plan with that she-cat, and she knew it. Retaining her dignity despite being caught up in such unexpected competition, Mockingpaw instead kept the focus on Crimsonpaw; if he wants it so badly, he can have it.

Pretending to be more inquisitive than undermining, Mockingpaw fixed large golden eyes upon the older apprentice, appearing curious and naive. "But what are you going to do if you get caught? How will you get out of it?" I dare you to say 'Grayowl will help me'. One shouldn't expect the eerie gray tom to bail them out whenever they got into trouble, not unless it would somehow find it's way back to Grayowl and put him in a negative position as well.

Crimsonpaw wasn't Grayowl's apprentice, and therefore Grayowl was responsible for nothing should the apprentice get caught sneaking off towards the mountains, or was discovered by what was left of StoneClan's warriors.

Let's hear it, Spotty. What's your brilliant back up plan?

[Insidious]

Grayowl and Crimsonpaw

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Crimsonpaw had been busy basking in the glory of Grayowl's praise, especially with Mockingpaw nearby, though that was needless to say that he was completely oblivious to her question. Pale green eyes were cast upon her, his inner distaste disguised thoroughly, yet still visible with the twitching of the corner of his lip. He knew that she was looking for some clever way to ruin his chances of further impressing Grayowl, though he refused to allow her to so easily prevent him from doing so. He didn't hear any wondrous plans on her part, after all. As of right now he was on the top, and he was planning on keeping it that way. “It's quite simple:” the spotted tom began, his eyes evenly matching the she-cat's own. Truthfully, he didn't have a back-up plan; he didn't think he needed one. Cloudpaw was so... hypnotized that it seemed wasteful to dwindle away his time formulating one. But if he had learned anything from his moons spent following in Grayowl's wake: it was that honesty got you nowhere. “I plan on telling her to come alone because I wish to speak with her privately, which will diminish with the chances of encountering any other StoneClan cats.” Okay, one potential problem taken care of, now I just have to be convincing with the rest. “But if things so happen to take a turn for the worst... I could – and I would – ascend a tree; StoneClan cats can't climb, so I'd be safe.” Crimsonpaw's emerald eyes narrowed, searching Mockingpaw's expression for any traces of how she was handling this information. “But, I can say with confidence that I don't plan on getting caught. I've been training for this opportunity, and I know what I wish to do with it.” His usage of the word training was emphasized, indirectly informing Mockingpaw of the evenings he had shared with her father. Perhaps there was no blood-relation that tied Crimsonpaw and Grayowl together as it did for Mockingpaw, but that was irrelevant, because he'd spent more time with him – he'd learned more from him.

The warrior, too, had been interested in Crimsonpaw's answer to Mockingpaw's question. The gray tom didn't necessarily believe in back-up plans – he'd sooner die than face the wrath of his own mistake – but that wasn't to say that having one was pointless. He could tell by the way Crimsonpaw was rambling that it was on-the-spot thinking, but regardless he had done well with making it sound efficient. A golden gaze was transferred to his daughter, desiring to see for himself whether or not the spotted apprentice's response had been satisfactory for her. He was not completely oblivious to the tension in the air – he knew of the presence of a competition, but simply chose to disregard it. Factually, they were in the right mindset to be fighting for his approval and his attention. Despite not being voiced aloud, it was no secret that the element of favoritism was open to existence. Although Grayowl was, to some extent, required to be fond of his daughter, that did not guarantee her the spot of favoritism he could only assume her to want. Both apprentices would need to prove themselves worthy of his time, and so it seemed that Crimsonpaw had found a way of doing so – with Mockingpaw's young age and inexperience in the forest as of yet, he did not have as high of expectations. He had hoped that Crimsonpaw could be appointed to help move along her training, but it was increasingly growing more and more clear that, in the future, it would not be wise to force the two into the same general proximity if unneeded. Grayowl couldn't help but find such amusing, despite how it interfered with his plans. He would allow their secret competition to continue, because even he was curious of the victor.

A dip of the head was spared to show that he acknowledged Crimsonpaw's plans, caring not to offer the tom advice on how to improve his plans or perhaps guarantee his success. After all, success could never be guaranteed – it was something you learned to acquire with practice and precision. However, he did have one helpful tip. Grayowl's jaws parted slowly, able to indicate to the observational eye that he was preparing to speak, but otherwise it could come as a shock to the surrounding pairs of ears that he desired to implant his input. “Mockingpaw has a point. With your current inexperience in the field, Crimsonpaw, you must be prepared to endure the worst of the worst. However, it is not always luck to escape a near-capture.” Grayowl paused, his golden eyes flickering between the pair of apprentices. His next words were, perhaps, to be considered something you should never say to the clan's youth. But then again, it was not often that the clan's youth were involved in the art of blood-lust. “If the worst was to occur: you being driven away and this she-cat somehow surviving. Your intentions would be known of, and that could potentially close the window of opportunity for not only killing her, but for killing at all.”

The warrior paused again, muffling through his word choice in search of the best way for it to be phrased. Before him stood two apprentices that would probably leap from their skins at the chance to complete one of his tasks for him, and that was something that could easily be taken advantage of. But he knew that some things required him to be blunt, plain and simple. This so happened to be one of those things. “Sometimes it's better to accept your fate than to live with the consequences. In this hunt you may be classified as the predator, but that does not mean you cannot die. Take care of yourself, or accept your fate.”

Crimsonpaw's eyes were glassy as Grayowl's words sunk in, failing to betray the slight fear that rippled down his spine. He could die. Subconsciously he had always been aware of this possibility, but he had never brought it to the forefront of his mind. He didn't think that, with all of Grayowl's training, things could go wrong with his killing of Cloudpaw. But just because he had been trained didn't make him nearly as skilled in the art. He had never ventured off to do such dirty-work on his own, and this new information scared him. It was his fear, however, the drove him to continue. He needed to conquer it – prove to himself that he was not meant tot fear because he was the predator.

A predator that could die.

[Fawn]

6 Moons - TreeClan - She-Cat

Mockingpaw regarded Crimsonpaw's backup plan, if it could be called that, so on-the-spot as it was. What he planned to do about his scent in either scenario, Mockingpaw didn't know - and wouldn't ask. She had no intention of shedding light on an aspect of his little plan that he had somehow overlooked, and thus that trapdoor would be sealed forever.

In her critical opinion, Crimsonpaw seemed to keep overlooking the importance and family; from her vantage point of having been sired by Grayowl, she always chose to look at things from a familial perspective. What will you do, Spotty, if her family catches wind of your scent and blame YOU for her disappearance? She did not know any StoneClan cats, nor did she want to - but unless this idiotic she-cat who was falling right into Crimsonpaw's grasp was an orphan, Mockingpaw highly doubted that her disappearance would go unanswered, as though there would be cats who just wouldn't question it.

It was the follow up she was concerned with. While Crimsonpaw wasn't Grayowl's apprentice, there did exist a link between them - and unless she could weaken that link in the public eye, anything foolish or likely to spark a battle between TreeClan and a neighbor would eventually trickle down. Eventually. Even if Grayowl appeared faultless at first, there would be whispers. Grayowl would never be obligated to clean up Crimsonpaw's messes, but he may end up having to do damage control if the spotted tom botched things up too badly.

Putting aside these brooding thoughts, Mockingpaw had listened to her father's sage advice with rapt attention, letting the words sink in to be preserved in absorbant brain matter until she would need it at a later date.

Catching sight of the fear in his eyes, Mockingpaw's gaze grew harder, more pressing, as though the golden flare of her irises had sharpened into needles, wanting to take apart that emotion and discover it's cause, wanting to see what made him weak. "Are you afraid?" The kitten asked coolly. "Of dying, I mean."

[Insidious]

Grayowl & Crimsonpaw

“No.” Crimsonpaw retorted hastily, his pale eyes growing a fraction colder as they examined the she-cat with what seemed a million questions. It wasn't that he was afraid of dieing as much as he was afraid of the idea, knowing that his existence could be stripped and there was nothing he could do about it – if to die before warriorhood, it'd be too late to consider it being too soon. There was plenty he wanted to do with his life, plenty he wouldn't be able to do if to die somewhere along the way of this scheme. He couldn't help but regard Grayowl's smaller mirror image with a certain amount of disgust, having gotten used to knowing there was no minions other than himself, and therefore not taking this new addition lightly. Green eyes averted toward the dark gold of Grayowl, reading his blank expression, unable to help wondering how he viewed this situation. Crimsonpaw wanted to understand why he had sought to bring new life into TreeClan – surely it was not because he had simply wanted a family. There had to be something more to it, something hidden just beneath the sheer blankness of his stare, failing to betray the emotions Crimsonpaw hungered to see. Mockingpaw seemed to be of some use, this something he could not deny despite wishing no such praise to the conniving kitten. But he could not help but be curious of why Grayowl had required another when he had already had Crimsonpaw. Was he not enough?

The warrior cared not for Crimsonpaw's fixated stare, knowing that the apprentice could search all he wanted, for he would end up with the same useless results. He was not the one to be examined, nor was he the one to be calculated and pried apart. He expected that Crimsonpaw understood this, but disregarded his stare anyhow, having faith in his longest-standing minion's ability to take recognition of his fault and never dare tread such territory again. Crimsonpaw, after all, was not one that often took chances when his reputation with Grayowl was at stake. He considered that Mockingpaw was what routed such unusual behavior – never before was the young tom so content with glancing upon Grayowl, absent of even a smidgen of fear toward crossing an unknown line – because he had shown signs of increased stress ever since growing acquainted with Mockingpaw.

He had allowed the games to linger for long enough, and he would no longer play the role of oblivion.

“Enough questions,” his tone was smooth, a single charcoal ear flicking in dismissal of what was beginning to become an annoyance, as if such was as easy as ridding with a fly. “let us not only point out the flaws of such work, Mockingpaw.” His dark gold eyes betrayed little of the warning in his words, seemingly speaking on the behalf of addressing Crimsonpaw with praise, though it was clear that he was not aiming for Mockingpaw to do such a thing – no more hostility. Attention was fleetingly spared toward the red-black-spotted tom, matching the pale green eyes that remained fixed upon him in analysis, newly averted at his paws upon finally realizing such was no longer necessary. “You must see, now, how much you have failed to take into consideration, Crimsonpaw. You must not grow careless, because it is not her last breath that declares you successful, but whether or not you manage to escape free of suspicion. Do not rush into such mindless action, take your time and develop an understanding of precisely what you have gotten yourself into.” The warrior paused, such providing a dramatic edge to the utmost seriousness of his stare. Feelings would not be spared; Mockingpaw had already aided in likely giving the tom his fair share of problems to fret over. “Or else the likelihood of your death will dramatically increase, and I will not be there to fix any of it.”