{S1} [a troll in the dungeon] S/P/G

[Slug !]

Victims, victims, victims. There were so many to choose from, but only one of him. That was a sad fact, but he supposed the forest wouldn't be able to handle two Shrewstorms anyway. All of Meadowclan already wanted to throttle him for yesterday's, ah, whoopsie with the holes he dug the night before that. He had thought it funny. Dig some holes, cover them up with leaves, and then wait. Shrewstorm probably should have taken a dip in the a stream to get all the dirt off, but he had been far too tired. Besides, when all the anger was directed at him, the hilarity was only doubled. Watching his clanmates fall flat on their noses had been funny, but getting chased straight out of camp by angry apprentices had made him absolutely giddy. It was like watching the hairballs he hacked up demand free will and rights. You came from my stomach, therefore I am your queen. You can't demand jack from me, sonny. And to Shrewstorm, that was a pretty accurate description. "They're never gonna learn," he said, grinning like a fool as he trotted his way to a stream. Right now he looked like something outta the depths of a badger burrow; dirty, ragged, and had sharp pointy teeth that were used to eat little kits for breakfast. There was nothing like giving a good scare to the locals, if he said so himself. But I think I got a bug in my ear, Shrewstorm pawed at his face a little, whiskers twitching at the itch he just couldn't quite reach. "Pft, I can always eat it later." [bg=c5a172][atrb=width,469,true] [atrb=border,0,true]

[Pyro]

So. Some wise guy Shrewstorm thought it was funny to leave pitfalls freaking...everywhere. And it was pretty funny. Watching other cats fall into them, that is. Once word had reached him, and by word I of course mean he scared the evalivin out of an apprentice so they'd talk, of the many holes, he'd made a point to walk behind someone whenever he had to go somewhere. Meatbridges over the holes and all that. He might have gotten away with it too if he hadn't assumed the holes were all gone by sunhigh. It wasn't quite as enjoyable to fall into a hole as it was to watch others do it. Was that...karma? He snorted. "So I offed a couple of Kate's suitors and you don't do shit. But god forbid I take joy out of seeing cats fall." It's not like he was the one who actually dug the freaking holes. God. And speaking of hole-digging cats, there was the man himself. "Well don't you look like a bat out of hell. Whatcha doin' all the way out here. There's some apprentices that'd still like to applaud you for your antics yesterday." speaking [bg=000000][atrb=width,428,true] [atrb=border,0,true]

[Slug !]

Shrewstorm was just a rabbit's foot away from taking a flying leap into that wonderful lookin' stream when he heard him. "Well don't you look like a bat out of hell. Whatcha doin' all the way out here. There's some apprentices that'd still like to applaud you for your antics yesterday." "You're gonna break hearts with that kind of sweet talk, Elkstep," Shrewstorm grinned, looking over his shoulder. "I'm out here for a good ol' picker-upper, y'know? Taking care of this bug in my ear-- it's what needs to be done." And what better way than to drown it? He went bounding into the cold waters, kicking up waves all and about the place. "Those apprentices, man, they need to be kept on their toes. It'll do them some good--keep them sharp!" he huffed, tromping and grinning through the stream. It was a good day to cause a little chaos. Maybe after his nice chill, he could piss off some more apprentices. Get some brats packing back into camp and being an unholy terror and all that fun stuff. There was an angry buzzing sound, and Shrewstorm flicked his ear and out the beetle went. It flailed it's wings, kicked out it's legs, and it's angry buzzing took a turn for panic in it's mad struggle to stay afloat. He raised an eyebrow at, purred, and then smacked it down to bed of pebbles. Take that, you little bastard. "Besides," Shrewstorm shook the clumps of mud from his matting fur, and then continued his march of splashes with growing enthusiasm. "Ol' Meadow needed some excitement. They're just getting too lazy with this heat." He looked up, finally, and gave Elkfang a once over, eying his dirty pelt with amusement. "What better way to do that than knocking loose their pearly whites?" speaking [bg=c5a172][atrb=width,469,true] [atrb=border,0,true]

[Pyro]

"You're gonna break hearts with that kind of sweet talk, Elkstep. I'm out here for a good ol' picker-upper, y'know? Taking care of this bug in my ear-- it's what needs to be done." "Breakin' hearts is what I do. Let fine-assed she-cats beware." he chuckled. "And far be it beyond me to keep you from gettin' a pick up for your sorry ass." Elkstep watched apprehensively as Shrewstorm dived into the water. No matter how dirty he was you wouldn't find him going anywhere near the stuff. He was not a cat who was meant to be wet. He'd keep his pelt nice and dirty like a cowboy's duster, and like it, before he even considered taking a cold bath in the stream. But Shrewstorm certainly seemed to be enjoying himself...kind of like a racing colt trying out his speed for the first time. Elkstep couldn't see why though. It was water for crissake. WA. TER. The tom took a few cautionary steps backward from the bank while Shrewstorm defended his pitfalls. "Those apprentices, man, they need to be kept on their toes. It'll do them some good--keep them sharp!" "You don't say. They have been looking a little sleepy-eyed as of late. Well, at least they did until they fell into a few holes. Clever, clever." "Ol' Meadow needed some excitement. They're just getting too lazy with this heat. What better way to do that than knocking loose their pearly whites?" Alright. This cat. This cat right here? Elkstep liked this cat. Despite having been a victim of Shrewstorm's latest prank, he couldn't help but like. This. Cat. He let a lopsided grin form on his muzzle as he nodded approval. He'd have to get Shrewstorm back for the hole he'd fallen into as a matter of course...maybe lead a skunk to his nest...but that didn't mean he couldn't like the cat's style. "Pranking for the good of the clan eh? You sure you just didn't feel like watching cats trip over themselves?" speaking [bg=000000][atrb=width,428,true] [atrb=border,0,true]

[Slug !]

"Pranking for the good of the clan eh? You sure you just didn't feel like watching cats trip over themselves?" Shrewstorm made a sound, strangled and terribly amused before he let out a loud snort. "Nah, of course not. Why would I ever do such a heinous thing?" Because it was funny, that's why. The priceless looks on those groggy, morning faces had been worth getting chased out of camp. A beautiful moment in Meadowclan history, everything he did was a work of art. Art that was made with the sadistic glee of a douchebag, but everyone had their quirks, didn't they? "Y'know, I think I might just go back like this. Get 'em riled up again with some water," Shrewstorm grinned, droplets hanging from his whiskers. No cat (besides him, so it seemed) wanted to get wet. He didn't see what was wrong with it. It kept them hydrated; kept them going. Heck, without it, they couldn't survive. But stars forbid if one of them got wet. "Or maybe bring some wet moss back. Chuck those at the apprentices for a while. A great way to learn to dodge--lot better than whatever those mentors are teaching the poor muskrats," he rambled on, looking skyward. And then he gave a wild grin, cheeky as ever. "See? For the good of the clan, right there." And if they ran around like pigeons with their heads bit off, Shrewstorm would happily take that bonus and run for the border. There were perks to being a douchebag, as Shrewstorm had figured out rather quickly. Like getting time off from warrior duties, or not having to deal with his clanmates--unless they had a bone to pick with him. Not that would surprise him or anything. [bg=c5a172][atrb=width,469,true] [atrb=border,0,true]

[Glowy]

So. Hawkheart had to go wash off in the stream because SOME smart-alecky jokester had decided to dig holes all over the camp. She didn't mind the joke so much. It had caused plenty of drama, and we all know how she loves drama! Heck, she didn't even mind having fallen into one of the pits of death and getting mud all over her fur, because it added to the drama and was amusing. What she really resented was the fact that she had not been included in the planning of these shenanigans. With her propensity for causing drama, any cat wanting to use her stick-in-the-mud clanmates to... well, stir up the mud, should have at least spoken to her.

And, lo and behold, there he was, splashing around in the river like nobody's business. Shrewstorm, the perpetrator! Elkstep was there too, and the two toms seemed to be having quite an animated discussion about causing more drama.

And she wasn't involved.

How dare they? She was insulted. Oh yes, she was highly insulted. She hadn't had an opportunity to be involved in any drama for almost a quarter moon! Somebody had been stealing all her fun. It looked like it was these two. So she stepped out from the tall grasses (for she had been hiding, you see), stepped lightly into the stream, and then splashed a great deal of water in Shrewstorm's face, covering them both in the chilly liquid. Oh, and the look on her face! If looks could kill... well, nobody would be dead, but they'd sure as heck be close!

"Shrewstorm!" she shouted in his face, launching herself at him simultaneously. "How," she smacked him upside the head, "... dare," she smacked him again, "... you," her paw found his cheekbone this time, "... cause drama and not think to ask ME to be involved?" She stopped hitting him now, her rage spent.

"It was very rude of you. You know how I enjoy a horrible muddle!" She glared at Elkstep too, just for good measure, and then plopped her rum right down in the stream and sat defiantly, daring them to explain her actions against her.

[/center]

[Pyro]

"You're a saint Shrewstorm. Born and bred." A saint straight out of hell. Or wait. Was that even possible? Well, in any case- Oh cruel unforgiving god. Elkstep refused to turn around as the unmistakable loud and sexyfine boisterous voice of a one Hawkheart blasted the two of them. He smiled. If Shrewstorm was a saint out of hell, and he was a gunfighter, then surely Hawkheart was a veritable tiger in she-cat form. The tom couldn't help a smile as he charged past him, her eyes locked on Shrewstorm. Oh ho, let the show begin~ And of course, he was not to be disappointed. God damn, he could have made a lot of prey from the apprentices if he'd had the foresight to foresee such an event and sell tickets for it. Elkstep's head tilted a little as he watched Hawkheart give Shrewstorm one of her patented beat-downs: a beautiful combination of both physical and verbal assault. Admittedly, his eyes were focused on her rump for most of it, but could you really blame him for having a healthy appreciation for fine assed she-cats...well. Maybe you could. He smiled when she about-faced to glare at him, presumably for good measure. "Well butter my belly and call me a biscuit. I had no idea you liked things so rough, Hawkheart. Or do you only get so tough and sexy for your favorite toms?" speaking [bg=000000][atrb=width,428,true] [atrb=border,0,true]

[Slug !]

"You're a saint Shrewstorm. Born and bred." That had to be one of the biggest lies he had ever heard, but before Shrewstorm could open his yapper to make a comment, in came swooping Hawkheart like a femme fatale from the depths of a hell that he hoped he'd get to visit some day. Right after he got the living snot beat out of him, that is. Whamthwackboom, head-chin-cheek and ow. By the time the tweeties went away, Elkstep was firing off comments about yours truly. "...I had no idea you liked things so rough, Hawkheart. Or do you only get so tough and sexy for your favorite toms?" Shrewstorm grinned, dazed and without an angry bone in his body. "I'm her most frequent customer, Elkstep. Haven't you heard?" he swayed closer to Hawkheart, looking loony and more than a bit off balance. "This here she-cat got my heart in the pad of her paw," came the overdone purr as Shrewstorm batted his eyes at Hawkheart. "Can't you tell by how we get along like two peas in a pod? And then he glanced at Elkstep. "Or three." Innocent as ever, Shrewstorm straightened and shook the last of the pain off. A few smacks to head wouldn't kill a man, but damn if the woman didn't. What a glare she had on her. And from Elkstep's appreciative looks, her evil eye wasn't the only hot thing she was packing. "Now no need to get nasty," Shrewstorm told everyone that wasn't him, because when did he ever listen to anyone? "I'm sure there's a happy medium somewhere in this mess." Whatever that mess was, anyway. He had no idea. Mostly because he had been busy getting his brains punched through his ears, but hey, if it made a girl's leaf float, why not? [bg=c5a172][atrb=width,469,true] [atrb=border,0,true]

[Glowy]

Ha. Freaking. Ha. Very funny, Elkstep. The nerve of that... why, that... that incorrigible little son of a badger! To even suggest that she, the most dignified she-cat in the entire clan, would stoop so low. It was unthinkable! Still, she should have expected it, being in his company. He was just like that. So she gave him a good sneer and snorted derisively. He wasn't worth the breath it would take to reply to him.

StarClan, this water was cold. It hadn't been very long, but she was already feeling a little numb in the paws. So she stood up, flicked the water off her tail into Shrewstorm's face, and sauntered onto the deliciously warm dry land. Her head was held high as her paws carried her forward, for she was basking in the knowledge that she was obviously superior to those two tick-picking toms. They weren't even worthy to lick the dust off her paws. She realized with a twitch that if she said that, they would probably try. Why had she come over here again?

Oh. Right. Shrewstorm. She was upset that he hadn't included her in the planning of his little practical joke, because it had worked, and it had worked splendidly, and it wasn't an addition to her resumè. Unfortunately, that meant that she would have to endure his and Elkstep's contemptible company.

"Unfortunately, Shrewstorm, it's not that simple." She licked a paw gingerly. "It's not that simple because, you see, you caused a heap of drama. Fantastic drama, if I do say so myself. But that's not the problem." She locked her eyes onto his, dragging out her words and pronouncing every syllable as precisely as she could. "The problem is that you did not think, with my reh-pew-tay-shun, to ask me to be involved. As one of the chief drama creators in the clan, I would have liked to have been involved."

It was then that Hawkheart realized that she had taken a seat right next to Elkstep. Oh, joy of freaking joys. She'd better deal with this before it spiraled out of control. But... she could always have some fun, right?

"Mmm. As for you," she lowered her voice, stood up, and swayed her way over to him, twirling her tail in the air. "You'd better learn to keep your mind in check." The tip of her tail was tracing patterns down his back, up his back, over his ears as she circled around him. "We wouldn't want you to get your," she chuckled once, "... hopes up, would we?" She booped his nose with her tail, met his eyes for a fleeting second, and then sashayed her way over to her own special area.

Oh, she was good. She was freaking GOOD! If that little number didn't cause some shenanigans, she was likely to give up forever.

[/center]

[Pyro]

"Most frequent? Between pranks and a lady I don't know when you have time for yourself." Elkstep was grinning like a fool now. Something about forceful clan she-cats...well, they reminded him of the other forceful she-cats he'd met in his life as a loner. Kate herself was more than a match for any tom, big or small...It appeared the same went for Hawkheart. If possible, his grin grew wider as she unwittingly sat next to him. "Well, Shrewstorm. It looks like she might have a new most frequent customer." he said as he eyed the she-cat, who had now chosen to circle around him. He watched as she sashayed around him, murmuring words that obviously held the weight of the sexual tension within the clearing. "We wouldn't want you to get your...hopes up, would we?" "S'not the only thing that's gonna be up, marm. Just so long as Shrewstorm doesn't mind sharing." he laughed. "Now about that happy medium..." Clearly some sort of alliance was hanging in the air. Think of the possibilities...three troublemakers working together within meadowclan. The shenanigans? Many. The laughter? Loud. The inevitable consternation on Cedarstar's face? Priceless. Perhaps the many opportunities for fun had been what really drew him to the clans...even more so even than the good looking women. "I think we can reach an understanding." speaking [bg=000000][atrb=width,428,true] [atrb=border,0,true]

[Slug !]

"Unfortunately, Shrewstorm, it's not that simple." Of course it’s that simple, Shrewstorm thought as the she-cat licked at her pretty little sharp claws. It was as simple as a mouse’s brain, but females made things more complicated than they really were. Otherwise known as ‘mountains out of mole-hills’. Terrible disease, that. "It's not that simple because, you see, you caused a heap of drama. Fantastic drama, if I do say so myself. But that's not the problem." They also liked to drag things out. Torture a poor tom with nerve-racking pauses that shook them all the way to their tail-tips. Instead, Shrewstorm grinned at the cheerfully colored pebbles on the streambed. With an idle paw, he rearranged them into crude mound that was supposed to be a cat with horns. He looked up and gave the she-cat a honey-sweet smile. Hawkheart looked great with a pointed tail, if he did say so himself. ....And then suddenly, the bloodthirsty she-cat was putting the moves on Elkstep! "Well, Shrewstorm. It looks like she might have a new most frequent customer." With a mournful sigh, Shrewstorm threw his head back and gave the sky his best pitiful look as of to date. "Heartbreakers, wherever I go. Have you no mercy on me, great sun of life and cold stars above? Oh, woe is me," he leaned toward Hawkheart, giving her a kicked-kitten look. "Will ye not have enough mercy to keep, not one, but two lonely travelers warm this ill-begotten night?" for once, those corny stories the elders told came in handy. But Shrewstorm was having a hard time keeping his "weak bag of fur" look from becoming a manic, ear-to-ear grin. Whiskers quivering and nose crinkling, one wasn't sure if the tom desperately needed a good sneeze, or was just having a facial spasm. It could've been both, really. "Now about that happy medium..." The grin nearly split his face in half and he purred, loudly might I add. Happy mediums? Shrewstorm's kitty-senses were tingling, and they were telling him that a great many pranks were just... within grasp... "I think we can reach an understanding." And that was his cue. "Pranks, jokes, schemes, and crazy plots. We're all for that, my little ducklings?" Shrewstorm didn't wait for a response, charging out of the stream like a kit that had eaten too many catnip leaves. "I'm so glad you all agree!" He went on, beaming at no one in particular. Maybe they should have thought over their 'partnership' with each other. Shrewstorm knew a barmy bee-hived sonuvarattler when he saw one. Just look at Elkstep. He just screamed I cliff-jump in my spare time, didn't he? Of course! Crazies, the lot of them. Shrewstorm would have to be extra careful around them, mhmm. "I'm bored, the apprentices hate my guts. Hit me with a plan of action, my little ducklings~!" Crazy here, crazy there, crazy all around... A very terrible disease, indeed. SPEAKING [bg=c5a172][atrb=width,469,true] [atrb=border,0,true]

[Glowy]

Hawkheart was almost horrified. What had she gotten herself into? Ugh. It was clear that she'd been wise to steer clear of these two in the past. Sharing? Oh, for StarClan's sake. There was going to be no sharing! There wasn't even going to be any using! That sick little... ooh, she'd find some way to get him. A swift glare was sent Elkstep's way, accompanied with a sneer this time. She knew she'd encouraged it for a moment, but that moment was over. It was SO over. "You two are impossible," she mewed, sticking her nose up high in a desperate attempt to act dignified. However, it was hard to do that when Shrewstorm was making goo-goo eyes at her and Elkstep was sitting there smirking. So the act lasted only a few seconds and she soon burst out laughing. After a few heartbeats, she realized that nobody was laughing with her... how incredibly awkward. Shrewstorm was over there having a happy-splosion. What. The. Heck. Was he soft in the head or something? "We didn't even-" she began, but was cut off by Shrewstorm's gleeful comment about... ducklings. SHE WAS NOT A DUCKLING. Oh, she was thiiiiiiiis close to going and smacking some sense into his head. Again. But that wasn't how she worked, oh no. Rhea was the queen of violence. Hawkheart was much more subdued than that. And she also chose which fights were worth it. "So, if we're the ducklings, does that make you Mama Duck?" She chuckled to herself, raising a challenging brow at Shrewstorm. Mama Duck indeed. Oh, he ought to get a kick our of that. speaking [bg=ded3bd][atrb=width,469,true] [atrb=border,0,true]

[Pyro]

"Impossible? Perish the thought." He smiled even wider. "A she-cat can't really talk to a tom about being impossible, now can she?" Elkstep slid slowly to the ground, folding his paw out in front of him as he laid down. He'd never thought of himself as a prankster, actually. And he was pretty damn sure no one else did either. 'Stone cold killer' was more like it. But who's to say he couldn't be a fool's tom, just like Shrewstorm? Keep the laughs and good times comin'? God, Shrewstorm looked like he was fit to burst with what he assumed was some form of joy, bordering on insanity. He could help meeting the other tom's wide grin, especially after Hawkheart's rather awkward laugh. Waitasec. Ducklings? Really. Well, he could kinda see it actually. Shrewstorm, the guru of jokes leadin' them along like little baby ducks, teaching them the finer arts of pranking. "Huh-huh. Mama Duck. That's you to a T, Shrewstorm." Goddamn this was fun right here. He could get used to this. Just messin' with people all the ding-dong-day. There was a certain cheeriness that never failed to come out of pokin' at people...he could see why Shrewstorm liked it. "Certainly don't seem to mind gettin' your tailfeathers wet swimmin' like one." [bg=000000][atrb=width,428,true] [atrb=border,0,true]

[Slug !]

Shrewstorm saw that look in Hawkheart’s eyes, oh yes, and he was quick about wading deeper into the water, snickering to himself all the while. Aaand safe! If she wanted to take another shot at him, she’d have to get in the water. See? He had brains, and they weren’t just used for coming up with schemes and pranks. Cats were too proud (or too afraid?) to go into the water these days, but not Shrewstorm. Nope, he embraced the water. And he made sure to show his complete and total devotion by smacking a few sprays of it in Hawkheart general direction. Poking large, fire-breathing lizards, that would be him. On a daily basis. ”I don’t know about Elkstep, but I, on the other hand, am impossibly good-looking,” Shrewstorm mewed, puffing up and grinning up at... the clouds. One of them looked like Cedarstar, okay? Don’t judge. ”Huh-uh. Mama Duck. That’s you to a T, Shrewstorm.” He stared at the clouds for a few more moments. ... And then another minute or two. Mama Duck...? ... ”...YES!” he laughed and splashed around some more, sending a few pebbles skittering out of the stream. ”I am the Mama Duck, ring-leader and brains of the Ducklings.” Imagine that, they had a little name for themselves already! Ducklings. Ducklings! Who would expect that? A group of cats that called themselves the Ducklings! Yes! They would be laughed at and underestimated, and that would be their enemy's downfall, ohh yesss. He turned his delighted grin onto Hawkheart and Elkstep. ”That would be you, by the way. Ducklings, the lot of you. Oh, oh, and Foxpaw! Foxpaw, the littlest duckling, because... because I said so.” And calling poor Foxpaw “the ugly duckling” didn’t sound very nice. Not nice at all. Or accurate, if the rumors from the she-cats were anything to go by. ”But... there’s one problem,” Shrewstorm murmured, deadly serious. They couldn’t have problems, not if they wanted to succeed, now did they? And that problem was very problematic indeed. They were Ducklings, after all. ”... You don’t swim!” He wailed, upset. Well, not really. ... Okay, yes, really. If they were going to be his ducklings, they had to swim, damn it. ”What kind of Mama Duck am I if my Ducklings don’t know how to swim?! I—wait, what kind of ducklings are you if you don’t know how to swim? You are terrible ducklings. Terrible.” Shrewstorm was disappointed in them, to say the least. [bg=c5a172][atrb=width,469,true] [atrb=border,0,true]

[Glowy]

Hawkheart shared a smile with Elkstep, having a wonderful time, basking in the warmth of the sun and her own brilliance (heh. mama duck), when suddenly, she was torpedoed by little droplets of cold, wet stuff. Her facial expression dropped from a grin to an "Oh-I-am-so-not-amused-right-now" look in an instant, and she would have fixed Shrewstorm with the dirty look, but it would have no effect on him. Especially not since he was over there cracking jokes about how good looking he was and how he was the brains of the Ducklings. The. Brains. ... surprisingly, he had a point. Hawkheart wasn't much for plotting Shrewstorm's type of mayhem. She was more subtle about her chaotic touch. Or, well, she was usually. Right now was a special circumstance. Perhaps these foolish toms were bringing out a different side of her, perhaps she was just being a good actress, as per usual, but she never okay, hardly ever acted this way. She used words, not actions, to push her clanmates' buttons. Words and secrets. "Yes, Shrewstorm, you are certainly the brains of the operation,"

[/b] she mewed, fixing him with a dubious stare. "But then where are we left? Elkstep and Foxpaw and I. What are we?"[/b] If he said that they were just ducklings, she swore that he would wake up one day to find his bed soaked in mouse bile.

... yeah, they were Ducklings. How incredibly... she didn't know what, actually, but how incredibly something of him to say so. He would either live to rue this day or live to look back on it fondly and she couldn't quite figure out which one she wanted to make happen.

Besides, he'd splashed her. Not that there was any connection, but it made sense in her mind. She was pouting, yep yep yep!

Shrewstorm wanted them to go in the water. Being wet already, she was more than happy to oblige. "Well, Elkduck, what do you say we show our Mama just what kind of ducklings we are?"[/b] She grinned, laughed, and then jumped into the water and started sprinting after Shrewstorm without being so kind as to wait for Elkstep's reply. She'd be able to tackle Shrewstorm eventually, with or without the help from the desperado.

WATER FIGHT TIME! Oh, yes.

speaking


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