Of the Second {OPEN}

[» Sacrifice]

The lean tom was of Zane's last litter, and unlike his previous siblings, the ones with the violet eyes that marked them as nothing else really would, he showed whom his parents were. With his onyx pelt, marked only with various ash colored patches of grey, and his golden eyes, Quinn made no secret about what he was, although who he was happened to be a different matter. Quinn wasn't all to social, much like his father, and although he had already mastered different tongues, he bore no trace of an accent unless he was startled, truly startled, something that didn't happen very often. But today, he had decided to leave the caverns that made up the Canyon, and walk in the surface, as much as you could call it that. Something that he wasn't all to sure about doing, but hey, you either swim or drown, right? Well, not really, I mean, you could always be eaten by something, but I suppose that would fall under the same thing as drowing, right? Hmm, that was a difficult one for sure. Golden eyes thoughtful, the black and grey tom was thinking, all the while observing the sights, nothing that he had really expected actually out there. Not to mention the sun was making him rather uncomfortable.

Many often mistook Quinn's quiet nature for weakness, something that was easily fixed. The fact that he was quiet was more along the lines of being chosen, for with a sharp tongue and quick witt, he was quick to tear into anyone who deserved it, but at the same time, he could just say nothing with the same effect. With his parentals as models, it wasn't without wonder that Quinn was the way he was. For the most part he often got along with his siblings, but there were a few that he kept away from at all costs, even if he didn't show it outwardly. They didn't frighten him, but something just seemed to say 'keep away,' and, well, he really didn't want to drown. Down below, he was nothing but a shadow, but now, as he was forced into the sunlight, it was time to loose some of the shyness, at least, if he found someone who didn't set off his alarms. It was difficult, as even though he observed several from great heights, their vibes almost were just as powerful as though he was standing right next to them.

A soft sigh rippled the form, as he watched Fatality slip away, her mood clear and bright. It was rare for her to be in a good mood, usually she felt very confused and unsure, something that could be from the fact she was always playing everyone, something that only he had really noticed. Shaking his head ever so slightly, his grey flecked ears shot forward, as he spotted another figure. Without being able to get a reading, if you wanted to call it that, the young tom was curious without reason to meet this cat, and gathering up his nerve, he didn't socialize well with anyone, he stepped forward, gently jumping from the ledge he had been perched upon, head tilted ever so slightly, a curious look in his eyes.

"Hello."
He spoke from a distance back, voice soft and controlled, expressing just the faintest amount of curiousity. It was netrual mostly though, saying that he wasn't a threat, but he could be one if needed. And that was true, for although he was younger, he was a skilled fighter from the various cats he had taken almost lessons from. All of his family had some decent fighting skills, he only hoped that he wouldn't have to use them today.

But maybe he could use the practice.

((Just a netrual post, I need to work with his personality more.))

[*Sinister*Dreams*]

She knew who he was. Everyone knew who he was. It seemed these days, everyone related to Zane was known and all those related to Renegade were born to be their enemies. As a kit, she had been raised for the exact purpose of whiping out the family of Renegade's one true hate. The spawn of his revenge. Poison knew that she was destined to carry on the legacy, as the ancestor of Masquerade and Renegade.

As much as she disguised it from her father, Poison had inherited much more of Warheart's blood than her fathers. She turned towards Quinn, knowing full well of the hatred likely between them but happy to ignore it outside the watchful eyes of her family. Call it a montague-capulet thing.

"Hello, Quinn."
She spoke almost in shame, head turned to the side slightly. How could she hate someone she had never met? She'd been told horror stories of Zane, but worse were the ones she'd heard from the clans of her own father. Was she never meant to make decisions for herself?

Poison was rarely allowed out of her fathers' lair, be it because he was strangely protective of his chosen heir, or because he knew how it hurt her. Often the thoughts battled in her head, between hate and love, lust and mistrust. Everything was so messed up...

And so, bitterly, Poison showed her black face from the shadows, silver mask betraying the line of her blood, green eyes the only thing not directly inherited from her hated family.

Warheart would always watch and protect her, this much she knew. But here, in Zane's home, she only wanted freedom. What would the cost be?

[» Sacrifice]

Right before Poison spoke, a flash of suprise and recognition flickered for a moment in the orbs of Quinn. It was one of Renegade's offspring, more shadowy because of the sheer fact she had always been hidden by the silver tom for some unknown reasons, but an enemy none the less. However, as the black and ash grey tom studied her, getting a faint reading, he didn't feel the same burning rage as everyone else in his family felt for anyone related to Renegade.
Everyone is who they make themselves out to be; why cloud that image with whom their parents are?
Silently musing this over, Quinn dipped his head in greetings, manner reserved, but not exactly cold. For the moment, his mood was one that was good, and he did have manners, especially toward she cats. He could be a true gentleman, if that was the correct term for it.

"M'lady Poison. A pleasure."
Voice smooth, like silk, but at the same time polite and open, the tom turned his golden so he met the green ones of the she cat, a curious tilt in his head. Quinn was the one who was most like his parents... on the outside. He was trapped in his own ways, acting the way that had been ingrained into him since kithood, and not knowing anything different. He knew that he had good fortune, after all, not many had sworn enemies before birth, but at the same time, one of great hinderance. After all, he shouldn't be just sitting her, conversing with one who was suppose to be the enemy. Any of his other siblings would have sneered and then prepared themselves for an attack, even though it wouldn't end well for no side would be happy until the two were dead, and that would only cause a blood feud. She was lucky, that much was true, that she had been found by him, for Quinn was prone to observing, though a small part of him called for an attack. A dark part that was easily squenched beneath the iron will he had been taught.

"What brings you out here? Assuming that it isn't just a need to get away from the family."
A small, somewhat tight smile flickered on the maw of the tom, as he for a moment, averted his gaze, before bringing it back up.

Maybe a friendly conversation would be possible between two 'rivals.' Who knew.

[*Sinister*Dreams*]

She was hesitant; the true nature of her only longing to dash to him as say to his well-known face.
Please...I'm not who you think I am...
But she pushed down her nature, remembering all too well the threats of her father she was too cowardly to protest against. The thought of that single word, coward, sent a shiver of anger down her spine. Poison was no coward, that was certain. But she was as intelligent as she was deadly, judging by the poison her father kept upon her claws. She knew better than to attack him, for she had learned nothing yet...She knew he did not trust her; why else would there be the antidote to her poison-tipped claws set just in Renegade's cave, guarded by his most loyal servants.

"Quinn."

She dipped her head, having been taught the best of manners. Perhaps that was the only upside of her upbringing. Well, of course there was Warheart...He wouldn't leave her there permanently unless it was for the good of all, she knew that much. At the word family, she gave another involuntary shudder. Her father could hardly be called family...After all, the only one she was close to in that way was her aunt.

Would no one come to save her from her prison cell she would surely return to come sunset? She was exactly as she appeared, a real princess, trapped in the highest tower.

"Family...Yeah, right! Thanks for the joke, Prince, but I don't think my father knows he has a family. Just a coven, or whatever they call it these days."
She spat, no malice on her voice as she called him Prince. She knew what he was, of his legacy. As if someone like him could help her...

[» Sacrifice]

Bitterness seemed to surge forth from the she cat, as well as something else, something that he couldn't quite get... or maybe it was understand. He had not had the upbringing that Poison had recieved, and although he was expected to be everything that he was, he had not been, well, say forced, into it the same way that Poison had. And with that, the rift between the two, even with their first encounter, was what seperated them the most. Their parentage didn't help either. And yet, as Quinn's own golden eyes met those green of Poison, he found that he could understand, from a distance, what she meant, or rather, felt. The anger, the bitterness, and everything else that came with it.
Nobody really knows what it is like; to have such a legacy to live up to, aside from those on the opposite side of the glass, those who are raised for the darkness, even though they know that they could belong to the other. That they want to be saved not only from the leader, but from themselves...
Finding your way from the darkness though, required several different things, things hard to get, if you didn't know exactly what you were looking for. You needed the will, and the light. A beakon, if you will.

"So I've heard. All the horror stories, as I'm sure you've heard about my family, be them true or not."
There was no malice in his tone, he had been raised to well for that with someone he had just met, and he offered a faint shrug. He was though, sorry for what she had to live with. Even if it didn't really show, along with the fact he was incredibly curious about her, who she was, and what she wanted. However, his nature was of observant, not questioner, and although he was burning to ask the questions his mind had whipped up, he kept his maw sealed, instead, just reading what he saw. Conversation had dropped though, at this point, and it would be rude not to say something, but at that moment, his mind went blank, all aside from the spinning questions in his mind. Some part of him, his restraint, yelled no, while another part, the part that had always been hidden from the surface, called out for him to ask those questions, and he was locked in battle.

In the end though, there is only one side that can win, although compromise is often acceptable. It was just finding the correct words, the correct phrases, to word the question.
"Beneath most stories, there often lays a grain of truth. Fact is easier to deal with then fiction though, and maybe it is time, at least, between ourselves, to get those stories strait...?"
An offer, if a small one, to see, what life was really like, behind closed walls. To take a step on the opposite side, all the while keep information that was important left alone. For one, it would satisfy a curiousity, and for another.. Who could tell what would happen, until it happened. It was time to live in the present, for it is that which creates the future, as well as the past.