That Afternoon

[Blackie]

//I lift up your disguise//
//And to my surprise I realize//
//Your no different from the rest; just a typical mess//



He was cold. An odd thing to be on a warm afternoon like this one. The sun blazed over the neat rows of Twoleg nests like a watchful mother's eye. The light prompted a dazzling smell from the lush gardens behind and before every house. The floral perfumes rose and danced around his senses, trying to soothe his raging heart. He felt suffocated and chocked by their overwhelming strength. Herbs and flowers of every kind. Some kittypets were even lucky enough to have catmint growing in their tiny territories. They were blessed to be so cared for, even loved. He might like to settle in a home someday, but for now his conscience was far too wild. He still felt so guilty. His past loomed to high in his future to see what lay beyond, if anything.

The black tom sighed. His life was a misery he adored. At times, he wanted to murder it, but he could never find the will. It wasn't his way. But he couldn't very easily trick himself, could he? Maybe. It would be a hard thing to do.

Atlas bounded through one of the unowned gardens to the fence. His lithe body moved with grace. He was a handsome cat, even if he was bad inside. He made his way to the top of the fence posts, balancing on their thin boards. Beyond lay the forest, it's trees reaching up to the sky like bushy green fingers stretching to some great prize. A flock of birds fluttered into the clear sky, darting to and fro in their great search of a proper landing space. Atlas' curiosity was pulled to the wild cats he had heard about. What on earth did they do in their lovely woods? Eat all day in the company of friends? The tom stared longingly. He'd join them easily instead of moving into a Twoleg nest. Yet, sooner or later he would have to leave them. He couldn't avoid his trade. It was like a disease, an addiction. He needed to do it. Angrily, Atlas laid his ears back. No, he didn't need to trick and steal. He needed a purpose. But purposes were for the good. No liar could have a pleasing purpose in the world. It was better to die.

Atlas snorted. Listen to yourself! As if Whisp and Strike were inside your head. With an effort, the ebony loner pricked his ears and lifted himself into a sitting position. He looked almost fake with his blank stare. But he was anything but fake. No, he was very real. More real than most cats.

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[Burningwing]

He wasn't sure what he was doing here. Every fiber of him was repulsed by this area, the twoleg houses with their neat little gardens and the prissy house cats that lived in them. And yet, here he was, stalking silently below the fence that seperated the twoleg area from the forest. The fence was like the shell of a egg, white, hard, protecting the soft soul inside from the harsh realities of the world. And yet, that shell could be broken so easily, and the thing inside so easily violated. It could be broken, smashed and as the life inside it flowed out, benevolent souls would flow in. But was he 'benevolent'?

Perhaps. There was a sinister appearance to the tom. His fur was short and bleach white except for two thin, black lines, one on each cheek, running from his eye to his jaw, and black that outlined his eyes, his green eyes that seemed to constantly be slitted. He wasn't muscular, rather thin, yet not emaciated. He didn't look powerful. Yet, looks can be decieving. Real sunk his claws into the wodden rails of the fence, clawing his way up, his face austere as sunlight radiated down on him, illuminating his already blanch fur. His whiskers brushed against the wood as he heaved himself onto the top of the rails, crouching down as he got his balance.

Real's dark green eyes easily picked up the shape of the black cat, sitting a few meters away from him. He was rather suprised he had missed the cat, though the stench of twolegs and catmint must have dulled all the other scents in the area. Real righted himself, settling down in his perch. The cat looked almost fake, like one of the twolegs stupid toys. But as Real breathed in the air, the scent of the cat was real and warm. It tasted of life. Alive.

The white tom wasn't going to be the one to start a conversation. He stared blankly at the other cat, his fur smooth, his face calm like the surface of a clear sky. His breath was shallow, light, barely even there, just like his heart beat.

[Blackie]

//I lift up your disguise//
//And to my surprise I realize//
//Your no different from the rest; just a typical mess//



Atlas was nervous, but he did not let that show. Only mild surprise was expressed in his narrow face and a sly smile. It was almost unnerving to have the strange cat beside him. Atlas had met quite a set of different characters over the moons, but none like this tom. He could only hope he had not accidentally strayed onto it's territory. Meeting the stranger's green gaze with his own eyes, Atlas gave a slight nod in greeting. Whatever he did, he had to remain composed and polite. That was the easiest way to get out of trouble like this.

"Good afternoon," Atlas mewed in his soft voice. "Have I trespassed here? My sincerest apologies."

He stood up, ready to leave. He was afraid of making the pale furred cat angry. The last thing Atlas wanted was to fight. Better to settle things calmly.

[Burningwing]

Real continued to stare at the other tom, a rather depressed look on his face. That was normal. His usual expression. His large, dark eyes surrounded by black added to the effect, not to mention the tear-trail like black markings down his cheeks. Real examined the other tom's face, it was narrow, similiar to his own slender face. He watched as the other cat nodded in greeting. Real only ecknowledged it with a slight flick from the tip of his tail, which was hanging off the edge of the fence, swinging slightly as a light breeze emerged from the forest. Real was a quiet cat, but that shouldn't be mistaken for politeness. Real didn't often feel the need to be polite.

Black eyelids slowly closed over Real's emerald eyes, leaving two black patches staring back at the other cat. It was an easy was for Real to unnerve another cat. Having two hole-like patches staring at you-with black tear-trail markings- had a large impact on most cats. " You have not trespassed." Real said quietly, his voice having an almost metalic quality to it. " I have no territory." His eyes slowly opened again, his slitted eyes fixed on Atlas.

The other cat had rose. Real watched him with stoical eyes, wondering impassively if the other cat was going to leave. Hmm. The fragrance of catmint wafted through the air, and Real blinked again, slowly, as he inhaled the aroma.

[Blackie]

//I lift up your disguise//
//And to my surprise I realize//
//Your no different from the rest; just a typical mess//



Wow, he was weird. Atlas pricked his large ears forward at the sound of the cat's strange voice. He did not like the way the stranger closed his eyes when he spoke. The black patches made his sockets look empty. As if you were staring into the eye holes of a skull. The fur on the back of Atlas' neck longed to rise in alarm, but moons of disciplined self-control forced it to stay flat. Instead, the black tom tilted his head to the side, adopting an inquisitive look. That was all he would allow himself for now, other emotions may prove dangerous at this point.

"No territory?" Atlas mewed in response to the stranger's comment. "Then you must be a stray? I can imagine; who would want to live with a cat who can stare at you with his eyes closed?

The ebony cat sat down again, straight as before. The only difference was this time he was facing his unusual companion. He flicked his tail lazily, studying the stranger with expressionless blue eyes. The weird smile returned to his face. As if he had found something amusing. It was just a cover-up, though. He had picked up the smile as he had grown in his profession. Often, he had found that his smirk made other cats nervous. Especially kittypets. Unconsciously, he had learned to smile when ever he was unsure of himself. It kept other cats from probing to far.

"I'm Atlas, by the way." he meowed, lifting his gaze briefly to meet the other's emerald eyes. "I'm well known for my . . . tracking abilities in other places. If you ever lose something, or want something you can't find, I can probably find it. For a price." Finally, he let a flash of amusement into his face. A fleeting moment. He was still uncertain about this cat. Who knew what might set off it's temper.[/color][/size][/center]

[Burningwing]

Real continued to stare at the other cat, furrowing his brow over his eyes ever so slightly more. It seemed this cat was the type to start a conversation. Very different from Real. And his voice was different as well. It was soft, smoother then the hard, metalic tone of Real's own voice. Real could image his sullen voice tearing over the other cat's fluid articulation. Hmm. Strange, since most people would probably think of black as the more unyeilding one. Real continued pondering this for a few moments as the other cat spoke, an inattentive look on his depressed face. As the other cat finished speaking, the white tom flicked his tail leisurely, waiting

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