rp sample no.1
some time ago before stumbling upon Kirovsk
a younger Taras }
He woke one evening tantalized by an idea: if he could catch the boats motionless for one second - for half a second - if they stood wholly at rest for the briefest moment - then, maybe, Grisha would return. The boat door would screech open and in the white-haired man would saunter in, red-faced and slapping his hands together exclaiming about politics and what fools they all were. A deep sigh would thicken the air as it brushed out of the man’s mouth, all while he exhaustingly collapsed into the chair. Taking it as his cue a purr would dryly rumble in his chest, shoving the top of his head into the leathery hand that dangled from the chair. And just like that, as Grisha worked his fingers along the nape of his neck, all the worries he had carried in with the night would vanish like the melting snow. They would rest, wake with the sun and make their many moons long journey back to Umba, back to their home. Childish, Taras knew, but he didn’t care. The trick was to not focus on any single part of any boat, but to look through them all toward a point in the air. But how insidious a bargain he’d made. Even in the quietest moment some small thing quivered and the tableau was destroyed.
He knelt by the window and let the image replay itself. The snow lay jaundiced under the flickering dock lights and the small lamp from within the boat. Flakes of snow were captured there, drifting earthward like ash. Up from the streets people's voices rang, tinny and fractured.
How many afternoons slipped away like that? How many nights standing in the front window, watching the boats shiver in the moonlight? Still he watched, transfixed. Then, blushing because it was futile and silly, he forced himself to jump down into the chair. Beaten and soft to the touch, it had seen better days. It had seen many many days and Taras had been there for all of them. He allowed his mind to be riddled with the fading memories of his travels. When he blinked , an afterimage of perfect stillness. What if it were to happen while he wasn’t watching. He turned back. Through the slightly frosted window glass a dozen boats rocked by the winter wind, flags raising to the heavens.
Stop it, he told himself. Just stop.
And watched some more.
Time, it was such a delicate thing and as it passed he could feel himself slowly deteriorating under the weight of it. It had been days since Grisha’s disappearance. He had to get out of here. Off this boat. There was nothing left for him here. Though he didn’t want to believe it, Grisha wasn’t coming back.
He left at first light. The cold was fearsome, the sky above dilute and punctured by stars. He jumped from the boat and onto the dock with uneasy legs. His heart tugged toward the small trawler behind him but he refused to look back. It was nothing but a container of memories, of his previous life. If he were to survive this coming winter he would need to forget about his home that rocked behind him. He would need to forget about Grisha.
The wind was beginning to pick up, he was glad that he had been blessed with a thicker coat. Those that were less fortunate tended not to last. Still he could feel a slight twinge of pain course through his body. It was getting colder. He needed the pain, or thats what he kept telling himself. As much as it hurt, he at least knew that he was alive, that this wasn’t a dream. And though he didn’t feel it just yet, he was still there, still breathing, living. Thick shoulders hunched against the gusts of ocean winds, curling his form in on itself in feeble protection from the elements. He kept his gaze to the ground, watching every snow sludgy step he took as he made his way from the docks to the streets, frowning at the manner in which his paws sunk into the slush. Taras became so immersed in the vile truth of the weather, that it was almost too easy to walk away from it all. Almost. As the tom reached the streets he casted his hard moss eyes over his shoulder to catch one last glimpse of the trawler.
Forget about it. Forget about him.
But he couldn’t. Instead he watched for the stillness.
By the stars, stop, he thought.
But life continued to move. Sighing he turned his back on all possibilities of his old life and slipped into the streets of Murnmask.
He had slept but did not rest. He blinked his mossy eyes as the pale blue light of dawn just began to filter in through the entrance of the tunnel. The lad stirred in his nest as he attempted to grasp onto sleep. Unfortunately for him, slumber slipped through his paws, leaving him restless and tired which was never good. A tired cat makes a cranky cat or at-least that's what Taras had observed. Lucky for him though he rarely fell onto the grumpy side.
Again, he had awakened before dawn leaving him weary and despondent. If that wasn’t enough the fear that provoked his night terrors further surely did him kindly. Fear. It was a constant cloud that hung over the lad, suffocating and thick, kind of like- no. He couldn't bring himself to think of it, of the liquid, it made his stomach churn and queasy. Countless nights he would arise gasping for air that had never been absent. Each time an ache would spur from his chest and threaten to climb up his throat and bring all of his body's contents with it. That was many moons ago, now he had better control of his contents.
When he closed his eyes something horrid bloomed there, a black-petaled shape building endlessly outward. In his body, he stayed in his nest in the tunnel, but in his mind, he stood and walked through the entrance and into the morning. Outside it was frigid and well - white. Everything was consumed by the white blankets that lay across the land during the winter. He couldn't see anything but, still, he continued on until he happened upon Grisha. His previous owner was sprawled in the snow and had fashioned himself with the wretched smelling red liquid. Now Taras isn't one to considered frightful, just like any other cat found in the ports or on the streets he’s as hard as the coming winter. Yes, he has been startled once or twice, but nothing to the extreme of being compared to a shaking leaf - still, when he saw Grisha covered in red he couldn't help but allow a shiver to run down his spine.
Taras quickly flicked his eyes open.
Stop it, he told himself. Forget about him, about the dream.
The large silver coon stared vacantly into the dimly lit space, the all too familiar silence greeting him. Stars know how long he had been laying there before coming to the conclusion that he had to make movement, the sharp claws of leaf-bare fingering through his fur, causing his coat to prickle. Tail lifted high to ensure that it wouldn't brush against any of his clan-mates he quietly navigated his way through the maze of sleeping bodies and nests, each step casting a reassuring gaze over his shoulder to ensure himself that he had not disturbed any of the sleeping souls.
He took note of those that were already up and about. There was Elena, and well - Elena. He liked Elena, her paws were forever moving. She was diligent in her assignments and vigorous in her training. Taras hardly spoke so he never had the opportunity to compliment her work ethic, not that he would. He wondered if she had the same feeling in her paws... The tom shook his head to rid of his forever tantalizing thoughts and glanced around at the other cats that lay in their makeshift nests. The others like Yuliy and Hawke were still dreaming sweetly. He couldn't help but let a small smile dance on his lips. It had only been a few moons ago that he had fallen up the mixed up band of cats, still, he couldn't help but care for each and every one of them. They were his companions now and he would honor that.
Taras' fawn pointed ears perked as footfall began to echo through the tunnel. Before he could even question it Stark urgently rushed passed him and scaled the rocks in more than a timely manner. The tom winced slightly as the leader called for everyone's fantasies to end and walk to the cold of the morning. They were so peaceful. Twitching his nose in slight disgust with himself he refocused on Stark. Obviously, there was the reason behind Stark's actions and abruptly waking his fellow companions. He couldn't imagine Stark waking everyone to show off the latest prey he or someone else caught - oh no - there was a more serious tone behind his voice.
The first snowfall.
Something fluttered in his chest, was it his heart? He couldn't tell. Whatever it was he was still awe-stricken by how many moons had already passed since his departure from Murnmask? From Grisha? From home? His heart sank ever so slightly. He couldn't lie to himself, he missed the "ol' lad," missed his rough hands and thick arms that easily enveloped him, his booming voice that made any room rattle, but most of all those kind eyes. Oh, those eyes! They dug through his flesh and always burned him down to the core. Maybe it was their hue? He had been given a set of icy blue eyes that had kind flecks of brown. Whatever it was he missed it, terribly. But now was not the time to.
‘Double the amount of work.’
Taras' heart lifted. He always thought that his companions' paws were a little more idle than he preferred. Maybe now things would actually get done in a decent and timely manner. He understood the reasoning and purpose behind a lazy morning - however, that didn't mean that he approved of them. The work to be done was staggering. Sluggish mornings were not for those with the faint of heart. Especially him. Hopefully, the duties would be carried out without complaint - but that was him dreaming.
Starks' decision was indeed abrupt but Taras respected it. Winter was never one to stick to a day by day, exclusively scheduled calendar, no, it came when it came, barging through the lands with an unforgiving touch. The first snow fall wasn't something to take lightly and those that did never lasted long. In his travels, he had seen Winter's icy fingers work through the thick coats of cats and leave them for dead. Having a damned soft heart Taras had attempted to aid others but once they were in the icy grips there was nothing he could do. Puffing his chest slightly his mossy green eyes scanned across the den. There were twelve of them. There would be twelve of them when the whisper of snow seeping beneath the rocks, seething along the floor of the tunnels. They would be there. All of them.
By the seas' current and the stars, he thought to himself, praying that he would be right.
It would seem rather unusual that a lad like him would be speaking to the stars as if their very fabrication was their will and had something to do with his. Most spoke ill of those that believed in things that had no true explanation, the stars, the moons, the sea. He understood their reasoning and harsh tones, why would anyone believe in such things. Why they were for kits to comfort them when the days went dark and were full of terrors! Not for an old lad like him! Still - how many times had he followed the stars back home when he got lost? One too many I'd say.
Taking a deep breath the large Maine Coon moved across the cold rocky floor, drifting towards the group that had already gathered. It was only natural that Yulily and Stark would go with one group, as well as Motya. Hawke would lead the other considering he was the only other hunter. Maybe Elena would join Hawke's... He didn't seem so bad. He didn't mind what crowd he followed. The thick silver coat that shrouded his body yearned for a swim but the lake was not the place to do it, he didn't mind the mines nor the meadow, but whenever his duties called him to the forest they weren't something Taras was eager to carry along. Whichever group he joined he would still be slightly displeased with the surroundings. This isn't about comfort this is about survival, he reminded himself.
Flashing his bright moss eyes he waited for an invitation to one of the two groups.
The large tom stood for a few breaths as the others mingled amongst themselves before he allowed his paws to carry him to the mouth of the entrance. His mossy pools drank in the lands that rolled before him. Soft misty snow blurred the lines of the land. From afar it may have appeared mildly romantic; delicate branches piercing the skyline like needles, the hazy glowing outlining of the two-leg dens shining full of wonder and promise. But the sheer curtain of the powder could only mask so much. Any creature living among these stretching lands knew of the hard times to come. On the bitter winter winds, claws unsheathed, Winter would come. Waves would wash over the lands, drowning everyone and everything in a sea of desperation and aggression. The musty tunnel air he now breathed will thicken with tension at the hands of his companions. And that awfully charming powder, damn it all, always tended to soak through and through any and all fur, slowly, but surely seeping coldly through to the skin.
Taras continued to watch as the snowfall began to collect at the peaks of the mountains. It was the first fall but that still didn't leave them with much time. Stark was right in his decision to double up on a hunting patrol, soon the prey would notice the icy fingers leafing through their fur and...
Casting his mossy green gaze he watched as the mismatch-rugged band of cats devised hunting groups amongst themselves. He had only know them for a few passing moons, still, damn his soft heart, he felt the need to protect them. Especially the young lad that had been appointed his apprentice. It wasn't hard to spot Cliffe as he groggily pulled himself from his nest of dreams. A weak smile managed to find it's way through Taras' statue-face facade. Did he dream of the sea's breath pushing through his fur? Maybe perhaps his night was full of chasing hares through fields of wildflowers, their pungent fragrance clinging to his coat and lingering just a few moments longer as he pushed the sleep from his eyes. Or maybe, just maybe he curled into the warmth of a two-leg, into the strong arms of a lad like Grisha. He could only stand there and pray to the stars above that the young lads' night was full of sweetly fabricated fantasies. Taras knew more than anyone that there would be fewer of those sweet times with the coming winds. He couldn't help but allow his eyes to linger just awhile longer on Cliffe as scrambled to his paws and fought off the sleep that threatened to drag him back to his nest.
A chilling wind pierced through Taras' coat and casted chilling thoughts. What if they don't find enough to eat this winter? What if they don't...
Taras' eyes hurriedly found Cliffe and couldn't help but imagine the youngling laying next to all the others he had meet along his journey home. All the others with their sunken wild eyes, poking bones, frozen whiskers, they had all appeared before him like ghosts, lost in the sea of white. Closing his eyes, a chilling sight bloomed there. Cliffe's once peaceful emerald eyes become something like a wild dog, wide with desperation, sinking deep into his dulling facade. Ice crept over his body as he transformed into one of them. Into one of the unlucky ones.
No.
Flicking his eyes open the ungodly sight vanished and was replaced with a slightly disheveled Cliffe attempting to clean his coat before joining the others. He wouldn’t have it. He’d fight with tooth and claw, something that didn’t happen often, to ensure that they all watched the snow melt come spring-time.
Taras sighed deeply, he needed to stop worrying, of course they would all make it. Picking himself up he shook his thick coat out before swiping his tongue over it a few times to pat down the few tuffs that stood up. It was the sweet, chime-like voice of his companion, Motya that drew him farther from his thoughts. Turning towards her he greeted her with a meek smile and a dip of his head out of politeness. He liked Motya, she had a good heart and wasn’t at all afraid by it, unlike himself. You could say that he admired her strength. There had been countless instances that he damned his soft heart to the heavens and back, wishing that he had taken up the mannerisms of a cold brute. He couldn’t picture Motya cursing the stars let alone anything else.
He allowed Motya to have his full attention as he focused on her words, that was until Stark’s voice came traveling across the tunnel and caught his ear.
“You look like you’ve got mange.”
Even the word made Taras’ stomach churn with disgust. He had had the pleasure of seeing cats on his many journeys that had mange and it was anything but pretty. He had met a lass, Aulis, a beautiful thing really, along his travels who had had the misfortune of contracting the disease. It had sadden him, she had been such a pretty creature. A flash of her face consumed by mange and infection danced in his head before he shook them away. Taras’ green eyes found Yuliy and he could not see the resemblance that Stark had seen between his apprentice and a disease ridden cat. Fire boiled in Taras’ eyes as his fur drew up slightly, he respected Stark in the sense that he respected the efforts he had made to make this band of cats, but thats where he drew the line. The silver maine coon did not personally respect Stark’s choices nor the way he carried himself. If anything he frowned upon Stark’s unnecessary harshness, especially when directed towards his meek apprentice. Taras knew that deep down Stark meant well and was probably trying to shape Yuily to become the tough apprentice he wish he could have but anyone with eyes could see that Yuliy would never make the cut.
“I’d really appreciate it. We’d need to get some others to join us though.”
Taras’ eyes lingered on Yuliy and Stark awhile longer as he turned his head towards Motya. His eyes trailed along her face and could tell that she was just as equally unease by Stark’s treatment towards Yuliy. The young apprentice deserved a mentor like Motya, someone that would understand his nervous tendencies and worried about his well being in a less brutal way.
“He’ll be ok.”
It was the first words that he had spoke that morning, actually to be fair, it was the first words he had spoken in awhile, still the words came out like silk, soft and deep. Yulily had made it here on his own, he was strong. They had all made long, treacherous journeys across the unforgiving lands that rolled just outside the tunnel, they were all strong. Motya, Yulily, Cliffe, they were all strong and they would all make it to spring.
"Good morning sir. Sorry for keeping you."
It was the gruff-like voice that fished his unwanted thoughts back to the surface. The frozen ghosts lost in the sea of white danced in his head, tautnting him with the inevitable fates of his companions. His green eyes fell upon Motya and Cliffe.
Stop it.
He forced a small smile to his face as he greeted his apprentice, his thoughts still lingering on the possibilities winter was going to bring. Taras appriciated Cliffe's apology but found it unnessecary, sleep was sleep and they all needed it. " t's quite alright, Cliffe, glad you got some rest, you're going to need it." He wasn't lying, they would all need to start valuing their rest with the incoming winds of winter. A tired cat does not survive. Taras again turned to Motya, his face softer this time, "Cliffe and I will accompany you."
