Strawberry425

Warrior Cats - Plague of Misery

Hey guys. I want to say, things are going to be a little slow on my part, especially between the advanced roleplays and then college starting up again soon. I have to see how things are going. I may, unfortunately, have to end up dropping out of this one if the pace is too fast, or reducing my characters to just one, as I had originally planned. I just don't want to ruin the game for anyone with my slowness, but I also don't want to drop out, out of the blue. Once again, sorry about the slowness.

Welcome to Santa Somabra [Fantasy Noir]

sorry all
been a bit of a rough week
I am working on a reply to dj but there was quite alot and it's slow work at the moment
struggling to keep my head straight
move on without me and I will catch you guys up

@the crafty pig

So sorry to hear you've been having it tough crafty. I hope things get better soon. If you ever need to talk, we're all here.

Welcome to Santa Somabra [Fantasy Noir]

I am thoroughly excited! Shit's about to get real!

Fused At Birth

Hey guys! We're almost a full house, I think. Only Hatter's left to complete her character. I hope ya'll don't mind the slowness of the OC thread. This is the first time one of my more fleshed out RP's (as opposed to the generic like, fantasy, steampunk, fandom, etc.) has gotten enough attention to be pushed into the IC, and the first time I'm GM'ing one with such a stringent plot. Usually I gravitate towards the looseness of Sandboxish rps (which I may very well go ahead and make soon). Either way, I hope you guys don't mind if things get a little bumpy or slow at times :)

Warrior Cats - Plague of Misery

Snowpaw

Snowpaw's claws dug deeply into the gritty sand of the Hollow. The wind blew aridly, and carried with it the scents and sounds of the abundant prey that scurried in the underbrush of Thunderclan's lush forests. Above the cat's heads, round, cotton like clouds floated by at a leisurely pace.

The Hollow always made Snowpaw thirsty. It's dry nature yowled of parched throats and deserted wastelands. But it's soft sands made a gentle cradle for cats who stumbled or were tripped in training practice. Cats from her clan frequented the Hollow to raise apprentices in the way of Warriors.

Tabbyfur was meowing instructions at Snowpaw, but Snowpaw's mind had drifted. The border between Riverclan and Thunderclan lay only a few fox-lengths away. A few fox-lengths away from her father, and her half siblings. She had never met her father, never even seen him. For that matter, she had never attended a Clan meeting before, and recently, her paws had prickled with anticipation hoping that Hawkstar would pick her for one. But moons had gone by since her apprenticeship, and she remained stationary, stuck executing apprentice duties. She wondered if it was a calculated move; did Hawkstar want to shield Snowpaw from Riverclan? Her mind began to wander, and if not for Tabbyfur's low, crouched stance, Snowpaw would have been inclined to stay daydreaming.

As it was, she blinked confusedly at her mentor. Fur bristling with embarrassment, she meowed,

"Could you repeat that Tabbyfur?"

Sandfire and Bravefeather

Sandfire rolled her emerald eyes, but watched with affection as the two apprentices bounded off. Hopefully, the hunting would be good. The Great Sycamore was a short distance away from the camp, and was generally brimming with prey. The apprentices would have a good run tiring themselves out underneath it long, gnarled branches.

"Good day, Sandfire, Bravefeather."

Sandfire almost tripped on her paws. As it was, she strained to stutter out a coherent "Good day," back, and was reduced to flicking her tail amiably in recognition. Bravefeather's keen eyes flashed with suspicion as he watched her forced effort, and the way she averted her eyes from Mallownose's pelt, but as they plodded on forward, he made no move to mention it.

Sandfire, in the meanwhile, was experiencing something akin to a midlife crisis. On the one paw, kits were a firm part of the she-cat's future. Weather by instinct or by choice, she had always envisioned herself to one day be a proud, plump she-cat in the Queen's den. Of course, she quite imagined returning to her Warrior life after the kits were apprenticed, but she didn't plan to stop at one litter.

The one necessary obstacle that stood in her way, however, was the need of a mate. She needed a mate to start a family. And that's where things got complicated.

Mallownose couldn't be her mate. And she couldn't like him, much less fall in love with him. It was these tumultuous thoughts that caused Sandfire to trip on a twisted and rotting twig. She scoffed and Bravefeather looked at her with amusement.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"No!" She snapped, bounding forward to catch up with the aprpentices.

"Where do you all want to hunt?" She meowed to them, licking her bristled fur smooth.

"I had thought we had settled on Great Sycamore? It would have been a fine place for hunting," Bravefeather mewed catching up. He looked at two apprentices expectantly.

Welcome to Santa Somabra [Fantasy Noir]

1 YEAR AGO

In a small dilapidated yard, around a smelly trash can fire, eight people sat on dirt splattered lawn chairs drinking ice cold beers.

It was a cool summer evening. Trees swayed genially in the afternoon breeze. Shining stars poked out from the edge of the earth. The setting sun left splashes of bright orange in the sky, and highlighted the darkening blue of the night with a pleasant, full purple. The moon was fading into view, its amorphous white form appearing layer by layer, a ghostly imprint on the waning daytime sky. It would be a crescent moon tonight, a crooked cradle in the air.

That was all for the best, Ann thought as she took another sip of her cold beer.

Ashley's rich parent's lived on the very edge of town. In their old age, they preferred peace and seclusion. They're small flat marked where the buildings began to give way to trees, and the houses started to become fewer and farther apart. A further drive down the road would open into the true country side, where, for miles and miles, only rolling hills and lush green pastures could be seen. Werewolves dotted this part of town profusely, but a crescent moon promised the Hunters would keep at bay, at least until the moon was a full, round circle in the sky.

Ann still felt uneasy. Werewolves did not solely operate as a whole, and the lack of a full moon did not insure autonomous werewolves would keep away. Ashley's father had a hunting rifle, but a hunting rifle didn't feel like much protection. He had a crossbow too, and the sparkling furs of a werewolf that had been skinned served as the family room's rug. Still, that had been only one successful and lucky kill, and Verizion said the fur smelled fake anyway.

"We look like hobos," Jose, who sat on Ann's right side, said in his delicate, ladylike inflection. He poked the trashcan fire with a pair of rusted tongs.

Jose was a thin, lanky twenty-one year old trans-woman of Hispanic descent. She wore thick globs of sparkling silver eye shadow, and her thin lips were painted a bright, rich red. To everyone but Ann, she was Jose the gay man. But Ann, who had befriended her first, and who was closest to her, knew that "Jose" preferred to be called "Jan" and that Jan was just holding out until she could afford her surgery next year.

Next to Jan posed as Jose, sat Ashley, a skinny, wealthy, pale white half-elf (half-human), and next to her sat Sam, a (human) lesbian who was heavy set and know-it-all-ish. Across from them was Kenny, a twig sized eighteen year old freshman that had somehow managed to wriggle his way into a group of older college students, and next to him, Verizion, a tall blonde centaur who happened to be another favorite friend of Ann's because of a shared sexuality. Then there was sweet faced, dapper, Donna (full name Dondiel), a short, good-willed dwarf (not the human kind; the actual species), and finally Kendra, an attractive, long legged dark elf.

Sitting around a trash can fire as they were, the large group of eight looked like a small hobo clan, camped in the yard of some poor unknowing soul.

"Well, if you ask me, we're a pretty good looking group of hobos," Sam said in a lofty voice. Half the group laughed, while the other half produced forced chortles.

Ann couldn't fathom why they hung out together. Kendra, Ashley, Sam, and Kenny all had largely divergent opinions from Ann, Jan, Verizion and Donna. Each group carried themselves differently, and the only unifying factor they had was college.

After a few minutes of awkward silence, Sam's eyes brightened, and leaning forward on her round bottom, she fished around in her back pocket and produced a small, rectangular calling card, colored brightly in hues of blue, purple, and pink.

"It's a bisexual bar." She said flippantly, waving the small rectangular piece of paper in the air between Ann and Verizion. She was clearly intoxicated.

"I saw it and thought of you two," she continued, with feigned sweetness. She shoved the card in Ann's face and Ann jerked her head back, pushing her "friend's" invading forearm from out of her space. Eyes narrowed, she snatched the grossly warm calling card from Sam's trembling fingers and began to read.

---

Two Broomsticks and A Pot

"A Bisexual's Paradise!"

^{All manner of witch, werewolf, and woman allowed!}

---

"Only thing is," Sam said, and her nose crinkled, "They let in freaks." One of her stubby, sausage like fingers reached out to poke languidly at the word "werewolf". Casually, her hand dragged away from the card, but Ann thought the tip of her stubby forefinger lingered a little too implicitly on the word "bisexual".

"Well, I don't mind freaks." Ann said dryly, tucking the card away in the back pocket of her jeans.

"Of course you don't," Sam said implicitly again.

"Do you have a problem with me, Sam?" Ann asked flatly.

"Yeah. You keep pretending," she shoved a chubby finger at Ann's nose, "You're not a lesbian. But I've only ever seen you date a woman."

"A woman," Ann said hotly, "Just because I've never dated anyone else in your vicinity doesn't mean-."

Sam raised a finger for silence. She was like this when she was sober too. In fact, she was like this all the time. Her word was law, her brain was best, and her ideas were ideal. Ann shook her head furiously, and Verizion got his feet. His pale white skin had flushed an angry red; he was offended too.

"Guys, guys," Kendra said, in what was supposed to be a placating voice. She went ignored.

Sam was far gone, and all the biphobic slurs she could think had found their way to the very tip of her tongue.

"I think I'm going to go." Ann said quietly.

"Me too." Verizion said.

"Shut up, Sam," someone said scathingly as Ann and Verizion thundered away madly.

Ann's head turned a fraction of an inch, just in time to see Jan and Donna trudging after them. She snatched Verizion by the elbow, and they waited patiently for dwarf and human to catch up. Then the four set out sourly from the yard, feeling as though the night had gone as un-pleasurable as possible.

---

"Sorry about that, babe," Jan said, and reached over to peck Ann on the cheek, "You know how some of 'em are."

Ann grumbled something, and Jan gave her a kiss on the cheek again before getting out of Ann's crowded car. They had already dropped Donna off ten minutes earlier.

Now it was just Ann and Verizion, who took up the entirety of the back seat.

Before they pulled off, he reached a muscular forearm into the front of the car.

"Lemme see that card."

"Hold on," Ann grumbled, still in a bitter mood. Sticking her fingers in her back pocket, she retrieved the card and passed it to her centaurian friend. He was quiet for a few moments, and then.

"There's an address. You wanna go?"

Ann turned around in her seat to peer back at his handsome, blonde face.

"Right now?"

He nodded.

"At this time?"

He nodded.

"It's 11 PM."

He nodded again.

Turning back in her seat, she stared out the windshield doubtfully. There were so few bisexual bars in and around the city. You either went to a bar, or you went to a gay/lesbian bar. Bisexual bars probably made up the 1% of minority bars around, just like actual bisexuals did.

"Fine." Unable to suppress his glee, Verizion gave a small whinny.

---

She was intoxicated, and kind of hot. And she kept giving me the eye. Her centaur friend was whispering something in her ear, his face molded into a broad, mischievous grin. He looked at me and winked, and I took that as my invitation to go sit with them at the bar.

"What's your name?" The olive skinned woman asked in a distinct New York accent, while hailing the pretty black-haired bartender.

"Charlize."

"Three please. One for my pretty friend, here." She patted me on the knee.

"So...Charlize. Pretty name for a pretty face." Drunk and flirtatious, I thought.

"I'm Ann, and this is Verizion." She jerked her head back at the handsome centaur.

I waved hello.

"So you two are....?"

"Oh God no," Verizion snorted, and Ann rolled her eyes. The bartender had brought us three cool beers. By the looks on my friends' faces, however, they'd had much more than just three.

"This our first time here," Ann explained, trying her best to not sound drunk.

"Me too." I said, and gave the bartender a friendly smile as she left the drinks. She blushed and looked away.

"You know you look familiar." Ann said. I looked her in the face. Her eyes were a bright blue in color, like mine. I didn't know if it was self-conceited, but blue eyes had always been one of my two favorite eye colors. The next was, for one reason or another, brown.

"I get that." I said, waving to myself with a flourish, pointing out my very basic appearance of tanned skin, blue eyes, and blonde hair, "I'm very California."

She caught my meaning and snorted.

"I don't mean in that way."

"Then what way do you mean?"

"I dunno. You look like someone I saw on T.V. recently, I think." For being drunk, she was possibly being extremely perceptive. I'd made a very brief appearance on the news two days ago after a massive break in had caught the force's attention. Overshadowed by Chase's massive height, I'd been doubtful people would have recognized me.

And I'd been right. Out of uniform, no one recognized me. Heck, even with my badge pinned to my chest, people didn't know who I was.

And yet, here she was, drunk and recalling my short five minutes of fame.

"You don't sound like you're from around here." I said, steering the topic away from opening up about me being a detective in training.

"Well," she said, and took a sip of her drink, "I'm a born and raised New Yorker. I moved here to pursue a creative arts degree."

"Ah, a college gal." She nodded and smiled

We fell into a companionable conversation. She was funny and sweet, even drunk. She kept complimenting me, and at one point, my face had flushed such a deep and hot, rosy red that I was sure I was melting. Her charm was working; usually it was the other way around.

Let me be honest. I am only average. My charm doesn't make me sexy...just charming. I'm not very sultry, and have never really been good at being effortlessly sexual, the way some other people are. That's why, when people come on to me, I need it to be a two-way effort. I can't do all the trying, and I don't like playing cat-and-mouse games.

What my charm does do, however, is , at times, fuck up the above scenario. Some people become so entranced they have trouble speaking to me. Others are so disinterested that they feel uncomfortable; they're feelings of disinterest clash with the encouraged need to be calm and charmed by me.

It's always great to have someone who falls in the middle. Someone who can hold their own against it, just enough to make me know that they're not just charmed, they actually like me.

"You know, you don't look very familiar, but you are very good looking." I said. She snorted.

"What are you?"

"Racially, you mean, right?" Shockingly, she seemed to have sobered up instantly and I wondered suspiciously if she had been pretending for the past half-an-hour. But the serious facade soon dropped in favor of a gentler, relatively out-of-it look, and I figured that the alcohol had gone back to workings its magic. Race must have struck a temporary cord. I was reminded, not for the first, that species was not the only thing subjected to discrimination.

"Yeah, racially."

"My mom's Indian, and Dad's as white as the whitest lily around. He's got blonde hair and blue eyes, like you. I just so happened to get lucky and get his blue eyes."

I edged my body away from her to take in her image more fully. She brazenly turned for me to get a better view, and I blushed. Shrewdness had been dropped.

"You're very ambiguous. You've got a nice mix going on. Like a sweet fruit concoction." The centaur snorted, but Ann smiled a big, wide, happy one and my heart swelled. She was sweet, and it reflected in her face.

Verizion nudged her with his elbow.

"I think its time to go, little fruit concoction."

"Right," she said, and wrenched her purse open. After a small while of digging around, she produced a ripped receipt from McDonald's and a pen. Shoving both of them in my hands, she said, "Your number." I obliged, and we traded phone numbers.

"How are you guys getting home." I asked them.

"We drove here..." Verizion said, his voice trailing off; he was eyeing Ann warily. She raised her hands.

"I'm not going to pretend. I'm drunk as hell."

"I could drive your car for you." I offered. It was a bold statement, but officer Johanssen was on the case and only a little tipsy. I was much better off than the both of them, and I would be careful.

They both looked a little apprehensive, so I dug into my jacket and retrieved my badge.

Well, that had them going for the whole car ride back.

"So, do you, you know, have a gun and whatever?" Verizion asked eagerly from the back seat of the car. I nodded.

"But's its at home. I don't think its very safe to bring a gun to a bar. Especially when you're not there for work..."

Ann nodded sagely from her seat, but I thought she was more jaded than anything. She kept looking out the window and smiling at nothing. It was kind of endearing in a weird sort of way. Some people act stupid drunk; others turn funny, and Ann was definitely not the former.

She gave me directions to Verizion's house, and after we'd made sure he wriggled through his front door safely, we headed for her house.

On the way there, she rested a hand on my thigh.

By the time we pulled into her apartment garage, her hand had traveled a little bit further up and my insides were boiling with excitement.

She turned to me, those blue, jewel like eyes boring deeply into my own, soft and needy and asking, and said,

"You're coming in, right?"

---

PRESENT

They wanted us to take somebody out. A werewolf, to be specific, and to be even more specific, a faction of the Hunters.

Something about the way it was presented to us made my insides writhe nervously. This was not a simple corrupt favor. This was murder. With Chase by my side, I had stepped from the gritty, saliva-filled sandbox of child's play and into the shadowed, no-nonsense arena where adult's prowled. The explanations were executed in an almost businesslike fashion. The four delivered their parts like a rehearsed presentation, outlining very clearly what their motives and desires were.

All the while, I had been nursing the improbable idea that somehow, me and Chase would manage to escape home free. It was wishful thinking, but this was a surreal experience, and wishful thinking seemed to fit its bill. And yet all of it, every small bit of hope that had latched onto my mind, was crushed in mere moments.

"Before you answer our little preposition, I'd first like you to consider something."

There was Ann, all bloodied and weak. They prodded her forward, into the light, so I could see the damage done. She had a laceration on her forehead, and blood smeared her small waist. Her leg looked crooked, and she limped with the urgency of someone who wanted to live. Her eyes were brimming with tears, and mine responded likewise.

I hated that fat woman. I hated her patronizing golden eyes, her contemptuous round face. I hated the way she moved with victory, the way her dark smile betrayed her knowingness. I hated that she knew, knew that she had her trump card, the thing that would ensure her victory, or at least ensure that we tried. I hated that she had taken Ann, the person I loved, the person's whose absence from my life would rip a hole so big in my heart that I would never be whole again. I've never hated someone so much.

"We make it our business to know everyone else's business, Miss Johanssen."

In that moment, her face showed to me a hatred matched by my own. I didn't really know if she hated me, or the world, but I didn't care. I wanted her to hate me. I wanted us to be on the same page.

"As someone who's been in your situation many times before, I'd suggest you choose your next few words very carefully, my loves."

I tried to push forward, to meet Ann, but Chase's big hand clamped around my much smaller arm. I wanted to kick and struggle and scream. I wanted to cry and vomit. I wanted to kiss Ann on her tender, swollen forehead and tell her everything would be ok.

When I realized Chase would not relent his grip, I reduced myself to begging. I had never begged. Not in my entire life.

I had never had too.

"Please." I whimpered. I had broken out into a clammy sweat and my entire body trembled. I was barely audible.

Chase guided me to a chair far away from the rest of them. He kept throwing looks behind his shoulder. He was nervous. We had never encountered a situation where one of us had become so...crippled.

He crouched beside me, his eyes full of worry.

"Jo. What do you want me to do?"

"Barter." I croaked, then looked at him, my eyes fervent, "Barter for her, please, Chase."

---

Johanssen seemed paralyzed. Her face had a look that would haunt Chase in his worst nightmares.

"It'll be ok, ok?" He said. She looked at him blankly.

Getting up, he straightened his shirt and became keenly aware of the audience of four behind him, who had kept up a cool and distant appraisel of he and Johanssen's exchange.

Chase had dealt with corrupt operations before. The SSPD was built on them.

This one, however, touched a special nerve. Chase had never seen Johanssen so distraught before. It was like she had shut down.

Quickly, he tried to review all the material the mysterious group of four had dumped on them. Between his fear for Johanssen's mental well-being, and his own apprehensions against the group, tidbits of information had slipped from his grasp.

From what he knew, they wanted to use him. He was the bait, or the infiltrator. Either one, he supposed. Whichever slipped the knife in the wolf's throat fastest would work best.

And the she-wolf...Ameilkas. The name seemed so familiar. Chase had to wrack his brain for a few minutes before bits and pieces of his days as a Hunter came flowing back to him. It was a repressive time in his life, a time which Chase chose bottle up and store away as far back in his mind as could be stored. Memories were painful and shameful, and an involuntary flush of red rose to Chase's face as he remembered horrific days spent wallowing in the remains of what had once been human.

But also, to his great success, he remembered the name Ameilkas. It was only a sliver of information, barely anything noteworthy. This sliver was just the mere fact that, in Chase's day, Ameilkas had been an upcoming she-wolf, one who had been scaling the ranks of the pack quickly and efficiently. Chase had certainly never run in the same circle as this Ameilkas. And the Hunters were a big enough coalition of creatures, spanning far and wide across the edges of Somabra, that Chase, therefore, thought it a great success that the name Ameilkas had ever reached his ears before. In a group so large, to be as upcoming and nameable as that, surely meant that one commanded a respectable amount of power, even back then.

With all that he could remember at his disposal, Chase decided he was ready.

Pushing his hair back out of his face and smoothing it along his head, he glimpsed at himself in the silverware hanging from a restaurant display. Presentable enough, he thought.

Then, in a few very long steps, he covered the distance between he and his captors, wrenched a chair from an empty table, and sat smack in front of the fat one.

She was the leader. It was in the inflection of her voice, the movement of her rolling girth. Chase looked at her the way all respectful lackeys were supposed too; just barely in the eye, with frequent glances to the side. He leaned out of her space, and knew not to invade unless she signified it.

"Your name, fair lady?" He said sweetly, "I'm at your service if you promise Ann lives. See, I love my partner dearly, and I'm afraid, if Ann dies, I'll never see Charlize happy again. But if she lives, I promise you, I'll be more inclined to do whatever you want, weather it be of a public or more...personal nature. I'll even let Ameilkas fuck me, if you want me too. I'll kill her while we fuck too, if you want it. Whatever you want, me and Johanssen'll try our best. But Ann lives...Please." He said the last word with a begging intonation, just the way he believed most power freaks loved.

Warrior Cats - Plague of Misery

Hey all. I'm going to try and get a post in soon. It seems you all are most active when I'm fast asleep :(

Warrior Cats - Plague of Misery

Snowpaw

@Tea at midd
@Shurikai

“Something that’ll wake you up, hm?” Snowpaw’s ears pricked at the idea, and her claws kneaded the ground in anticipation. Gentle by nature, fighting was not Snowpaw’s forte. It did not mean, however, that the young she-cat disdained practice, and she looked forward to visiting the Sandy Hollow. Tabbyfur seemed to anticipate her answer, and dashed out ahead of her apprentice; on a glance back, all she managed to spot was Tabbyfur’s striped tail slithering away.

Something else had caught the sable and white she-cat’s attention. Small, wiry, and sometimes awkward, Warmpaw had never spited Snowpaw in any way. However, the young tom often seemed out of it, and interactions with his peers had not always gone smoothly. Still, in what conversations they’d had, he had always treated Snowpaw with kindness and respect, and while her fellow apprentices may have thought otherwise, his struggling attempts at humor, to Snowpaw, seemed sweet and effortful.

Sparing a last glance back at the entrance, where she knew her mentor was already thundering away, she turned and yowled “Warmpaw!”

He was with his mentor, Mallownose, no doubt discussing herbs or something else that Snowpaw would find infinitely boring. Snowpaw was running out of time; while she could most certainly find her way to the hollow on her own, Tabbyfur would scold her for lagging behind.

Hoping the young tom had turned to look at her, she flicked her ear and purred a loud and friendly, “Hello!”

Then, turning tail quickly, she dashed out of the camp and rushed after Tabbyfur, her smaller paws sinking into the prints left behind by her mentor.

By the time she had caught up to Tabbyfur, she was out of breathe and strained. She had used every ounce of muscle to catch up to her quick paced, full grown mentor, and the effort had given her a good beating.

“What are we going to be practicing today?” She asked eagerly, hoping that Tabbyfur wouldn’t mention her lagging behind.

Sandfire

@ChronoBovino

“Old sparrow!” Sandfire exclaimed, with affection rather than malice. Stonepaw was a good young tom, and an intelligent and friendly apprentice. He showed no aversion to carrying out his apprentice duties, and even treated the elders with respect. His close bond with his sister also reminded Sandfire of her bond with Bravefeather, and made her appreciate her apprentice’s nature even more.

“Would you like to go hunting down by the Great Sycamore?”

As she waited for Stonepaw’s response, she turned to Bravefeather.

“What say you get Shadowpaw, and we all go together?”

Bravefeather

@Shurikai

Bravefeather flicked his tail. His apprentice had sprawled himself out in the middle of the camp, no doubt looking for something to do or someone to harass. Shadowpaw could be…difficult, at times, and Bravefeather had often wondered why Hawkstar hadn’t given him to another cat with a higher mettle, like Stormstrike or Flareheart. But, looking at his sister now, he knew the right thing to do would be to give his apprentice some activity.

“I’ll go get him now.” Sandfire purred her approval, and Bravefeather bounded towards the young calico tom.

“Shadowpaw,” he meowed, boxing the tom gently and affectionately on the ear (hard to deal with he may be, but it didn’t stop Bravefeather from having affection for his apprentice), “Would you like to hunting with me, Sandfire, and Stonepaw?”

Fused At Birth

I can't find it now but I remember reading somewhere you wanted characters between ages 10 and 19? Just double-checking.

@Raxacoricofallapatorius

Yep those ages and between. OK if Raxacoricofallapatorius decides to join, then we've reached capacity as @Penguinimus has PM'd me with app which has been accepted! So I'm about to close this baby down to apps.

Warrior Cats - Plague of Misery

Sorry guys, brief post. While I was doing the post for the other rp, real life called and I had to attend to it for a little while, but I don't want to keep Tea waiting too long. Anyway, I'm off to fully read everyone else's posts, and maybe get in ones for Sandfire and Bravefeather.