Down the Rabbit Hole [Locustpaw]

[Kin]

follow the white rabbit

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Oh drat. Alice blinked awake blearily, peering at the degree of sunlight outside the apprentices' den. A cloudless blue sky greeted her, and the apprentice's eyes widened. She was going to be late! Beside her, the Hatter stirred, raising his large head from its former position on his paws. The large tom watched silently as the slender she-cat rose and shook the scraps of moss clinging to her from her fur.

She turned to the Hatter and wagged one paw at him, like a mother would a kit she was lecturing. "We musn't be seen so untidy, Hatter. What would Mother say?" Under Alice's stern, or rather, as close to stern as the young she-cat could get, gaze, the Hatter rose and circled, showing off his immaculately clean pelt. Alice nodded approvingly and twisted to clean a stubborn scrap off her side.

"Let's go, Alice. You were supposed to seek the March Hare again today, weren't you?" At the Hatter's gentle words, Alice's eyes widened once more, and she scrambled out of the den. Her frantic movements drew no more attention this day than they did any other, though her father's pale gaze followed her sadly. The Hatter padded along beside her, his long legs eating up the distance Alice traveled at a more sedate pace.

The pair headed for the open moor, Alice's tail flicking back and forth with excitement. Though she always sought him, she'd never managed to find the real March Hare. Each one she found was just a doll, a limp fake to take back to the Clan. Her parents always seemed happy when she returned with the fake March Hares, and so she brought them back, happy to see her mother looking at her without sadness, to see her father looking at her as though she were just like one of the other apprentices.

Not Gingerpaw, though. Father wrinkled his nose whenever she passed, and Alice couldn't help but do the same if the she-cat got too close. It wasn't that Gingerpaw smelled bad, no, it was that she smelled like too much. At night, Alice would have to curl up and press her nose into the Hatter's fur to keep her sensitive nose from becoming overwhelmed by the number of scents on Gingerpaw's fur.

While the names of the other apprentices were a little foggy in her mind, she could remember Gingerpaw and the sandy tom she always returned to. His name escaped her, and Alice pouted. She glanced at the Hatter, who simply shrugged. He had told her more than once that names were for her to memorize, as she was to be the warrior. But at this rate, she'd never memorize enough to get rid of the silly name cats called her.

It was such an effort to remember that they wanted her to be Whitepaw. But Whitepaw was such a dull name! Alice was more than a white paw, more than white fur. For StarClan's sake, any cat could look at her and see the patches of dilute brown and ginger on her lithe limbs. Good heavens, she'd so hate to be plain white. She could understand why Father was so dour, with a pelt like fresh-fallen snow.

A rustling in the grasses ahead of Alice and to her right drew her attention away. She honed in on it, dropping instinctively into a hunter's crouch. Beside her, the Hatter mirrored her actions, tail flickering eagerly. Some days, Alice thought the Hatter enjoyed seeking the March Hare more than she did. Carefully, they moved forward, slow creeping pawstep by slow creeping pawstep. When she was close enough, Alice pounced, a single fluid motion that resulted in her crouching over yet another broken doll.

She sighed and sat back on her haunches, prodding the doll with a pout. "Just another broken doll." Alice tilted her head back and gazed at the sky. The Hatter sat beside her, his ochre bulk dwarfing the slender she-cat.

RIDDLE ME 653 WORDS WHISPERED INTO LOCUSTPAW'S EAR

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[bast]

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[atrb=background,http://i45.tinypic.com/2mwgld4.jpg] [style=height:351px; width:245px; overflow:auto;] LOCUSTPAW liked to sleep, so, logically he did it often. Well, maybe he was lying. He liked pretending to sleep, big difference, although sleep itself was well enough. Pretending to sleep, and to sleep deeply, allowed the sandy ginger tom to escape a lot of the troubles his fellow apprentices and clanmates liked to get into. So, over his short life, Locustpaw had gotten good at pretending to sleep and particularly deep sleeping. In general it got others to leave him be and gave him a solid excuse for not rousing when Gingerpaw poked or prodded his ribs. He could just say he hadn't felt a thing even though he had a sore spot in his ribs where he was sure she'd bruised it trying to get him up. He could pretend not to be aware of the chatter of his clanmates when he 'dozed' in the camp clearing. They just went right on talking around him and in turn he learned a lot of things. Littleshade in particular was bad about forgetting Locustpaw was there when he 'dozed off' beside her in the evening. When Lynxstar would come over for report or to converse with the patch-pelted deputy, Locustpaw would just doze on as the two most powerful cats in WindClan chatted right beside him. They assumed he was oblivious, deep in the land of dreams and too lazy anyway to do anything with whatever he learned. They all thought he was too lazy and far from clever and Locustpaw let them hang on to that conception because it suited him alright. The problem was, Locustpaw ended up hearing things he quite honestly didn't want to. 'THERE she goes again, off in her little dream world,' grumbled a surly old warrior, padding right past where Locustpaw was dozing on the fringe of the camp clearing. 'WASTE of space if you ask me,' rumbled another warrior, paws thumping past Locustpaw as he trailed behind the first warrior. 'Should just be confined to the elder's den where she can bother anyone else.' IT didn't take a genius to figure out who the two surly tomcats were talking about, everyone knew her. She was the dreamy little she-cat, a delicate little diluted tortoiseshell known as Whitepaw to the clan but always insisting to be called Alice, whatever that was. The medicine cat said she lived in an imaginary world with a friend no one else could see that she always called the Hatter. The other apprentices didn't bother with her much, choosing to, for the most part just let her be. She never seemed to mind being largely ignored, something that had always piqued Locustpaw's interest. He didn't mind being alone, though he seldom was with Gingerpaw always popping up at the oddest times to disturb his peace. Whitepaw though, she simply acted like she never was alone and with Jaywing's explanation, Locustpaw supposed it made sense. In Whitepaw's mind, she never was alone. She was shaping up to be an alright little huntress though so it bothered Locustpaw how the entire clan seemed convinced she had no place as an apprentice. She did her work just the same as everyone else and yet they all wanted to condemn her. Nonsense. YAWNING widely, the long-limbed tom pretended to come awake from a deep sleep. Stretching and arching his back, the whole nine yards, Locustpaw rose and shook sand from his pelt. Littleshade was off on a patrol with Lynxstar, probably discussing the upcoming Gathering so Locustpaw had the afternoon off. He'd gone hunting this morning with Gingerpaw, bringing down two doves and then going on a short little patrol down by RiverClan with Heatherpaw and Wingfeather. Technically no one would be surprised if he did nothing else but instead, Locustpaw headed out toward the camp entrance and out onto the breezy moor. It was still chilly, winter still clinging to the air, but there was a freshness in the wind that promised spring was on its way. The subtle sweetness promised that soon the heather would bust into bloom and the gorse would turn the moor golden. Soon the air would be heavy and sweet, full of buzzing bumble bee wings and the singing of crickets in the evening. WHITEPAW wasn't hard to find, considering she wasn't trying to be sneaky. Absently Locustpaw sniffed the air for any other cats that might be with her. He never caught a whiff of anyone that might be 'the Hatter' but it never stopped him from trying on occasion, just to see. Trekking up a low rise in the moorland, Locustpaw looked out just in time to see Whitepaw pounce on a hare as it tried to flee. His whiskers twitched as he watched her poke at it and look disappointed by what she'd found, even though everyone else would say her catch had been very neat and quick. Loping down the slope, Locustpaw strolled toward her, just in time to hear her speak. 'JUST another broken doll.' "LOOKS like a dead hare to me, Whitepaw," Locustpaw meowed as he drew nearer, sidling up to her and peering down at the dead hare. "Your mother would like it, I think. You should go share it with her." AS far as he knew, Locustpaw was one of the few that actually would call Whitepaw by her given name. Most others would give in and call her Alice because that's what she insisted on. Back when she'd first become an apprentice, Locustpaw had told her he liked her name and told her it was special. She'd pouted for a long while and eventually just let him do it. What it meant, the sandy ginger tom had no clue but he kept to the habit. He had a feeling that by being one of the few to call her by her proper 'special' name, he somehow stood out in her mind. After spending so much time with Gingerpaw, it was nice to be a little bit special, to stand out just a little to someone. StarClan knew he didn't stand out to his mentor or his clan. He was just another apprentice passing through to be a mediocre warrior. Too bad he was okay with that. Tagged;; Whitepaw Singing;; NA Words;; 1083 Notes;; ^_^ [/style]

[Kin]

follow the white rabbit

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"Looks like a dead hare to me, Whitepaw."

Alice blinked slowly, drawing herself out of her thoughts at the words. Her ears angled toward the Hatter who sat to her left, but when she looked to him the massive ginger tom was silent. That source ruled out, she turned her head the other way and saw the sandy tom who was often plagued by Gingerpaw's myriad of smells. He was a nice cat, and Alice always felt bad for forgetting his name. She remembered him well enough, but oh, she was just terrible with names!

The Hatter rose to his paws and padded over to sit behind Alice, tail wrapped gently around the dilute tortoiseshell. She placed one paw delicately on the Hatter's tail, carding her claws through the fur. He purred and she echoed him absently, affection softening her features. Verdant green eyes rested on Alice, soft in their fondness, and the Hatter shook his head. "His name is Locustpaw, Alice." She smiled brightly at the Hatter, ears perking and tail wagging a bit happily.

More often than not, the Hatter tried to make Alice remember names on her own, refusing to help her remember. He only ever helped her remember the names of cats he liked, cats he thought would be nice to her. He hadn't ever helped her remember Father's name, and so he had simply become Father to her, though she suspected that her explanation of this fact had soured Father's opinion of the Hatter. It was a silly reason to dislike the Hatter, as the fault was with Alice's memory and not her friend. And besides, Mother liked her new name! Her eyes didn't get at all sad like Father's did when she called the older she-cat "Mother" rather than her warrior name. Mother always said it was Alice's special name for her, and that it meant that was just theirs, like a secret.

Young as she was then, Alice had been delighted by the idea of a name as special as a grave thing like secrets. And so, when the sandy apprentice, Locustpaw, had called her Whitepaw and said the name was special, she believed him. But only when it came from him. After all, a special name was only between two cats, just like a secret. Just like secrets, she had to choose to let other cats in on the special name, or else it didn't count. Alice aimed a conspirator's smile at Locustpaw, the expression shaded with the happiness plain in her blue eyes.

She liked being Whitepaw if it was Locustpaw calling her that. And Alice liked feeling like a cat was calling her by a name, not because it was one forced upon her or one they were indulging her with, but because it was special and meaningful. Smile not wavering, she glanced at the broken Hare-doll on the ground. Was it dead? Had it even been alive? Her brows furrowed and her muzzle tugged into a frown. It was one of the March Hare's dolls, a farce meant to distract her and help the Hare get away from her. "The March Hare is a clever beast," she mewed solemnly.

"Your mother would like it, I think. You should go share it with her."

Her smile returned, sunny and soft. Mother did like it when she brought the dolls back to camp, and she always seemed to cheer up if Alice described the attempt to her. Father even would soften his disappointed looks, allowing them to be tinged by pride. The tortoiseshell apprentice cocked her head to one side and looked at Locustpaw thoughtfully. "I can never seem to catch the March Hare. But Mother does like to see the Hare's dolls." Letting out a thoughtful sort of murr, Alice tilted her head to the other side, tail flicking slowly. "I wonder why."

Wasn't being a warrior about being able to complete one's hunting and tracking tasks sufficiently, and protecting the Clan and their territory? Alice could patrol borders with the Hatter and a few other cats, just like any other apprentice or warrior. She could fight alright, and was improving with the Hatter's coaxing and her mentor's patience. But for the life of her, Alice couldn't track down the March Hare, nor could she capture him. Certainly, she could track and catch the dolls easily, but they were far easier prey than the Hare himself. After all, one did not attack an apprentice if a warrior stood beside them. The March Hare was her eternal quarry, and Alice supposed she'd never catch him.

RIDDLE ME 736 WORDS WHISPERED INTO LOCUSTPAW'S EAR

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[bast]

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[atrb=background,http://i45.tinypic.com/2mwgld4.jpg] [style=height:351px; width:245px; overflow:auto;] LIGHT ginger ears perked and twitched as Whitepaw became aware of Locustpaw's presence. She always seemed a little bit surprised but maybe it was because of her blue eyes and the light markings around her face. For some reason they'd always made the she-cat look like she was daydreaming, or like she was simply just a touch surprised by everything that went on around her. Sometimes he wondered if she was. Locustpaw, for himself, couldn't imagine being surprised by everything simply because he was surprised by so little. The world around him ticked like a clock, regular and predictable. Gears meshed together just so and everything was rather orderly, rather dull. Gingerpaw would always be off making some mischief and then she'd sneak into his nest at night, smothering him in scents that weren't his own. So many scents in fact that Locustpaw sometimes felt he knew the toms of WindClan better than they knew themselves. Lynxstar would always be a grandfatherly old codger and Littleshade would always jump at the chance to please. Scents and sounds, sights and feelings, they didn't surprise him because often...what the world had to show him, Locustpaw felt he'd already seen. LOCUSTPAW was a young tom, don't get him wrong. He had only walked the earth the better part of eight moons but for some reason he always felt he'd walked it before. The sun didn't feel new, the breeze didn't feel spontaneous. The seasons turned and turned, never really looking all that shocking. Even his first snowfall hadn't been that impressive, just little white flakes instead of drops like when the rain fell. What others said and did, they didn't seem earth-shattering or shocking. Frankly, Locustpaw wished he could be surprised and hoped that someday he would be. It might be better than this resigned little existence he seemed to be trapped in, doing this and that because it was what he was supposed to do. Patrol, hunt, train, obey. It was expected and like a good little gear, Locustpaw turned and fit where he was supposed to without a thought because he didn't quite know what else to do. FOR her part, Whitepaw was a gear that didn't fit. She turned the opposite of everyone else, giggling at things only she could see and seeking out strange little characters like the March Hare and raving about the Cheshire Cat and the Hatter when she got in a passion. She didn't see things like everyone else and maybe the world was a little brighter for her, maybe a little scarier. Locustpaw had found her once, when she'd been caught up in the scary part. It had taken him a long time to get her to tell him who was scaring her and even longer to convince her that the scary Cheshire whatever couldn't get her if he was there. Perhaps...well, maybe there was one time he'd been surprised. Whitepaw certainly had been. WITHOUT thinking, the light ginger tom sidled a bit closer to Whitepaw and reclined on his haunches as she talked about catching the March Hare. There was a light brush of sandy ginger fur against the longer, feathery tortoiseshell pelt of his clanmate. The touch was casual and relaxed, clanmate to clanmate unlike some who refused to touch Whitepaw as if they thought her insanity was contagious. Laying his long skinny tail across his paws he canted an ear toward her, light green eyes looking down at what Whitepaw had dubbed a 'broken doll' and then shrugged. "HARES are clever and they like to hide. You'll catch him someday. How will you know which hare is the right one?" LOCUSTPAW had asked her this before, the first time she'd ever told him about finding the March Hare. For some reason the light tabby liked to hear it again and he knew she liked to tell him. She liked to tell anyone about this ultimate prize of hers and something about the unusualness of it all appealed to Locustpaw. He spent day in and day out in a routine, with the same cats filtering in and out of sight and the same hopeless situations with Gingerpaw and Littleshade and Lynxstar and the rest of WindClan. The others may not see it like Locustpaw did, but Whitepaw's whimsy seemed to take some of the sting out of day to day living. There were chores he could be doing, chores he'd probably get in trouble for not doing being the more likely situation. Whitepaw was probably supposed to be doing something, more hunting most likely. Still, unlike the popular belief of the clan, Locustpaw did have a contrary bone in his body. It wasn't a big bone and it didn't act up very often. Littleshade often got impatient when it did and that was more trouble than it was worth and the rest of the clan, well, Locustpaw didn't care much for their opinion. They thought him too lazy to be contrary. So yes, there were things they should be or could be doing for the betterment of WindClan but at the moment Locustpaw didn't feel like it and Whitepaw seemed to be having a good day. What was wrong with getting caught up in some of her whimsical daydreaming from time to time? SO many cats in the clan acted like Whitepaw and those like her were to be ignored, best left to the depths of their own delusions. Locustpaw would by lying if he said he wasn't interested in them just because...who wouldn't be? The world they saw was completely different. Or was it just the little things? The older warriors curled their lips, shot glares at her and refused to touch her. Locustpaw just leaned, only a tiny bit, in enough to brush his shoulder against hers to encourage her to tell him again about this March Hare she hunted for so often. Some parts of her world may be scary but what world didn't have it's dark corners? There was sunlight in her world too but for some reason Locustpaw suspected her sunlight was just a tiny bit brighter than the one in his. WINDCLAN would still be there when he was ready to be an obedient little gear again and turn in his place just the way they wanted him to. Today, he felt like being a little contrary. Tagged;; Whitepaw Singing;; "Let Her Go" by Passenger Words;; 1105 Notes;; i would like to state that those 1105 words were like pulling 1105 teeth out of locustpaw's head...hope you like them [/style]

[Kin]

follow the white rabbit

hover for post

"Hares are clever and they like to hide. You'll catch him someday. How will you know which hare is the right one?"

Alice beamed at the sandy tabby, the corners of her eyes scrunching slightly with the intensity of the expression. There weren't many cats who realized just how clever hares in general were. They thought that just because they could outrun them meant that there was no strategy involved, that the March Hare hadn't taught his kin well. Certainly, apprentices saw their cleverness best, when a hare twisted and zig-zagged straight out of their grasp.

And the March Hare was the cleverest of them all, their chief and in a way their father. He lurked around the moor, endeavoring to help as many of his kin survive as possible. March Hare sent out a good many of his dolls to fool the warriors. Most of her Clanmates ate the dolls happily, unaware that they were consuming something not meant as food. It confused Alice that they seemed to enjoy the taste of the dolls, and that nobody noticed the flesh-that-wasn't parting from sun-bleached sticks, the thistle-fur slick with reddened, metallic-smelling water.

Nodding happily, the dilute tortoiseshell mewed gravely, "They are very clever." She leaned in closer and whispered conspiratorially. "But the March Hare is the cleverest of them all." Alice leaned back and nodded decisively. Yes, this was the case. For how else could the March Hare be so prominent amongst his kin? Why else would they whisper his name as they hid from warriors and apprentices thundering across the moor? Who else would mark each and every rabbit den with their own scent, claim and mark a home in which they did not reside? "He's their leader, see," she explained.

And indeed he was. Leader and protector, using his dolls to keep his kin from death. To Alice, that made the March Hare a respectable figure, one she could give the nod to. He was nigh on par with Lynxstar in her eyes, the tom who guided and protected his Clan. Fogstrike was a good second, bustling everyone around and arranging them into their neat patterns. She sometimes wondered if the March Hare had a hare like Fogstrike as his deputy, organizing all the other hares for patrols to gather their food and to keep watch over their young. Once, she'd asked the Hatter about it, and he'd chuckled and shrugged, telling her he didn't know any more than she did.

RIDDLE ME 389 WORDS WHISPERED INTO LOCUSTPAW'S EAR

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[bast]

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[atrb=background,http://i45.tinypic.com/2mwgld4.jpg] [style=height:351px; width:245px; overflow:auto;] THE mind was a curious thing. Locustpaw had always thought so, ever since he was a kit and one of the elders told him that mind could rule matter. It had been one of the oldest cats in the clan...Batwing or something like that, a scrawny old black tom with patches of fur missing from his fading pelt. His muzzle had been grey with age, his paw pads scarred from moons of wandering the moors and his eyes strangely mismatched with one burning amber and the other glittering blue. Everyone else in the nursery had been afraid of the old coot, saying he was creepy with his long skinny tail that was crooked at the end and his hooked claws that looked a little too sharp and a grin that was missing a few teeth. Locustpaw to this day could remember always being fascinated. He remembered that old tom because not a lot fascinated Locustpaw for long, a few minutes tops, but this old tom had held Locustpaw spellbound with the things he'd seen and done in his long life. One of Batwing's big points in life was that the brain could rule matter and that with enough self control, you could do anything and beat any enemy. OF course it never looked like Locustpaw had learned from Batwing considering he seemed to have little in the way of self control. He didn't control his laziness, that was for sure, much to the utter frustration of his mentor. The utter frustration of everyone really, but Locustpaw hadn't just learned about self control from Batwing. He had learned to question the mind, both his own and the minds of his clanmates. He questioned them constantly in the confines of his own mind. He interrogated their motives, poked at their decisions, tried to reverse engineer their thoughts. It was fun sometimes, with fun cats anyway. When he was a kit and younger apprentice it had been a challenge and a good way for Locustpaw to learn his clanmates. Unfortunately, like with most things it didn't last long as far as being entertaining for the ginger apprentice. After a while it felt like he had learned everyone. He'd learned how their minds twisted and turned, how their eyes faked them out and how their own insecurities tangled them up in black snares. WHITEPAW, oh, she was different. A diamond gleaming in the drab mud of WindClan's damp moors. Her mind glimmered with more facets then Locustpaw could count, brewing up perceptions of the world that the ginger tabby could never hope to imitate. Her entire reality was something he could never wrap his mind around but never let it be said that Locustpaw didn't try. He could talk to her for hours, get wrapped up in her chase for the March Hare and her praise of the Hatter. When they were younger he used to play games with her, trying to figure out her thoughts. Hide and seek had been a popular game. Whitepaw's parents had always encouraged him to play with her, as if he could teach her how to be normal. He'd heard them saying it once, when he'd been pretending to sleep while the queens talked. Locustpaw would do no such thing. Whitepaw was perfect in her imperfection. No one else was willing to tilt their heads and see it, too busy staring at the world straight on as if nothing could ever change. "WHY don't we go look for the March Hare? I'm sure you're clever enough to find him," Locustpaw suggested, stretching his long lean legs as he stood up and shook off a bit of moss from his pelt. THEY would only catch the 'dolls' as Whitepaw called them, Locustpaw knew that for certain but at least Lynxstar wouldn't be able to complain about them not having enough rabbits in the fresh kill pile. Besides, Locustpaw wasn't particularly keen on going back to the camp, not for a while. Flickerpaw and Rabbitpaw had been in rare form lately as far as bothering their brother. It was Locustpaw's thought that they had run out of other toms in the clan to pester or found them all taken by Gingerpaw, too wound up by the ginger beauty to pay them any mind. While that amused Locustpaw it also annoyed the heck out of him, as it left his sisters with nothing else to do but try to 'bond' with him. Bonding, with those two, usually consisted of them hounding him and nosing at his personal life as if by digging enough they could find something interesting to spread gossip about. Usually they found gossip on him anyway, even though he seldom did anything of interest. NOT too long ago Flickerpaw had gotten it into her head that he was gay. That storm had whirled around the camp for nearly half a moon before Locustpaw had been able to ignore it enough for it to die out to nothing more than embers from the proverbial wildfire caused by his good for nothing sister. His association with Whitepaw, thankfully, had already been ground up by the clan rumor mill to the point of it being finer than any sand in the four clans. At first the popular idea was that he was just as crazy as she was, something about birds of a feather or something like that. Of course Locustpaw's parents hadn't stood for that, smothering that thought before it could chase him into apprenticeship. Locustpaw personally didn't care. He lived on the margins of clan life enough to know he wasn't quite like the rest, most likely closer to Whitepaw than any of them anyway. Still his parents were upstanding warriors and wouldn't tolerate such gossip. With each passing moon whenever Locustpaw kept Whitepaw company the gazes lingered longer and the whispers would kick up again. Locustpaw had stopped listening a while ago, letting it fade into the background like the chirp of crickets on summer nights. "THERE'S a warren near the ThunderClan border, maybe we can find your hare there?" Locustpaw suggested, tipping his head toward Whitepaw, head angled just slightly to the left. Tagged;; Whitepaw Singing;; NA Words;; 1070 Notes;; well...here it is [/style]