&&[this is] the road less traveled.

[Diesel]

“So I’m a lil’ down’n’out. Could be worse’n that, right?” The mangy-looking scruffy white tom mumbled out loud to himself, coal black eyes giving the sparse land around him a weary glance before he sighed over-dramatically. Of course. This was just perfect – he hadn’t left the city for more then two moons and here he was, completely as lost as a bat yet happy as a clam. Seeing that he didn’t know how bats were always lost, and clams were always happy, Diesel made use of the phrases well enough and stepped forward.

Hell. Where was he? Briefly, the night before, he had thought he had passed a scent marker…and yet, there were no felines in sight or hearing distance. Had it all been within his imagination? There hadn’t been any defined border markers like the Factions used back home, so he couldn’t be certain at all that it hadn’t been more then wishful thinking.

Diesel had enough of that, after all, to last a feline a lifetime. He had galloped and played like he was just a kit again, imagining that his dear Songstrife was still alive and she and their kits joined him in the play. He then was the mighty hunter, slinking low in the sparse vegetation with his best friend Voodoo by his side – hunting down the greatest enemy their Factions had to ever face.

But then there were times, like now, the tom reverted back to what he truly was – a lost city cat, a deserter to the Faction he was born and raised within, within a world that was eerily different then the one he knew to well. Where were the cars, the two-legs, the sights, the sounds? Perhaps that was what the tom missed the most…the sounds. The nights in this valley were filled with such unfamiliar sounds, the bay of a hunting coyote, the hoot of a nocturnal owl, a serpent’s wily hiss.

He didn’t know. Maybe deserting had been a bad idea, but he had thought it a good one at the time and ran with it. If Voodoo was somewhere, anywhere, he wouldn’t still be in the city. The tom wouldn’t have returned to his Faction, nor risk capture by any remaining Mafia cats running around [had they taken back over?] who needed a hostage for safe passage. Diesel wouldn’t believe the truth in front of his scruffy face, wouldn’t believe what he had witnessed with his own two eyes. There had been no body. He clung valiantly to such a hope, even if his misadventure in looking for Voodoo had gotten himself about as screwed over as he figured he could be now.

Sighing, the traveling tom plunked his rump down and yowled up at the sun. “It’s Leafbare, dolt, go’n hide yerself somewhere or something!” Flicking his ratty, fluffy burr-tangled tail Dieself shook his head when it didn’t listen, grumbled under his breath, and took another glance around.

…hey.

…hadn’t he seen that rock before?

“Gaaaah! Nooooo! I’ve been goin’n circles?!” If he had been born with the capability of flailing Diesel certainly would have done so now, as he finally flopped over to his side in the rusty-red earthy dust, groaning at his own lack of non-city directional skills. Forget pride, for the moment at least, he just wanted to know where in Starclan, or any variation of the myth, he was!

[Onyxdart]

It wasn't often you heard someone mumbling to themselves, especially in Risingclan. Deepcreek knew that none of her clan mates were particularly given to that kind of thing. Or, well, if they were, she knew their voices.

And this was not a familiar voice she was hearing. But she couldn't help herself- she followed the tom who had spoken to himself for a good long while, even though she should probably have stopped him and questioned him. But she was a good spy- she could follow close without being noticed as long as she stayed downwind, which she did, and if he showed any indication of going anywhere important she'd be on him like bees on honey. Or was it flies? She shook her head. It was a stupid saying anyway.

But that was off-topic. It became clear he was walking in circles, which Deepcreek found even more interesting. Clearly this tom had no idea what he was doing. Deepcreek grinned crookedly to herself and then appeared from the bushes with barely a sound.

"Hello, tom. Are you aware you're trespassing?" she asked conversationally. It was fairly clear from her build and stance that she had not grown out of shape since the war- she still looked like she regularly broke out a can of whoop-ass on a sparing buddy or something. It had been forever since she'd had someone to spar with, but she made do well enough with the spare bush or rock, not that anyone else had to know that.

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[Diesel]

Splayed out on his side with the sun beating down on his unprotected form, Diesel could have laid there, given up, and died. He certainly was still enough, or so he thought, but even as his mind wandered and he complained under his breath he knew he was no longer alone. One of his coal black eyes flicked, but it was no aerial predator that was after him – instead, the voice of a she-cat sounded from close by. “Trespassin’?” He queried, confusion evident on his scraggly face as he rolled onto his back, the rusty red dust that stained the soil of this area painting his already tattered and filth blotched white coat with yet another vibrant color as he looked to the she-cat.

Well, she was pretty, but looked like she could hand his ratty fluffy tail right back over to him if he tried to start any trouble. Thankfully, perhaps for him more then for her, Diesel wasn’t the kind of cat to start trouble without reason…granted, said reason didn’t have to actually be much a reason at all, as long as he thought it to be a reason was enough.

Still, it wasn’t quite the same without Songstrife or Voodoo around.

“Trespassin’ easy, yanno, without the proper sightmarks. Whacha Faction?” His noce twitched and, without even rolling back over, he glanced around. No city. A Faction without a city? Well, hadn’t he heard everything now?

“Hey now missie, I ain’t no trespassin’ tom; name’s Diesel, from the North Faction. Just takin’ an, erm…‘extended leave of absence’? Yeh, that.” Finally, the bedraggled tom rolled onto his belly, seemingly oblivious of his filthy personal state, and rose to his paws. It was fair say that he was a large, well built younger tom, probably could open his own can of whoop-ass on someone. “I’m a’looking for someone. He’s a black-an’-grey tom, ‘bout half my size, name’s Voodoo. Seen him around?”

[Onyxdart]

Faction? What was this crazy tom on about? Deepcreek gave him a look. Sightmarks? They didn't use sightmarks here. Maybe he wasn't crazy- but very definitely not from here, or anywhere around here. That'd nicely explain being lost as well.

"We don't have Factions or sightmarks. The borders of this clan are clearly marked by scent. And the clan lands are claimed by Risingclan," she said. When he rolled over and stood up, she backed up a step. Stretched out on the ground this tom hadn't seemed the least bit intimidating, and he still wasn't acting at all intimidating, but... it was better safe than sorry. This way, if he was faking nice, Deepcreek would be gone like a whisp of a breeze. And now that he was actually standing up, she realized /he/ was more than big enough to give her a run for her money if he decided to tangle with her. It would have amused her to know he had thought the same thing moments earlier. And it would have pretty much blown her mind if she'd known he thought her pretty.

"I don't know a cat that looks like that, not around here. But I mostly keep to myself," she said. While she looked at Diesel as she spoke to him, her ears listened in every which direction. If someone happened upon her just shootin' the breeze with some random tom who had trespassed, she wasn't sure the reaction would be all that favorable.

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[Diesel]

He…didn’t understand. Diesel stared at the pretty she-cat blankly for a little while, confusion evident in his dark gaze, before speaking again, “No sightmarks, eh? …no Factions?” He couldn’t fathom why a Faction wouldn’t be a faction. “Risingclan? Sounds more like a gangname, yanno.”

Flicking his tail in the same easy-going manner that he had kept himself, the filthy tom looked skyward and wandered in a circle, “Guess scentmarks do better’n here then in the city.” Things were purer here, away from his home; scents could last longer before something covered them up again.

“Cannot say I, urm, know where I am’n all. Bit lost.” Diesel turned back to the she-cat with a sheepish grin, “Been a’lookin’ fer Voodoo, kinda jus’…lost my way. What’s this place like, mm?”

On her own? A pretty thing like her? That didn’t make much sense either; toms should be flocking to her – meh, maybe he had just been without female company for too long. But didn’t she have some friends to hang with in this ‘clan’ thing of hers?

[Onyxdart]

The she-cat was not sure what exactly a gang was, or why it had a name. Was it like a clan?

"Sightmarks wouldn't work very well, because no one else would know them. Every cat I've ever known understood the scentmarks." she commented, finally deigning to at least sit. She planted her furry butt right on the ground and curled her tail around her paws.

"What is a 'gang'?" she asked the tom. Oh yeah, he was definitely a city-slicker. She wondered how he'd managed to avoid getting himself into trouble out here. Then again, it wasn't like Boneclan was still around. So maybe things were a little safer. Plus, she'd heard about cities- they bred tough cats.

"It's nice around here. We have good land- there's plenty of hunting, and we even have a pond, if water's your thing or you have a close encounter with a mud puddle. Plus this red dirt gets all in your fur," she said. Water was not Deepcreek's thing, an amusing irony when you considered her name. She looked at the tom and grinned a wicked, clever grin, "Especially if you've got white fur," she added to her last statement.

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[Diesel]

Close enough?

“Well, yessie, scentmarks musta be grand in’a wiiiide, open space like this. But back home, scents don’t always last long ‘nough. We haveta work with what we have.” Smiling a bit, his dark gaze flicked back to the she-cat as she sat down, “Yanno, I dunno if I caught yer name, mm?” Didn’t she have his already? Ah yes…yes she did.

His scrappy tail moved as if it had a mind all of its own, twitching and flicking as on was to release pent-up energy that he didn’t want to waste wandering around like an idiot some more. “See, gangs are well, yanno, gangs.” Now that didn’t help much. Diesel scrunched his nose; if it were one thing he had expected to not have to do in his life – it would be have to explain what a gang was. “Gangs hold block-long size turfs. They answer to us, the Factions. Each block has’a gang, and there’s four Factions dividin’ the city. ‘less the Mafia had reorganized since I left; the Factions are totally Top Cats.”

Trouble wasn’t so hard to avoid – it literally ran away from Diesel. That’s why he was so much better at creating his own brand of trouble.

Plunking his own rump decidedly down, and earning himself a red, dirt stained butt in the process, Diesel lifted a hind leg and scratched at an ear itch like a dog. “Nice, nice. City had’a park like this, yanno.” Heeey. Had he caught onto something? “If this just’a biiiig ol’ park? Tell me, I’m gonna so find the edge and there be traffic, and shops, and twoleg’s rushin’ legs!?” It was wishful dreaming, wasn’t it?

Almost sheepishly, Diesel looked down at his filthy coat. Ehehe. Oops? “Looked better, ‘fore I went off lookin’ for Voodoo. Kinda sorta forgot to groom lately?”

[Onyxdart]

Deepcreek wasn't sure she knew what a block was, or understood what a faction was. But it was exceedingly rude to ask questions when one had been asked of you. And a question had indeed been asked.

"It's Deepcreek," she said distractedly, apparently trying to figure out blocks and gangs and factions by sheer logic and will power alone. But then she stopped, focused her eyes back on Diesel, and tipped her head to the side.

"No, it really is out in the middle of nowhere here. Won't see a twolegger for a few days' travel," she answered. A second later her eyes were all vague again like she was thinking, having not caught his comment about forgetting to groom lately. When logic and will power failed her, she sighed irritably at herself, frowned, and pinned an unsuspecting leaf to the ground under one paw. It crunched.

"Alright, how big is a block? And how are the gangs related to a Faction? Does each Faction have a certain number of gangs, plus cats who are only in the Faction and not part of a gang?" she asked. City customs were, to her, completely alien. And she'd just keep on asking questions until she got it all figured out, pretty much regardless of time. If Diesel wanted to be off about finding Voodoo, now was the time to pawn Deepcreek off with a simple answer and make a hasty break for it.

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