Recap: Cariad is carted off to boot camp, where he will learn to die as gloriously as possible. Thad and Elettra are his roommates. They are also learning how to die. Fun times are had.
He pretends that he's okay
But you should see him in bed, late at bed
He's petrified
-Trapdoor, Twenty One Pilots
Dawn is a promise. It is a mystery, it is possibility, it is potential. Each dawn is a promise of what is to come, painted in bloody red smudges on the horizon. Anything may succeed it, and few things are certain. Dawn is infinite. It does not die, but fades, then returns again, with the glory of a promise. Cariad wonders what this day shall promise him. Wonders if he should vow anything in return.
He can't see the dawn, per se. It is only the lessening of the gloom that alerts him to this fact; he wonders how long he was drifting, softly treading the line between fitful consciousness and uneasy sleep. He's never slept worse, not even the night he was taken from Arrah. He still had his sister then. This odd cage, this hole in the ground, is not uncomfortable. It is lined with blankets and towels and even a few feathers, although their purpose here is unclear. He looks to his companions, the charismatic Thad and Elettra, who sips upon his charm like ambrosia. There is something that charisma that demands, enticingly, to be noticed and followed.
Caraid is awkward, not charismatic. Enigmatic, if anything; a tough, solid shell that, when cracked, reveals not a hell of a lot. He wants to learn. His sister is not his crutch anymore. He must survive without her, so for now, he will follow Thad.
Elettra is awake. She smiles when he realizes she's watching him. "Sorry your sister got left behind," she whispers, almost conspiratorial in her quietness.
"Yeah," Cariad says, but he's not. Sorry, that is. She shouldn't have to die. Maybe he shouldn't either, but that point's moot. His life does not belong to him.
"You got anyone?" he asks, to fill the silence that is becoming increasingly awkward. Maybe that's just him, interpreting things that aren't there.
"Oh, no," she replies, grinning. "Only child. Big disappointment."
He wonders what that would be like, to have no one. No sister, no responsibility, no guilt, no worry. To be completely lonely, and fill those spare moments of your life with those you share no blood with. For Cariad, family has been a reoccurring theme, a pleasant but persistent undertone in his life. That theme has gone, and he's practically aimless.
"Must be nice," he says, after a moment, wondering if he means it.
…
They start them off easy. Simple exercises, balance. The laws of motion in a fight- that every one of your actions shall cause a greater reaction. This is how to goes for several days. Cariad and Elettra continue to wake up before Thad, basking in that easy glow of a promise, for now unbound and unmeasured. They complain about their muscles, which ache, and their bossy teachers. But they have something to do. Miss has given them a purpose. And they feel, if anything, grateful.
Their teachers are gruff. They're alley cats, shadow things, lonely and territorial and proud about it. They're here for self-preservation, of course, but Miss doesn't care about that. They're here to fight, and right now, that's all she wants. The more bodies there are to throw at PureClan, the better. No one tells the kits this. The power of the rebels is exaggerated to them greatly, whenever they are within earshot. They will forget what it is like, to be fallible. Right now, that's all they are.
…
Meino is the nice one. Nicer, at least, than Grete. She makes them run laps around the warehouse, laughing as they build 'muscles' and 'endurance'. No one tells them why this matters. Cariad sees that scarred cat watching them from the second floor. It passes through the ranks; the rumours, of her namelessness and mutilation, of her plans. Cariad presses closer to Elettra when he sees her. He can't explain it, but they both shared a home ripped from them, and are kindred in nature. In a way, he substitutes her for his sister, although he just can't picture her in that light, that spotlight that shines on Khia. Still, her loud sorrel fur is enough to deafen the ache in his heart, and her smile blinds him to his loneliness.
It is a competition, between him and Thad, to see who will grow the biggest, the strongest. Cariad thinks he will win, although for now, it's an even battle. Cariad still has paws too big for his body, and he consumes those stray emotions he sometimes has-when Elettra is not bright enough, and Thad fails to make him smile- with exercise, those monotonous laps, the races they hold sometimes, the sparring that for now, is a last vestige of youth. It still entertains them. Thad is often his partner, but when that fails, he turns to Elettra, or a tabby tom named Kin.
Their sparring turns desperate- the best fighter gets the most food, and the older cats treat them with some measure of respect. They find, as they grow into their gangly limbs and too-long bodies, that respect is what they want now. They want to be equals, and they don't question this desire; they're not kits anymore (they're half-way in-between, an awkward coupling of youth and adulthood). Still, they're treated like kits. It infuriates Thad, who often loses to him, and while Cariad can share food, high praise can only be earned.
One day, they pair him with Azazel, the golden spit-fire of a she-cat. She hasn't grown much, and Cariad, self-assuredly, towers over her. His confidence flees him as she barrels beneath his chest and knocks his legs out from under him. Cariad is often a victor; the art of losing does not come to him easily, but humiliation burns his ears all the same. Az grins down at him with her claws on his throat. When he swallows, the curve of them is pressed into his skin, and blood wells around their tips. He is reminded of that day in the basement, some long and lethargic days ago. Weeks, perhaps; who is there to keep count? The day he first tasted his own mortality as it seeped from his skin, courtesy of her well-aimed blow. Nostalgia is just as bitter.
"So," Azazel says, "like it down there?" He bares his teeth at her, a gesture that inadvertently mirrors her Cheshire smile.
"No," snaps Cariad, with as much dignity as he can muster. Admittedly, it's a pitiful amount. "It smells."
"I didn't mean to offend poor Warrior Boy's delicate senses," Az purrs. Her paws is gone in a heartbeat and he rolls to his paws, shaking dust from his fur. He towers over her, and that's meant to be intimidating, but that smile is a permanent fixture, and there is no grey tom kit to drag her away this time.
Cariad chooses not to confirm her statement and springs at her, bringing her to the ground. The others fight on around them, laughs and shrieks echoing around the warehouse. The two opponents emit neither sound, and their intensity flares in their eyes, this battle of two who don't understand each other. Still, this is a child's battle, and their claws are soft. They will see so much more, and they are not enemies, but they try to be.
Cariad wins this time, but there's a long scratch down his stomach. A scrap of sandy fur spins haphazardly through air with the dust. The feeling of triumph returns, already so familiar.
"Well done, Cariad," Grete says, passing by. Her grey pelt is streaked with scars and her ribs show, but still, she is nothing when she stands next to their spectacle of a leader. Cariad beams with pride, and Azazel, still pinned, scowls. "But don't suffocate her." We need her.
"Sorry," Cariad says, not apologetic in the least. He lets Azazel up, and she looks worse for wear. The smile has been slapped away. Her shoulder is bleeding, but hey, there are two guilty parties here.
The skirmishing breaks up for a while, and Cariad makes his way over towards Elettra and her friend Brava, a yellow tabby, proudly displaying his wounds.
"Wow," Brava says, "who bet you up?"
"Az, that ginger cat over there." He points with his tail to where she has reconvened with her brother. Both she-cats giggle, and he deflates.
"She's tiny," Brava laughs. Elettra sees his injured expression and nudges her shoulder against his.
"I'm sure she's very feisty," the sorrel cat soothes, looking motherly and sympathetic. They groom each other as they fall asleep that night. Thad laughs and demands the return of his privacy. He's not anywhere close to forgetting Khia- he likes to think he never will. Still, getting out of that basement was perhaps the best thing that has ever happened to him.
…
He arrives one day, disgruntled and scowling. The kits- who have long since ascended into adolescent, and have the gangly limbs to prove it- are shoved into his tutelage. Miss makes an appearance, introduces him as Ice, and then leaves again, as is her habit. Ice brings with him strange fighting stances, deadly moves. He is not slack, and he is fiercer than Grete. Cariad receives no respect from this new tom. He is, however, recipient of many odd, contemplative looks, and it makes him uncomfortable. He whispers this to Elettra. She agrees; he's creepy.
Under Ice's apparently expert guidance Cariad flourishes. Something inside of him was made for this, for fighting and scrapping and struggling to survive. But he still doesn't know what he fights for. Their enemy is one without a face. He remembers, dimly, of old Tethys and a story, but the foe she talked of has fled his mind, the pictures she grudgingly wove have faded.
Khia, he's sure, could tell him.
It's a shock when one day, he sees a familiar face. He thought he'd left Tillman's forever, that house and all the cats inside. Looks like he was wrong. He runs up to Rhydderch with a smile on his face. Ru is a likable tom, although Cariad always had the distinct impression that in his eyes, he was second-best beside his sister.
"Ru," Cariad says smoothly (Thad rubs off on him). "Thought you were shot of me, didn't you?" He wonders what business has in the warehouse stacked haphazardly with plots and grand ideas of revolution. Rhydderch turns, ears flat against his head in surprise. His eyes widen in a way that is almost comical. Cariad's not really meant to be up this late, but he was up with Ice talking about refining his foreleg movements.
Ru stares for a moment. It must difficult to recognise him, because he's nearly as tall as him and he has filled out, excessively. He has a few soft pink scars now, but this pain is temporary.
"Cariad," Ru exclaims, grinning. "You look well. How have you been?"
Cariad begins a bout of agreeable, enthusiastic head-bobbing, something he always does when trying to converse with adults. "Yeah, good. It's good." He hadn't thought past his greeting, and now, he has nothing to say.
Ru purrs. "That's good."
"How are Ruari and Brine? I heard you took them back." Conversational genius. His cousins had disappeared the day after he arrived, and truly, he was happy for them. They weren't best friends, and they probably didn't deserve to die either.
"They're very good. They're going to be guards. I, uh, didn't want to get on Arrah's bad side." The russet tom grins.
"Yeah, I know what they're like when they're mad," Cariad agrees, thinking of the one fight he had with Elettra. Brava is mean, she makes fun of me! She's fine, she just has a sense of humour. I don't like her. Well, no one asked you to!
"Aha," Ru says. "You have a lady?" Cariad's face heats up at his words. It's weird, to be talking about this with Ru, who has literally attempted to raise him since birth.
"Well…I guess. Maybe." Cariad thinks about Elettra, and how he would like that maybe to evolve into a yes. But there's something else on his, crowding the fringes and dripping onto his tongue; the words he's been holding back since he say Ru stroll into the warehouse. He's not sure, for some odd, nervous reason, that he wants to know the answer. "Anyway. Khia doing alright?" There, he's said it, and he can stop wondering. Stop biting his claws like an antsy queen.
Ru nods, as though he's been expecting this question. "Well, you know your sister," he starts. "Been spending a lot of time with Etch, and missing you, too."
"Tell her I miss her," Cariad says immediately. "And that I love her." Ru looks sad. Is he mourning their relationship, shattered on the rocks of rebellion?
"Okay," Rhydderch mumbles. Before they can say more, Miss and Emory approach, Ice trotting at their heels. (It seems he has swapped one collar for another.)
"Well, hello Ru, Cariad," Miss says brightly. She's much less uptight, when she is not the focal point for dozens of eyes. Cariad is pleasantly surprised to discover she knows his name. Emory nods at them, but Ice's frown doesn't budge.
"Good evening," Ru says cordially. "Cariad and I were just talking, I hope you don't mind, but I came here for business after all…"
"What? Cariad's fine. He can listen in; he is Ice's little prodigy, after all." Cariad is surprised to hear this- that Ice will tolerate any affiliation with him at all. His frown changes not at all, so perhaps Cariad is held in high esteem after all.
The black tom begins to feel awkward as they discuss his training, as Ru exclaims he 'endorses him completely'. Ice is as critical as ever, picking apart his size and speed, but the others could care less about his remarks. Ice eventually agrees Cariad will be 'suitable.'
This goes over his head. He's thinking Arrah, and Khia, and Elettra, who is probably bored with Thad's company by now. He told her he'd be ten minutes, at the most.
"What do you think, Cariad?" Emory asks suddenly. "Up for a little adventure?"
He nods, but this adventure is not a small one, though he does not know it, and he is treading dangerous waters. He goes back to his nest and thinks nothing more of it, but soon, Cariad will start to drown.
featuring the most pointless conversation ever. very exciting filler, i hope i haven't knocked anybodies' socks off. leave me a review, it makes me happy, and i posted early for like the third time in a row
check out my a drabble a day challenge for fluff and tidbits that don't feature in ttatt but still are relevant. mostly.
silly cariad, adventures are scary.
