{Bad} turns to {worse} [Spitty]

[{Mactíre}]

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[atrb=background,http://i50.tinypic.com/igivsj.jpg,true] Life as a prisoner of the Iris pride was truly Hell. Or at least it would be without Ares there to keep her sane. If it hadn't been for him, the hate she felt for their captors would have driven her crazy months ago. Starved, constantly beaten up by Iris cats who plainly found it amusing in every sense of the word to cause canines pain, and frustrated that she couldn't do anything to get herself out of this prison, Valkyrie wasn't in a good state. She barely had enough strength to defend herself against an ordinary house-cat half her size, let alone attempt to engineer an successful escape from the slaughterhouse. Ares and the hope that Kai would come to rescue them someday soon, plus her own stubborn will, were the only things keeping her going. Her friend, for that was what she'd come to view the black wolf as, was asleep in one corner of their pen. Moonlight shone in through the tiny window; most of the other prisoners were evidently asleep, from the sounds of steady breathing coming from all around. The eyes of the four guards shone in the darkness as they moved their heads constantly, occasionally conversing in quiet tones. There were noises from outside of felines having a bit of a party. And the young she-wolf just couldn't sleep. Quietly rising from her curled-up, lying down position next to Ares, she trotted quietly to the front of the pen, eyeing the horizontal bars through which were her only view into the rest of the room, and, thanks to the window, the world outside. For the umpteenth time, she wondered if she could jump over them, or slip though the gap between the bottom one and the floor. She'd tried both a while ago; she'd been unsuccessful, with most of the guards yelling at her to stop, otherwise she'd be punished. Sighing softly, she sat down, amber eyes narrowed as she waited either for something to happen, or for weariness and sleep to overcome her other senses. Her stomach rumbled, an unwelcome reminder of how little she'd had to eat. Her last meal had been two days ago; a caracal had tossed a pigeon into their pen, and the two wolves had done their best not to fight over it. It was long gone now, crumpled and dirtied feathers scattered throughout the floor of the pen being the only reminder that it had ever existed.

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[spitfire]

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[atrb=width,360,true][atrb=background,http://imageshack.us/a/img211/2307/sariahtablemiddle.png] Mock fights were always such an adrenaline rush, even though the claws were sheathed and the bites were barely noticeable as one tumbled around on the ground with their sparring partner. For a cat like Sariah the fighting was a distraction from her thoughts and emotions, the memories of the past, anything negative. Like a means of exerting the unnecessary burdens that built up over time. She never talked much about how she felt; in fact the only ones who obtained even a glimpse of her thoughts were her siblings. Even then, they were not privy to everything. Claws sheathed, the Caracal launched a paw at her opponent, a smaller cat who still had more bulk than she. A tom, broad shouldered and a deep, burnt orange color. She was quick but he was strong. He stepped out of the way of her attack, but only just, and launched a semi-powerful blow to her shoulder. Sariah hissed as the brief sting of pain coursed under her skin. It gave her enough pause to throw her off balance and the tom thrust himself forward, using his weight to push her over. The breath was gone from her lungs and, although her back paws raked at his underbelly in attempts to remove him, it took several tries before she actually succeeded. By this point the anger was rising; Sariah never did well with losing and did not like to showcase her weaknesses. Considering several other cats had been watching, this instance was incredibly upsetting. The orange tabby tom stepped away from the irritated Caracal. "Next round I won't go easy on you," She breathed, attempting to control the irregular breaths passing through her nose. The other cat clearly had an advantage but she couldn't admit to that aloud. After talking with some of the other cats, Sariah left the practice in a huff. The first thoughts that flicked through her mind were 'how could I let him use my size against me?' and 'I should have paid more attention.' of course degrading herself in hopes that it would train her focus more next time around. There was no room for error when it came to fighting canines; most of them were larger and had a great deal more power behind their bite and paws than she did. Irritating. Her paws led her straight to the slaughterhouse; maybe degrading and beating up on their prisoners would make her feel better. The stench was not exactly welcoming but Sariah was used to it by now. One of the first prisoners she came upon was a smaller she-wolf who had been around for quite a bit along with her partner. Sariah's lips drew back into a snarl. "Hoping to find a way out of here, mutt?" She asked with a cold tone, venom practically dripping from her sharp white teeth. "Well forget it. No one cares about you, you know. You've been in here for so long now...I mean, do you really think they care?" A bit of degradation before stepping up to the cage and allowing a paw to swipe through the bars, claws unsheathed and aimed straight for the wolf's face. "Pathetic. Absolutely pathetic." TAG: Mac & Valkyrie WORDS: 544 NOTES: Valk is so cute <3 I feel bad for her. ;-;

[{Mactíre}]

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[atrb=background,http://i50.tinypic.com/igivsj.jpg,true] Valkyrie's tired mind had wandered, and so she was startled when she heard the muttering of the guards again, and soft yet angry footsteps belonging to an unfamiliar feline. The sharp, tangy scents of irritation and blind rage preceded the medium-sized feline as she made her way into the slaughterhouse. The guards paid her little mind; as long as she wasn't coming here to free the scum they were charged with guarding, they didn't really care what she did. The young wolf had learned with time that the guards themselves were not allowed to have fun with the prisoners while on duty, but usually most anyone else - at any hour of the night or day - was permitted to come to the slaughterhouse and use any of the "scum" contained there as a living punching bag. It kept her on edge, making her far warier than she had been as a cub, and she was prone to waking from sleep at the slightest noise. Some of the time, though, the two wolves were left alone because of their size; small, ordinary cats knew not to bite off more than they could chew, most of the time. Occasionally a whole bunch of domestic cats would come and all have a go at the larger prisoners at the same time. It was akin to a brawl where there were sides. The timber - arctic wolf cross had seen several prisoners, mostly canines, but the occasional feline as well - be killed such fights. Most of time, it was permissible to kill a prisoner, but clearly, the leader of the Pride wanted live Tempest dogs to bargain or threaten the Pack with, should they ever mount an attack on the pride's lands or capture an Iris feline. Alive did not by any means add up to sane or physically unharmed, though. Valkyrie stiffened as the sound of the feline's pawsteps cut out all too soon. Peering through the bottom few bars of the pen, she could make out a medium sized feline, some wild breed that she did not recognise. She was smaller than the young she-wolf, though, but not by much. Valkyrie was quite sure that she had been captured at a critical point in her growth, and as a result of not enough food, she hadn't grown nearly to her full size - luckily for her captors. Her gaze narrowed in hatred, teeth bared in a snarl at the feline's words. "Why don't you come in here and find out?" The patronising taunt was spoken in a soft, dangerous growl. Her ears flattened to her skull as the caracal continued to speak. She suddenly remembered Kai, rushing into this very room. The joy of both friends when their eyes met, and the hopelessness that threatened to consume Valkyrie as her best friend was bulled to the ground and was forced to flee. Rikki's scent was there as well, though she never saw her mother. So yes. Someone cared. The young canine liked to thing she was biding her time, but what if this detestable feline was right? . . . No. She couldn't think like that, or she'd be lost. She was so busy grappling with her thoughts that she hardly noticed the blow that was being aimed at her through the bars. The tip of one of the she-cat's claws dug into the soft flesh of her nose, and she pulled backwards, a pained snarl bursting from her throat. Glaring at the feline, she retorted, "Not as pathetic as you, taunting a weak prisoner from behind a set of bars." She knew, deep down, that it was unwise to fuel the fire of this feline's anger; she was weak, weak enough that, with bit of a struggle, the caracal could probably overpower her. But keeping her mouth shut when she should had never been one of Valkyrie's strong suits.

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