Where I will be putting the development challenge prompts here for Pincher. Feel free to track!

june prompts
— happiness [ completed ]
— rising again [ not completed ]

august prompts
— TBA
— TBA

Pincher had felt happiness only in a few rare moments in his past, his history clouded with a sense of pain and mangled agony. It wasn't a sob story or something for people to view as a way to comfort him because Pincher had never once been comforted in his life for his problems because well...he had never told anyone. The male was used to closing his thoughts to himself, his body absorbing the hatred and anger that his father had. He was not good enough and as a child that wanted to make their parent proud, Pincher tried the best he could to show that he was able to do everything that his father demanded from him. When had he felt true genuine happiness that wasn't childhood innocence? If he was able to dig through the darkness that was his childhood, he remembered it being when he had been struck and recieved the first scars ever from a fight. He had been four months and had been pushed into a fighting ring, the howling shouts of adults pinning a child against another to see who was stronger. Pincher's mind drifted down to the memory, the edges of it rugged and tattered but it was still there within him.

Pincher, duck! Don't let the bastard blind ya!

Pincher ducked, stumbling to the dirt ground with a small huff as he barely avoided the glinting claws of another tom that he was facing. The small bengal's heart drummed inside his chest as he rolled away, allowing the dust to cover his spotted pelt as he attempted to jump back to his pale paws and dash to the opposite side of the fighting ring. He glanced up with wide oceanic blue eyes at the howling gang members that snarled at him for attempting to run away, one powerful kick pushing him back and causing the child to grimace. He became winded, his breath hitching inside his throat and burning tears budding like rose petals at the corners of his eyes as he collapsed onto the floor. He wanted to cry. He wanted to cry for his pop or his ma to take him away but his pop had been the one to place him in this contained piece of hell. His trembling aching body slowly rose, the hot sun's rays scorching his pelt as Pincher glanced up to notice the snarling form of his opponent begin to stalk towards him, their claws glinting with the crimson blood from previous attacks that they had managed to land on him. The bengal's lower lip trembled as his dark ears folded back to pin against his dappled skull as he took a few steps back. "P-Please! I don't wanna fight! I-I don't wa-" His voice was cut off as the booming call of his father came from within the crew causing Pincher to briefly glance at his direction.

Oi! Pinch, rip his guts out if you want to finish the fightin'! Get to it, lad!

"B-But I-I-I..." Pincher's voice shaky voice trembled and faded away as the shadow of the other kitten now covered him and he locked his horrified gaze up towards the maine coon. Their liquid gold eyes reflected his own. Horror. Fear. Pain. He noticed the child had been crying too, their cheeks damp from the tears that had rolled off. They had been fighting a few weeks before Pincher had been pushed into the fighting ring where children had to prove that they were strong enough for the travels and training that criminal gangs put them through. Only the ones that were pushed through their morality and edged to the side of madness were the ones that survived and Pincher couldn't do that. He couldn't melt into the darkness that his father and uncle had decided to dwell in, he didn't like it. The maine coon kitten's gaze was a mirror, one burning with tired determination to the end the life of whoever dared to get in their way. Pincher didn't know what to do or what to say. What could he do to make it better? What word or gesture would show that he just wanted to avoid all of this, to be back home in the island that had pretty shells and his little treehouse? The tears that threatened to spill began to pour down and he unsheathed his claws as the dirty bengal noticed the maine coon lurch forward to sink their teeth into his flank.

Show 'em who they messin' with, Pinch! Win! Win!

His father's orders pounded and thundered alongside the cheering and booing of the crowd as Pincher once again ducked before slamming against the other child, rolling furiously in the ground with his haunches pummeling the soft belly of his "enemy". While the two began to brawl, their sobs were silent and drowned out by the noise of joy. Happiness. Oh, they felt happiness. They enjoyed seeing the blood spill and see how one can be pushed to the breaking point. Pincher could feel their eagerness coming off like waves as they watched with anticipation on who would win. The single son didn't know if he would win, he wasn't sure how he could. This was his first fight and he held no experience. But he wanted to live, he wanted to push on and see another day even if it was filled with blood and guts. So he bit harder. He sunk his claws deeper into the flesh of the other, ignoring the shrieks of agony that mingled with his own as the two clashed over and over. It felt like they had been fighting for hours, perhaps even days but the glaring sun above them did not shift, permanently entertained by watching two miserable children fight to the death. Was this what it felt like to suffer? Was this how life always was? A constant battle?

Pincher! Fuckin' focus!

The hazy mind of the child caught the sound of his uncle's demand and Pincher shoved the other kitten away, breaking up the lock of wild rage. He shuffled awkwardly away, his sides heaving and his lungs screaming for rest. His long striped tail trembled between his hindlegs as he felt a fresh cut had been gifted to him, this time on his left cheek. Little pearls of crimson blood began to poke through the tear and drip to the coffee brown dirt beneath him, forming a tiny puddle. Yet, Pincher watched as the other child catch their breath as well, their heavy eyelids fluttering as they swayed ever so slightly to each side like a drunken sailor. Pincher noticed that he had managed to rake his claws through the side of their neck, their own pool forming beside their body as the two children recovered. His baby blue eyes fluttered to the ground as he wondered how long it would take for it to end. His father had said to tear the other child's guts out and it would be over. But he didn't want to do that. He didn't want to kill. It didn't give him anything but hopeless and guilt or he guessed it would since he had never killed before. All he knew was that killing lead to nothing but pain. His father had seemed to be proud of that, stating that if the enemy felt pain — they were weak and open to attacks. Rouxes don't feel pain, alright?! We feel nothing. was the motto that his father had demanded Pincher to follow. And if Pincher wanted to feel happiness, he would have to feel nothing first.

Finish 'em off, Pinch!

And he did. The child and him once again raced towards each other and crashed into a messy scramble of tooth and claw, attempting to end the misery of their opponents. But Pincher was young. The maine coon had been a ring fighter for quite some time now, their body littered with previous scars and their energy had drained little by little as time passed on. The maine coon stumbled a misstep that became the advantage for him. Pincher immediately pinned the larger kitten to the ground, his small paws pressing down on the throat of the trembling kitten that stared up at him with wide pleading lantern eyes. The crowd became louder, a chorus of sinners belting out with excitement. Pincher's paws shook as he unsheathed them but didn't strike them down, hesitating in the killing. He could hear his father's angered snarls nearby but the male was hypnotized by the stare of the other child. Their pink nostrils flared and their paws attempted to bat Pincher away but they were too tired. Drained. Stripped of whatever life they had once had before pushed into the cruel initiation that all gang children had to be shoved into. They seemed to know they were going to die and their movements became weaker as they gulped, clearing their raw throat before whispering "Do it."

And he did. He watched faint shock fill the eyes of the child as their throat was sliced, their paw instinctively lashing out to scratch below Pincher's right eye, leaving behind two little scars that he would carry on in the future. As the life seeped out of the maine coon and soaked the snowy white paws of Pincher, he saw a faint trace of a smile flicker on their muzzle and their gaze fluttered to stare up at the sun, embracing the warmth of the heaven gates opening up for them. They were happy to be free. The rugged bengal stepped back from his fallen opponent, standing in a daze of shock and relief as he realized he had won. He didn't feel happiness when one would feel when they won something. He didn't feel happy when his father rushed in and paraded his son as the winner of the fight. As Pincher was pulled away from the ring to celebrate his victory, he didn't feel anything. But then he remembered the peace that had graced the facial features of the other child when they died and to see them be free...it made him happy.

Pincher's first memory of happiness was one he would never forget.

© LEXASPERATED