I want to keep you alive [o, trapped]

[OCTANE.]

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OCTANE

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OCTAVIO SILVA
High-Speed Daredevil
AFRICAN CHEETAH
TYPHOON
"Ooh, sick death, dude!"

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// cw cause Octane thinks about death and murder a lot, only the last two paragraphs are important

Caustic never sent the bird back with a message- always left it empty. His personal way of leaving Octane on read, what a dick.
The message was simple. Caustic couldn’t write that well and couldn’t spend the hours hyperfixating on the task like he could. Octane understood that attempting to write was difficult, his own hut was littered with scrapes of paper of scribbles and scratches.
Octane had sent many letters of varying lengths, talking about his day or how he had been. The empty reply always made him want to slam his head in the wall.

This time, though, Caustic made the first move.

[align=center]Come to me.

It made Octane's blood burn at the idea, that's why he was running so fucking fast. He knew Caustic was prone to being cryptic, so he had been trying to decipher the message in his head the whole journey. "Come to me, I've figured out a work around," or perhaps, "Come to me, I miss you." Oh no, Caustic would never admit to missing him, he'd say it in his own apathetic way. "I wish to schedule another one of our... encounters." His fur shivers- because that meant Caustic had goodies and Octane had a quest to die in his hands.

He worries, though. The boredom in Typhoon was overwhelming and the people there could only provide so much entertainment. They weren't that fun! Someone need to like... blow something up already or just fucking kill him and get this over with.
Death doesn't bother Octane, not in the slightest. Death is a way of living.
He worries, not for himself, but for Caustic. After all, without what they had, what were they supposed to do together? What if he got bored of Caustic?

They couldn't understand Octane's brain, few could, and Caustic did. Caustic understood his needs and would meet them with full glorious blood and passion. He understood that Octane only desired the next high of danger and the scientist was always ready to welcome him with open arms. He didn't need Caustic to tell his (probably boring) life story and hold him gently.
He needs Caustic to pay attention to him. Bonus points? Show that attention with those big, powerful hands of his.
Octane hopes this is a booty-call, cause at least that was fucking something.

Ah! There's Tanglewood!
Octane picks up speed, paws flying over marshland, sucking in greedy air through his mask. His legs hit the swampland, and he's stopped dead in his tracks, body slinging backwards as his metal leg is pulled back and the cheetah is pulled by a snare. He groans, dragging across the mud and his leg stuck in the air, pulled by the snare. Octane leans over, his claws finding his leg and turning the lock system. He drops like dead weight. Octane's right hind leg pulled into the air by the snare, dangling over him like a fish hook.
"Carajo," he curses- this was gonna make him late! Caustic called him and everything! Motherfucker! Octane tries to sit up, reaching out for his leg, but it stayed right out of arms length. "Carajo!" he curses again, trying to stand, but quickly loses his balance and falls to his rump, staring up at his leg.

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Original code by lexasperated / artwork by @R_HillPrime

[wormwood.]

☆ HUNG PICTURES OF PATRON SAINTS UP ON MY WALL TO REMIND ME THAT I AM A FOOL. TELL ME WHERE I CAME FROM, WHAT I WILL ALWAYS BE: JUST A SPOILED LITTLE KID WHO WENT TO CATHOLIC SCHOOL —

Man, they really needed to implement some sort of warning system for the traps. Technically they already had one in the form of the tree markings, but those weren't exactly easily identifiable. He supposed that was kind of the point, since you didn't want your enemies seeing where your traps were, but Aurum had honestly yet to see any actual enemies caught up in the traps. No, in his entire time living in Tanglewood, he had only ever seen joiners or visitors get snared or tripped up or otherwise. It wasn't a very effective system, when all it did was annoy people who were friendly towards them. Despite this, the proxy held his tongue for now, figuring that there were more important things to worry about when it came to Tanglewood's territory. After all, it wasn't as if he and others couldn't help people out of the traps fairly easily once they were found, which meant that at the very least people weren't in them for very long – unless nobody was out patrolling on that particular day. That would've been a nightmare for any poor, unfortunate soul stupid enough to get caught up in one of the territory traps, forced to sit and wait for anybody to come for a whole day.

Luckily, Octane wasn't one of those poor unfortunate souls, since Aurum had been out for a walk when the scent of the Typhoon came to him. Not only the scent of the Typhoon, but the particular scent of Octane, something he could identify from when the cheetah had first brought Caustic to them. Curious to see why the male was on their territory again – probably to see Caustic, he reckoned – the angel made his way through the trees towards the scent, eventually reaching where the other was sitting, staring up at his own leg. He stared up at the other male's leg for a long moment before he started chuckling, the lion shaking his head from side to side as he grew close, "Hey there... Octane, right? Looks like you got caught up in one of our traps... we've really gotta teach Typhooners our warning system. Here, lemme help you get that back." Spreading out his wings, the lion flew upwards to where the other's leg was dangling, biting back his laughter as he inspected Octane's hind metal leg. When he found where the snare was, he reached out a paw, trying to hook his claw into where the line was and cut it quickly, hopefully releasing Octane's prosthetic from the trap. If he was successful, then the line would release, and the leg would fall downwards. It might hurt the prosthetic a bit, but ultimately it would just fall down into the mud below.

Whether or not he was successful, Aurum would then return to the ground below, turning to face Octane before he spoke up again, "So then... what's brought you to be hanging around our territory?" That joke was awful. Truly awful, but he was a Dad, which meant he had a right to tell terrible jokes on occasion. Besides, he was trying to lighten the mood for Octane, sure that the other wasn't too happy about getting caught up in a trap. At least, that was if his angered cursing from before was anything to go by. In reality, Aurum was fairly sure that the cheetah had just come around to see how Caustic was doing – considering he had been the one to bring the male here in the first place – but there was always the possibility that he had important news. Aurum doubted that, however, figuring Goldie would send someone a little more trustworthy with anything big and newsworthy.

[div style="text-align: right; text-transform: uppercase; text-shadow: 0px 0px 2px #1B1B2F; font-size: 24px;"][color=#44437F]— AURUM

#psychosocial.

[VIGENERE CIPHER.]

[alaric g.]

    Alaric knew that plenty of food was ripe for the taking in the tavern. He didn't care. The feline knew this, but he chose to hunt down his prey because of the benefits it offered. First of all, freshly caught prey tasted better to him, and hunting for prey further sharpened his mind and body. His reflexes had improved as a result of hunting by himself, and he was noticeably faster now than when he had first joined Tanglewood. It was easier for him to think on his feet now, too, since he had spent a fair amount of time outsmarting the admittedly stupid game he ran after.

    It was on one of these multiple hunts that the salty scent of seabreeze invaded his senses. He was in the middle of the damn swamp, and the brackish shore that Tanglewood boasted was located on the other side of the territory. He ruled out the idea of his senses playing tricks on him without a second thought, believing himself to be of sound mind and body. He decided then that he was going to find out why such a smell had interrupted his hunt.

    Following the scent to its origin, Alaric came upon the forms of Aurum and two strangers, one smelling of Tanglewood and the other of the ocean. He realized then that what he had smelled was, in fact, not the ocean, but someone from the Typhoon. That was another thing that he had improved upon since joining the group. Previously, he had no knowledge of groups outside of his parents and himself, but now that he was adjusted to clan life, he was a little more versed in the realm of politics, including the names of groups as well as the scents they carried. He'd also familiarized himself with who Tangle's allies and enemies were.

    "Tanglewood and the Typhoon are allies," Alaric stated flatly as he closed the distance between himself and the small gathering. He glanced at each of the creatures gathered, his gaze somewhat lingering on Vigenere.

♔ don't do love, don't do friends

[toboggan]

Tanglewood wasn't built upon a substantial amount of security measures. Off the top of the canine's mind, only two obvious factors had kept his tribemates in safe hands all this time. First off, the dense treeline that began at the border acted as a protective curtain against the outside world. It's labyrinthine composition of hulking vegetation was an obstacle to those who didn't know the area. Hell, even to Leroy (who has lived in Tanglewood for nearly two years, mind you), getting lost came as an easy feat. However, should one surpass the territory's troublesome outer reaches, the risk of Beck's traps only became a greater threat.

Though he did not dwell within the region when the tribe was founded, the mongrel was fully aware that one of the top priorities of the original leader was establishing an amplitude of traps of all sorts. Dotting the town's surrounding land lay snares and nets, yearning for an unfortunate victim to travel too closely within their grasp. Ofttimes, the victim made enough of a ruckus that they were found immediately. The general saw them as genius; not only did hoisting an intruder high up into the air remove a possible threat, but it typically brought a wave of humiliation to the would-be invader. Protection and causing degradation was possibly the best combination to ever exist, and the traps caused both.

The smell of Typhoon around the forest didn't come as a rarity these days. Tanglewood's alliance with the pirates is one of the island's most well-built, and likely one of its' longest lasting. Goldenluxury acted as a phenomenal associate in the past, sharing a similar contempt towards the Pitt as he, and he believed her to be a good friend. As a result of his views to their captain, for all he cared, Typhooners (if that's a good name for them) could come and go as they pleased. A few times, there'd been issues - such as when those damn kids brought their paint and made a fucking Da Vinci piece out of some trees - but for the most part, you could say everything was smooth sailing.

Eugh. Ship pun. That was awful. Whatever.

His folded ears caught the Spanish profanities without any complications. To his knowledge, nobody in Tanglewood spoke that language, so, if the salty stench wasn't telling enough, the canine knew that a pirate was on the premises. And in distress, too. Luckily, numerous Tanglers were on the scene, which he noticed immediately upon arrival. Aurum, Alaric, and, Vigenere. Leroy had not formed any strong opinions about the Cipher's return (mostly due to the fact that his writer didn't get to responding to it yet), but evidently, he needed a recap on current events. The large feline that had dangled above was not an enemy.

"Alaric's correct," he says in a matter-of-factly tone, currently not paying any mind to the foreigner as it appeared that Aurum tended to him at the moment, "the Typhoon are our allies, and it's been that way for quite a long time." Even by the time of Vigenere's departure in late 2018, Leroy was sure that tensions between the two groups had drastically subsided. "We fought alongside 'em like four or five times since ya left," he continues, "maybe six? I dunno, I've never been good with countin'."

Once the cheetah confirmed his well-being, Leroy would shift some attention towards him. Best not to overwhelm someone who was yanked off of their feet - he knew this from experience.

[OCTANE.]

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OCTANE

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OCTAVIO SILVA
High-Speed Daredevil
AFRICAN CHEETAH
TYPHOON
"Ooh, sick death, dude!"

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Octane can feel his fur rise in a feral way he isn’t used to yet- he jumps as Aurum approaches. He’s suddenly acutely aware of his own short stature. That lion is fucking big- how strong were those jaws, huh? Octane’s goggles laser into Aurum’s face, gaze traveling all over. He sits, buzzing as he watches the lion move and untie his leg. Octane pulls the prosthetic towards him with his paws, brushing away mud and locking it back into place.
His fold back, lips pulling into a cringe, "Jesus fuck, that was awful. What are you? 40?" Perhaps they wouldn’t get that- Aurum’s Joke was bad and Octane had to tell him. "Thanks for the leg though, amigo,” he grins, pulling himself up to stand, stretching and testing the limb.
He sees others approach, and his mind is filled with all sorts of questions, staring at the yellow cat. "Why do you look like that? Do cats come in that color around here?" Oop! There he was, blabbering away again. "Ah- lo siento- my bad,” okay, obligatory apology over, now...

"I’m here for fuckhead, he sent me a letter. I hope it’s a bootycall, but you never know with that guy.” Normally, he wouldn’t call Caustic such names, but he couldn’t help the rage that seeped into his bones at the thought of the scientist. Why didn’t he call sooner? Was Octane so unimportant to him? What the fuck?

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Original code by lexasperated / artwork by @R_HillPrime

[VIGENERE CIPHER.]

[Ivan]

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pixel by tricky

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[div style="width: 300px; max-height: 100px; height: overflow; overflow: scroll; padding-bottom: 5px; margin-top: -5px; font-family: georgia; font-size: 8pt; color: #152232; letter-spacing: 0px; text-align: justify;"]He kept fancying that Ivan was absorbed in something — something inward and important — that he was striving toward some goal, perhaps very hard to attain.

— Бра́тья Карама́зовы

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Being a true native of Tanglewood, and, for as long as he knew, one of the very first, Ivan had known no other reality than living in a rundown town, protected by snares and trees. He was no wanderer either, and hardly ever ventured far. As much as he would think his mind should belong in the body of someone much older and capable than a nearly four month old cat, he still couldn't doubt his physicality. Tensions between groups were negligible for the most part, but he was well aware that there were other foes, like the many-eyed spiked beast and the alligators who tore of his mother's ear.

He was pushing the limits now, as he ventured closer to the edge of the territory, attracted by the sounds. There were a lot of people here, he was beginning to scent and hear more clearly. He wanted to vomit at the dad joke — was that Aurum — but he really didn't want to lose his lunch. He was skinny enough as it was. Ivan arrived in time to see Octane fasten his leg. Admittedly, he couldn't help but prick his large, gremlin-like ears at the idea of prosthetics. It was the first time he'd seen them, it was truly some mark of a great scientific progress. Who said a philosopher could not reconcile with science? Or was that Ivan's hypocrisy showing through?

His admiration cut short at the energy Octane was exhorting into the atmosphere. Donnish Ivan found it difficult to react to the cheetah's antics. His quips seemed blunt perhaps, if they were written on paper, but it was a different bluntness than Alaric. He wasn't really thinking. He snickered to himself as the yellow cat echoed his thoughts, though with his colorblindness, Vingere looked more like a white cat than anything else.

"I'm sorry ... Who?" Ivan finally spoke, somewhat incredulously. Maybe he's got the wrong group.

[wormwood.]

☆ HUNG PICTURES OF PATRON SAINTS UP ON MY WALL TO REMIND ME THAT I AM A FOOL. TELL ME WHERE I CAME FROM, WHAT I WILL ALWAYS BE: JUST A SPOILED LITTLE KID WHO WENT TO CATHOLIC SCHOOL —

The proxy couldn't help but snicker at his companions and how they recoiled from his joke, shaking his head at the cheetah before rumbling, "Not forty. Seventy, actually. I don't think it was that bad." In reality, he knew it was a pretty fucking awful joke, he just found he didn't care that much. Maybe it was getting older getting to him, or just exhaustion with the world. Either way, the angel didn't even really flinch at Octane's often comment, finding it more amusing than insulting. Plus, he found himself grinning and nodding his head when Octane thanked him for the leg, muttering softly, "It's no problem. It would be a bit hard for you to get around without it." Octane still had three fully functional legs he could've used, even without one of his prosthetics, but it wasn't exactly a big deal for him to just fly up and grab it. When the male then commented on Vignere's coloration, Aurum had to bite his tongue to keep from laughing, having his own questions about the older member's fur.

The mention of "fuckhead" made Aurum sigh a bit, mumbling as he flicked a paw in Ivan's direction, "Language, please. We've got kids around here." Glancinv over at his nephew then, the proxy said simply, "I think he may be talking about Caustic. He was here when Caustic first joined." Turning his gaze back to Octane, he questioned with a tilt of his head, "At least, that's what I think you're here for... right? Our very own doctor? Because I'm afraid you might be disappointed in his intent sending you a message. He's hurt." After the explosion and the fallout that came with it, it seemed only natural that Caustic would want his... companion around.

[div style="text-align: right; text-transform: uppercase; text-shadow: 0px 0px 2px #1B1B2F; font-size: 24px;"][color=#44437F]— AURUM

#psychosocial.

[OCTANE.]

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OCTANE

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OCTAVIO SILVA
High-Speed Daredevil
AFRICAN CHEETAH
TYPHOON
"Ooh, sick death, dude!"

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Octane rolls his shoulders, lifting his paws up can down to jog in place. A brief test of his limbs. The swamp felt so much better than all that fucking sand. He was used to mud and rough terrains but the soft sands of barracuda bay got into his joints and where flesh met metal and it was just uncomfortable. "Uh, I don't, at least. Goldie probably does though, she always looks busy," he mentions, rubbing his hindlegs into the mud to get a feel for the ground.
Octane didn't feel bad calling his Caustic 'fuckhead.' It was funny and the scientist wasn't here. He would probably still call Caustic names when he saw him. He knew how this worked, Caustic conducted experiments with repeatable outcomes and Octane had his own version of testing. What was the best way to piss him off? Annoy him? Get himself into Caustic's pretty little lab like the sacrificial lion he was?
"You know, fuckhead," he leers, grinning. "Big wolf, he's always so dramatic, he's like," he lifted his paws in air quotes. "'You thought we were equals,'" he drops his voice an octave to mimic Caustic's deep, gravely baritone. "And then I say, 'equals, you're still too slow,' and then I punch him in the chin-" he could drone on and on about their encounters in the ring. It was a fun little game, getting the 1-up on eachother each time. "You know, fuckhead," Man, it was a shame they didn't think that was funny. This was comedy gold!

The lion is speaking again, and Octane turns, his ears falling flat as he's scolded. "Ha, yeah, sorry-" Octane wasn't much of a thinker, and keeps quiet as Aurum speaks. The cheetah sits up slightly, his grin dropping for a moment. "He got hurt?" He squints, frowning- "and he didn't invite me?"

Octane grumbles, a few chirps leaving him, "Mind guiding me back to your uh, camp? I don't remember where it is." So Caustic got hurt? Okay, so this wasn't a booty-call. Then what? did he want... comfort or something? News?

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Original code by lexasperated / artwork by @R_HillPrime