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The sun was just setting. Moriolap had slipped out of his house unnoticed by his human pets. He'd spent the day basking in the sun, listening to himself purr and thinking about his NAME.

He had not seen anyone from his family in some time, and while normally this would not bother him that much, today, just as the sun was setting something made his fur prickle in a very strange way.

Just like when he had seen that old cat with the wicked eyes.

The base of his tail fluffed at the thought. He paused at the edge of a road, then sat on the warm sidewalk. He sniffed at the air, trying to get a better sense of what drove him out here. When he was just a kitten he used to dream about being a hero to other cats. Now he wasn't sure.

His family had drifted apart when he had been unceremoniously adopted by humans who were willing to feed him VERY well. Well, Ratterclack's oddness didn't help much in making him want to stick around. Moriolap loved his brother dearly, but the bone-marked kitten always creeped him out. Not that he could ever put a paw on why...

His eyes half-lidded, Moriolap continued to concentrate on the odd feeling. He knew something was to happen soon, but he wasn't sure at all what. He got a sense of running, chasing, fear. Of course, he could just be imagining.

But part of him said that he ought to look into it further - or at least find one of his siblings and find out the word on the street.

Moriolap felt himself start, and while he managed to keep from hissing out in surprise, his tail (and most of the rest of him) fluffed out fully. For just, just a moment, he'd thought the old bone-cat from his memory had come again. But no, just the cat he'd been thinking of a few moments before.

He licked his shoulder in embarrassment for a moment, trying to feign that he was not ill at ease. He paused in his ministrations, however, at the word that Jellicles had been disappearing.

Driving past his brother's twisting words, he tilted his head, his eyes flickering with a new fire - "Nun of owah siblings have been taken, have they?" His own accent was more plain - he'd practiced to get rid of his gutter speech.

He didn't fear for his own life - half because he did believe his brother about being there to protect him, half because his brother wasn't one to tell complete truths up front.

He did feel the jab, though, that Ratterclack had half-mentioned. His mother avoided his brother, even when they all were young. He had no comment on the matter, though he never understood why he and his siblings just just a few more licks, were permitted just a few more playful pounces...

"Rattah." Moriolap stood. "Rattah, have you seen an ol' cat with markings like yours about? She'd be a little smaller than mother." He wasn't sure what the connection was - but he was quite suddenly certain the the old bone-cat was precisely the reason why his mother looked at Ratterclack with such disdain, even despite the other cat's dark manners.

Ratterclack's fur stood on end without his consent, but when he saw who had spoken he didn't regret it. The bigger he looked, the better. He widened his eyes, stood sideways on to look larger and turned his ears backward scornfully: a sign, if an untruthful sign, that while he strongly disliked having the newcomer around he wasn't afraid enough to flatten his ears against his skull. "We ain't alone if we're togevver, Gingah," he spat, making the name rhyme somewhat with "gingham" and somewhat with "minger". "An' I'd appree-shate it if you din't interrupt our con-vurr-say-shuns - but since yer 'ere, yer can make yerself useful. Yer ever 'eard of a cat called...Ess-kell-ee-tah?"

There. That would hopefully tell Moriolap that he knew exactly what he was talking about - and if it didn't, this would.

"She got bones a bit like mine. She's ower gran-muvver, yer know - an' she's so wicked a cat that Jellicle cats don't let 'er dance at the ball. She likes ter pull the tails orf cats like you...an' wear 'em 'round 'er neck. Like fur stoles."

Now he was flat-out lying - but it sounded bloody good, didn't it?

"...Reckon I might be growin' up a bit like 'er, Gingah," he added, inspecting a pawful of yellow claws. "An' 'ow diff'rent can me bruvver 'ere be, eh? Wiv Eskeleta's blood? ...We may be small Jellicles, mate, but there's only one'er you. There's two've us. And we only gotter caterwaul an' there'll be four more - an' one of 'em's much more your size. See...we ain't so far from 'ome as you fink we are...an' our dear muvver's got more of 'er dear muvver in 'er than she talks about in nice company. ...Pity fer you you ain't nice company. Nice tail, mind. If yer like it on yer bum 'stead of 'round 'er neck, yer might want ter start runnin'."

This was a good ninety percent of what cat fights were about: looking big and talking a good game would often let you escape the flying fur altogether. Ratterclack dearly hoped that the ginger cat would take him at his word - or, at the very least, that his mother was as close by as he'd claimed.

Eskeleta. It was a familiar name but he wasn't about to let on about that. The bone marked kitten was certainly had more spunk, it made him interesting but also a better choice to focus on. He talked back, he was rude, had a mind of his own.. and he had a talent for tall tales.

"Now, now," he said, stepping ever closer, not at all put off by the aggressive behavior, "Don't let yourself think your dear old grandmother is the only one your tribe has dismissed, there are worse cats out there. Why else would there be such a fuss about a couple o' missing friends?"

True, he employed the same tactic but he had a similar goal. And if they were smarter than they looked, they would be a bit more worried about his words than he was about theirs. He wasn't going anywhere unless there was proof of the backup they supposedly had.

Moriolap saw the matter escalating even as he watched. The name of their grandmother was something to the cat, but clearly she was not as big a concern as completing whatever he had come here to do.

Well, they were not just kittens who could be carted off in someone's mouth.

Half-closing his non-ringed eye, and tilting is head so that the bullseye on his face was all that more obvious, he let his own sweet alto voice add into the yowls. "I think that yer just a pasty, aint ya?" his voice lost some of it's primness, and his ringed eye glowed with menace. There was something magical about knowing that old cat was his grandmother. It gave him more confidence.

"But patsies don't work alone." He said this more to his brother to have him keep an ear out for anyone who might be approaching upwind of them. "And they do work for someone."

He approached the ginger tom, his back arched and teeth bared into a wicked smile. "So what would a ragtag operation want with a handful of Jellicle kittens? Simple. They want their own band." He hissed and feinted at the tom to accent his point.

"We a-rent interested."

This was all bluff, of course, he was trying to offput the tom to see if his brother could catch the larger cat off guard. He felt though, that even if both of them fought tooth and claw, this tom could probably take them both down. But to what end? There was no point in trying to force them physically into joining some pathetic gang of outsiders, especially when neither of them were shunned from the true Jellicle tribe.

At the ginger cat's last statement, Ratterclack's fur began to flatten. His mind, though, was racing. That settled it. There was a whole band of cats behind this - had to be, or the stranger would have said "me" and not "us" - and this was one of them. Probably not the boss, because the boss ought be back at the base doing all the organising (as Vaertun was doing for the Jellicles now), but definitely one of them.

Perhaps he could play this to his advantage.

"...I ain't likin' the sound o' that "maybe", sunbeam," he said, still not entirely friendly but far less aggressive than before. "An' me bruvver 'ere ain't either. Ain't you already 'eard 'im say 'e ain't interested? You want ter change 'is mind, you'd better do some persuadin'. You want us fer yer gang, do yer, Mister Maybe-The-Boss-Cat? Wurl...what've you got ter offer us that the Jellicles ain't got?" He moved slowly closer to Moriolap's side, mostly to reassure his brother that he hadn't gone completely mental. "We're a reasonable couple'a cats. We'll 'ear yer out, if yer got summink werf-while ter say."

There might well be something to be gained, Ratterclack had reasoned, by letting this big ginger cat think they were on his side. Quite apart from not getting beaten up, they might well be taken peacefully to the kidnappers' lair - which was almost certainly where the missing Jellicles were being held. Then all they would have to do would be to slip away, race back to the Junkyard and tell Vaertun where the enemy was hiding.

"After all," he added, mightily pleased by the prospect of not having to fight, "if yer a boss cat, you'll know that cats work for yer better if yer treat 'em nice than if yer beat 'em up..."

Ratterclack was a lot of talk and no action, he was clearly the more aggressive and the more likely to snap back. The more timid one, the one who could only utter a small pawful of words, that was who it was best to focus on-- and he did, not even turning his ears to listen to Ratterclack.

"Kindness may win you more friends, but sometimes convincing is necessary," he said, finally acknowledging that the other cat had spoken, now circling around the pair of them so he was on the opposite side of them that he started. He moved in closer to Moriolap.

"And sometimes, they just want to mess with your head," he said very calmly, then very suddenly a paw was up, claws extended, and heading back to the ground, aiming for Moriolap's tail.

Moriolap wasn't the only one insulted by the swipe at his tail. If there was one thing Ratterclack hated about this ginger cat, it was his superior attitude. He thought he was the Pollicle's bollicles, and Ratterclack would give just about anything for a decent chance to show him he wasn't. His brother's attack was just the excuse he needed. His mind worked fast. Moriolap was going for the throat, so his opening was -

He sprang, aiming to latch his jaws on to the back of the larger cat's neck. His claws were outstretched, reaching for eyes, ears, nose, mouth, anything delicate around the head that might be attacked. You didn't need big claws to blind, tear ears, rake soft noses and otherwise do a lot of damage. And Ratterclack was aiming to damage. Ginger might just be looking to mess with their heads, but Ratterclack wanted blood. Nobody insulted his brother except him!