‘ ‘ addicted to adrenaline ’ ’ At the sight of such a fool, how can one not laugh? After all, it was her job to entertain the King. Her job is to spout the good and the bad news in fun, overdramatic mannerisms. To shout and scream and beg for someone, anyone, to hear her. But they simply laugh, brushing her off as the fool. Perhaps it wasn’t the worst outcome. Those who failed to entertain the King would be banished, or worse, executed. But without a king, who was she to perform for? The crowd howls with laughter. The court jester! Sat upon the King’s own throne! What hoax, what a stunt! Some grew hysteric, others manic, oh how the emotions would shift through their eyes! And as a laugh escaped the Jester’s throat the room fell silent, as if a dozen- no a thousand- eyes were staring her down. They didn’t need to speak for her to know what they would say. The joke was funny for a moment, but now it’s over! The jester needs to step down, return to her post. The King would return soon, and she would surely be punished for her antics! And yet the court fool stayed upon the throne, never moving. A permanent smirk plastered across her face. How unprofessional. How crude. But as the moment turned to days, and days to week, the kingdom grew restless as the King grew ever weaker. Glares and hatred were spewed at the fool as the villagers passed by. How much longer could the jester keep up this facade? ‘ ‘ and always looking for attention ’ ’ While most of FalconClan’s structures were perched among the trees, mossy beds woven between the branches, the medicine den was not one of them. No, the medicine den was a rocky cavern, one built by the warriors of time past, walls constructed of well-placed stones and a roof crafted of only the largest leaves. Golden rays filtered through the small crevices as Zenithhope found herself inside, dappling the stone floors in light. At first, she wondered why she had come at all, but as the scene played out before her, she knew. Crowflight had let out a shaky breath as Jasminesong’s front two paws pressed against her leader’s throat as if checking for a pulse. Wordlessly, Jasminesong gave his head a small shake. It was a splendid sight, indeed. Seeing the corrupt king lying on his deathbed, dulled, half-lidded eyes gazing emptily up at the ceiling. The jester heard shouting, panicked calls. “The King is dead! The King is dead!” Yet all she could do was smile. “They’re dead?” Zenithhope asked in an uncharacteristically quiet voice, vision drifting from medicine cat to medicine cat. It was all she could do not to laugh in ecstasy. The monster who had ruled over her with an iron paw had fallen. Zenithhope was finally /free/. But the king had no son, no daughter, no spouse. Who would be the one to step up? Certainly not the court jester. “The King is dead! The King is dead!” And yet, the kingdom couldn’t be left to fall to ruins. ‘ ‘ thought to be so genuine ’ ’ It started just as it began. With shaky paws, the black-and-white splattered she-cat clambered her way atop the fallen log, raising her veiled head to the sky. “All cats old enough to fly gather beneath the fallen log for a Clan meeting!” The words slipped from her tongue easily. Once a call she had struggled with, now one ingrained into her mind, and one she would speak for moons to come. She knew what they would think. What Duskflower would think, what Ravenscale would think, what Windstormswoop would think, what Icepaw would think. Different theories, thoughts, mindsets, all swirling together. But this time the jester wasn’t putting on a show. “As of this morning, Crowflight has told me that Heatherstar had lost their last life to their sickness.” Cats' eyes bore into her. Snowwisp, Juniperfalcon, Legacywish, Darkraven, Frosteyes. Names she had never cared to remember. Never cared to think about it. Cats she had never cared to talk to. And yet, they were her soldiers, and she was their ruler. A king wouldn’t let his kingdom down. Albatrosswing, Aconitepaw, Dawnlily, Chickenkit. “They died without a deputy, which means,” Morningkit, Scarabsanctuary, Goldendream, Malachitemural. Malachitemural. The kingdom’s prince, one who had to leave before his time to rule could come. She could only hope he was in a better place now. “That I, Zenithhope, will be traveling to the moonlagoon to uhm, become FalconClan’s next leader.” ‘ ‘ when she’s suddenly met with apprehension ’ ’ White-and-brown paws trembled against the sacred, chipped bark. It was time for the uproar. The thought tore at the back of her mind. Cats lashing out, shouting at her. Calling her a fraud. Saying she was a liar. (+ cont in N&C)
The court jester was just a fool. And so, she flared out her wings, a stunning display of red and pink stripes strung out at her sides, speaking up again to silence the hushed whispers that swept the crowd, “As I said before, if I’m not to lead FalconClan then may StarClan themselves strike me down! I will stay true to that. If I return without nine lives now, we’ll make someone else leader.” Another breath. She prayed to the stars above that her Clan would cooperate. That /StarClan/ would cooperate. In truth, the cream-furred she-cat had no desire to be leader, in fact, she’d rather have stayed a warrior. But Zenithhope was no fool. Lavenderlynx, Eveningkit, Ospreyflight, Syzygyshroud. Cat by cat, from blue to green to amber to pink to yellow, all eyes were on her. Judgement, admiration, hatred, and everything in between. While her Clan may not be ready for a change, she would help them through it. Through this, and the dark times to come. But as her gaze passed from the aquatic feathers of Foampaw, to the speckled coat of Tormentglimpse, and to the steely blue eyes of Merlinveil, Zenithhope realized something. She was afraid. ‘ ‘ she just can’t help but be this way ’ ’ It was moon-high when she would set off on her journey. While she had traveled to the Gathering Grove time and time before, not until now did she realize the true gift that the wings she bore were. Leaders of time’s past would clamber, crawl, and tread through the harsh landscapes that twisted together across the island’s ground, while she would soar peacefully above. What a way to live. In ignorant bliss while those around you suffered. It almost reminded her of the King. Heatherstar was a cruel cat, that was one thing Zenithhope knew. If she knew nothing at all, she knew that. She knew that they should have never been made leader, that Creekstar had made a mistake in choosing them. The slash across her side ached. It had been moons since Heatherstar had struck her flank, a wound healed long ago, and yet the thought itself allowed a dull pain to coarse through her body. One of emotion. One of fury, of rage. The jester is the king’s personal entertainer. When one is so close to the ruler, they’ll see things no one else would see, or would even hoped to see. The jester watched as her ruler made the decision to let his kingdom fall, laughing to himself as he sat upon his throne. Laughing as fires burned around him. As more and more graves were dug. How could someone turn a blind eye to their own people? To willingly choose to watch them die rather than get their paws dirty? Though it was moons ago, the quarrel stuck in her mind like glue. A memory Zenithhope would never be able to shake. The day that Heatherstar- in her eyes- had died. The cat left in their place was no leader. They were a fraud. (+ cont in https://scratch.mit.edu/projects/1077563446/ ) --- @t1red- Candle Queen - GHOST
