The-Skribbler

 Jack had once seen some of Chase’s warrior cats get into catnip that had been left out as a diversion.  It had been more than a little amusing to see the stern, stoic creatures react with kittenish abandon and more than a little goofiness. Jack didn’t know if there was such a thing as dragonnip, but if there was, Chase was on it. The albino youth  was curled up in the center of his and Chase’s bed, the covers drawn up around his chin.  Chase had woken up Jack up from a nap by rubbing his face all over the youth’s bare chest, side, and back.  Not the sexy, sensual caress of cheeks against exposed skin, but seriously rubb

When Chase spotted the flyer for the Fall Festival, he didn't ignore it as he normally would have done. He and Jack were in a north-eastern section of the United States of America, smack-dab in the middle of autumn.  They had come to this area in pursuit of a Shen-Gong-Wu.  Not that they'd needed it, as it wasn't particularly useful – just one of the "last minute" toys Dashi had made when he began running out of truly creative ideas.  No, Chase had dragged Jack along on the wu hunt for one reason only: To make his minion shut up. Jack had been snarling and grumpy for the past few weeks, claiming that he was bored and stuck in a rut; ho