Post by Twitch on Jan 12, 2007 23:47:07 GMT -5
Name: Twitchstripe
Age: 42 Moons
Gender:
Position: Warrior
Clan: DawnClan
Pictures: Click please.
Appearance: Twitchstripe isn’t out of the ordinary, really. He is as uninteresting in appearance as anyone else. But I guess I still have to spell it out, so, anyway. His eyes are a light brown, almost honey, color. They are solid, only seeming to have different shades laced throughout due to the trickery of certain rays of light, which probably happens to any cat. A thin line of cream rings both his eyes, negating the thin black that makes up his eyelids and the normal tabby streak connecting the area of his tear gland to his nose bridge, which is a dusky red color. The underside of his muzzle and the rimming of his broad cheeks are a light cream color, matching that of the thin lining of his eyes. Dark tabby markings cut across his face, though are rather thin and lack the boldness of most tabby cats’ stripes. But he retains the normal ‘M’ on his forehead that marks all actual tabbies.
His ears are just slightly larger than normal, and are tufted at the tops with the dark color that covers the backs of them as well. His head is connected to a short neck, which is then connected to a set of broad shoulders. His legs are sturdy and muscled, and his forelegs sport the only bold, thick stripes on his body. His paws are huge, as are his claws, making him a formidable foe if he decides to create one of himself.
Twitchstripe is built like most cats of his clan; thick and muscled. This carries on to his striped torso and thick hind legs. The latter of which hold his large rabbit-like hind feet, which are clad, on the bottom, in an almost black short fur. These paws too have overly large claws, but one doesn’t have to worry as much about those if they are only concerned with their own safety.
The only thing that is relatively out-of-place about Twitchstripe is his lack of a tail. There is barely even a stub there to represent a tail, as he was born tailless and didn’t have the misfortune to have the appendage ripped off in some violent and painful way.
Personality: Ah, well, Twitchstripe isn’t too interesting a character here either. He is a rather seemingly happy fellow, almost always putting on the mask of a smile for anyone else who might be feeling a little down. Due to this, he can be seen as an almost fatherly figure, as he is overly caring to any younger cats put around him. While this can be more annoying than otherwise for the overly independent youngster he is tolerated, usually, and therefore continues with his antics.
Though he seems overly happy on the outside, he keeps this going to hide a growing indifference inside. He grows increasingly bored with everyday life, or just life as a whole. Gradually he’s losing sight of what’s beautiful in life, and sees things that once set his imagination afire in a monochromatic way. Unfortunately, he ties this to the loss of his caring sister, who was always an important part in his lust for life. It is unfortunate, then, that no one actually notices his ebbing want to live, which means no one can coax him out of it.
While his love for serving the clan and basically smiling at anyone and everyone would probably keep him for as long as fate would allow, he just doesn’t enjoy every step as he used to. He does what he needs to to please his peers, nothing more, nothing less. He feels no need to go above and beyond, and doesn’t see the point in getting yelled at for something he could easily prevent. After all, he couldn’t use age an excuse, could he? His only excuse would be lethargy, something not highly respected in any group.
History: Twitchstripe was born, of course, as Twitchkit. He also had one other sibling, Flick-kit. She was an almost complete copy of him, though her eyes were much more dazzling; with every shade and hue of gold mixed together in a stunning cauldron of the eyes. His mother, a nearly forgotten soul, was a caring she-cat, who had had the kits not out of love but just for the soul purpose of having kits. Due to this, they knew not their father, as no one did but their mother and, of course, their father.
They graduated to becoming an apprentice at the same time, with Flick-kit going to an elderly, though experienced, old tom, and Twitchkit going to a young, rather sarcastic female. While it was obvious that the recently-dubbed Twitchpaw got the lesser side of the bargain, Flickpaw was eager to help her brother with anything that he needed help on, reinforcing a mutual bond both had, and making him laugh even when his self-confidence was slipping away due to the she-cat’s harsh remarks.
Flickpaw became a warrior about two moons before her brother, earning the name Flicktwirl. Twitchpaw, of course, gained the name Twitchstripe. At this time they were only a measly 14 moons old, still rather naïve and innocent to the ways of life. They knew neither the pain of starvation nor the rush of bloodlust one might experience during the blazing heat of battle. Their souls were at the time tainted with only the slight tinge of mock battles and the killing of prey.
Their blissfully oblivious way of life went on for seasons, serving the clan together and getting their fair share of laughs along the way. This grew to case Twitchstripe’s everlasting happy-go-lucky spirit; always having at least a trace of a smile on his striped face.
That is until they grew into their 32nd moon. The siblings had made the infantile mistake of traveling toward the fort to do their hunting, and had at the time been stalking along the outer walls, talking amongst themselves and continually forgetting that to be ‘hunting’ one needed to be quiet and stay alert, especially since they had ever-so-stupidly crossed into another clan's territory.
Due to their talking, they were unable to hear the one dog that had escaped the confines of the fort and was now also hunting along its wall, following the particular scent of two animals. Their oblivious way was interrupted, of course, when this canine caught sight of them and let out a bellowing howl. Both turned to stare behind them, shocked into a paralyzed state by the sight of the monstrous creature. Four eyes were wide, until Twitchstripe yowled and turned tail.
Flicktwirl started to turn backwards to follow her brother, but was caught in the canine’s unforgiving, stupid jaws. She screamed, before the life was literally shaken out of her. Twitchstripe had stopped and turned, eyes wide and jaw hanging limp in horror. Only when he heard the screaming of his sister stop and her body fell limp did he really understand. Bloody droplets hit his face, and he watched the dog’s eyes move upwards toward him, the limp body of his sibling still in its jaws. Hearing a warning growl in its throat, Twitchstripe bounded away, horrified and fearing for his own life, not really caring if any cat of another clan caught him now.
After that day he has been a lot quieter, not exactly caring what became of him, and only putting out forced emotions. Not that anyone but himself even really cares though. At least that’s the message everyone seems to give off. But he’s got a way to go, so he deals with it, keeping the traumatizing memories locked up in an inaccessible part of his mind and beating the angst-ridden emotions off with a large stick.
Other: Any rudeness/random OOC-talk in there is just how I write, not directed at anyone. My apologies.
IC: [Section from another piece of mine, with parts snipped off to keep the total length not annoyingly long. Hope you don't mind.]
The ebony cat heard a mouse scurry away as his huge paw was set down in front of him. He didn't see it. He saw a roach crawl along the wall in his peripheral vision. He didn't recognize the form. He tasted the familiar tang of his clan's scent on his tongue. It felt like poison.
His mouth hung open, and blood dripped off of his head and over his dull eyes. An injury rested between his rounded ears, like a bloody split in his broad black head. His left hind leg was mangled; he held it up and off the ground as he limped along territory that was once his. His tail was broken, and it bent at an awkward angle about midway through. All injuries pained him, but he paid them no mind. He didn't seem to pay anything any mind. He didn't give anything the satisfaction, or the fear, of catching his attention. He was lost in the trap of the skull.
Inside, the two sides of his personality were screaming at each other, fighting for control of his body. One, the basically insane, demented version of him, wanted nothing more than to turn around and kill everything, gain revenge on those who had betrayed him. The sane, merciful side only wanted to get the body to a safe place and let Ragno live. These two 'Ragnos' were mere personifications of his emotions, of course, but that made them no less real to him in the nightmarish landscape of his psyche.
They tangled with each on the black floor of a castle so twisted it seemed to come straight from Hell itself. Spires of a rose's thorns twisted upward to scrape the undulating sky of blood, causing the crimson liquid to come dripping down and threaten to drown both of the personalities. But neither paid mind to anything but the other. There wasn't time for anything else.
In the real world, Ragno stopped. His mind twitched, his eyelids shot back in surprise as he saw the landscape inside. He heard the music that his soul had played for his deaf ears. He felt the cold metal lump that his heart had become. Inside that heart, inside the mind, inside him, a tune of sorrow, battle, and blood played on measure by measure, the metronome of a mechanical monotony keeping it in tune to his soul's writhing. Stacottos of bones snapping marked when his iron-clad claws unsheathed themselves to the cruel world which had so unknowingly born a monster at the time of his conception. The legato of a cat's last droning call for help spread his gait into a run toward the killing, his steps rising and falling with the chords as they franticly raced up and down the keys to keep up with his demented ways.
Why had he never heard this seductively sweet music before? Why had his ears never heard its black tendrils of sound as they wafted ever nearer? It was so beautiful, so grand, but it pained his soul so to hear it. Like the forbidden fruit, he craved more and more of it, but his very nerves seemed to burst into spontaneous flame as it hit the walls of his inner ear. A note of pain escaped his jaws, making his vocal chords tremble, the call coming out of the loudest silence he had ever had the misfortune to come upon. Surely it was end of him. Surely he would drop dead now with this song of death tearing at what little strength he had. These notes being shot as him by the gun of his very heart.
That wasn't a mercy bestowed upon him.
Ragno screamed again, his jaws parting to reveal his yellowed teeth, his dull pink tongue, his almost white gums as his whiskered black lips drew higher and the sound grew even more shrill. His eyes closed; his ears pinned back against his head. His tail fill limp against his legs as they bent so he was almost in a sitting position, but not quite.
Why did this all have to start?
The question echoed throughout his head louder than the previous question, and it was only said once. But it was said so loud that his mind's castle cracked and fell to pieces. The roof fell down onto the black marble floor that the two personalities had dueled for so long. A piece of those rose-thorn towers skewered his conscience, killing his merciful emotions, and for a second his dementia reigned supreme.
Ragno's screaming stopped, his twisted expression staying for a moment, his silent call for help still keeping his lips pulled back. His lower jaw began to move, and an eerie laughter ensued. His orange eyes opened slightly, looking at a world that had once been reality but was now nothing more than ground to be turned into graves. His teeth glimmered, his gums were shown.
Memories flashed before his eyes, accusations from his time of leadership and the soft cooing of his childhood blending together to form the essence of his life. The essence of his life? Confusion. Misunderstanding. One whole mess.
His death, on the other hand, was clean. His orange eyes rolled back in his head; his lips fell to cover his teeth once again, and he fell on the ground, now a black-furred cadaver. Not even a final twitch suggested he wanted to hold onto life. Death, to him, was a blessing that he should have never been worthy of.
[Blade feline]
Age: 42 Moons
Gender:
Position: Warrior
Clan: DawnClan
Pictures: Click please.
Appearance: Twitchstripe isn’t out of the ordinary, really. He is as uninteresting in appearance as anyone else. But I guess I still have to spell it out, so, anyway. His eyes are a light brown, almost honey, color. They are solid, only seeming to have different shades laced throughout due to the trickery of certain rays of light, which probably happens to any cat. A thin line of cream rings both his eyes, negating the thin black that makes up his eyelids and the normal tabby streak connecting the area of his tear gland to his nose bridge, which is a dusky red color. The underside of his muzzle and the rimming of his broad cheeks are a light cream color, matching that of the thin lining of his eyes. Dark tabby markings cut across his face, though are rather thin and lack the boldness of most tabby cats’ stripes. But he retains the normal ‘M’ on his forehead that marks all actual tabbies.
His ears are just slightly larger than normal, and are tufted at the tops with the dark color that covers the backs of them as well. His head is connected to a short neck, which is then connected to a set of broad shoulders. His legs are sturdy and muscled, and his forelegs sport the only bold, thick stripes on his body. His paws are huge, as are his claws, making him a formidable foe if he decides to create one of himself.
Twitchstripe is built like most cats of his clan; thick and muscled. This carries on to his striped torso and thick hind legs. The latter of which hold his large rabbit-like hind feet, which are clad, on the bottom, in an almost black short fur. These paws too have overly large claws, but one doesn’t have to worry as much about those if they are only concerned with their own safety.
The only thing that is relatively out-of-place about Twitchstripe is his lack of a tail. There is barely even a stub there to represent a tail, as he was born tailless and didn’t have the misfortune to have the appendage ripped off in some violent and painful way.
Personality: Ah, well, Twitchstripe isn’t too interesting a character here either. He is a rather seemingly happy fellow, almost always putting on the mask of a smile for anyone else who might be feeling a little down. Due to this, he can be seen as an almost fatherly figure, as he is overly caring to any younger cats put around him. While this can be more annoying than otherwise for the overly independent youngster he is tolerated, usually, and therefore continues with his antics.
Though he seems overly happy on the outside, he keeps this going to hide a growing indifference inside. He grows increasingly bored with everyday life, or just life as a whole. Gradually he’s losing sight of what’s beautiful in life, and sees things that once set his imagination afire in a monochromatic way. Unfortunately, he ties this to the loss of his caring sister, who was always an important part in his lust for life. It is unfortunate, then, that no one actually notices his ebbing want to live, which means no one can coax him out of it.
While his love for serving the clan and basically smiling at anyone and everyone would probably keep him for as long as fate would allow, he just doesn’t enjoy every step as he used to. He does what he needs to to please his peers, nothing more, nothing less. He feels no need to go above and beyond, and doesn’t see the point in getting yelled at for something he could easily prevent. After all, he couldn’t use age an excuse, could he? His only excuse would be lethargy, something not highly respected in any group.
History: Twitchstripe was born, of course, as Twitchkit. He also had one other sibling, Flick-kit. She was an almost complete copy of him, though her eyes were much more dazzling; with every shade and hue of gold mixed together in a stunning cauldron of the eyes. His mother, a nearly forgotten soul, was a caring she-cat, who had had the kits not out of love but just for the soul purpose of having kits. Due to this, they knew not their father, as no one did but their mother and, of course, their father.
They graduated to becoming an apprentice at the same time, with Flick-kit going to an elderly, though experienced, old tom, and Twitchkit going to a young, rather sarcastic female. While it was obvious that the recently-dubbed Twitchpaw got the lesser side of the bargain, Flickpaw was eager to help her brother with anything that he needed help on, reinforcing a mutual bond both had, and making him laugh even when his self-confidence was slipping away due to the she-cat’s harsh remarks.
Flickpaw became a warrior about two moons before her brother, earning the name Flicktwirl. Twitchpaw, of course, gained the name Twitchstripe. At this time they were only a measly 14 moons old, still rather naïve and innocent to the ways of life. They knew neither the pain of starvation nor the rush of bloodlust one might experience during the blazing heat of battle. Their souls were at the time tainted with only the slight tinge of mock battles and the killing of prey.
Their blissfully oblivious way of life went on for seasons, serving the clan together and getting their fair share of laughs along the way. This grew to case Twitchstripe’s everlasting happy-go-lucky spirit; always having at least a trace of a smile on his striped face.
That is until they grew into their 32nd moon. The siblings had made the infantile mistake of traveling toward the fort to do their hunting, and had at the time been stalking along the outer walls, talking amongst themselves and continually forgetting that to be ‘hunting’ one needed to be quiet and stay alert, especially since they had ever-so-stupidly crossed into another clan's territory.
Due to their talking, they were unable to hear the one dog that had escaped the confines of the fort and was now also hunting along its wall, following the particular scent of two animals. Their oblivious way was interrupted, of course, when this canine caught sight of them and let out a bellowing howl. Both turned to stare behind them, shocked into a paralyzed state by the sight of the monstrous creature. Four eyes were wide, until Twitchstripe yowled and turned tail.
Flicktwirl started to turn backwards to follow her brother, but was caught in the canine’s unforgiving, stupid jaws. She screamed, before the life was literally shaken out of her. Twitchstripe had stopped and turned, eyes wide and jaw hanging limp in horror. Only when he heard the screaming of his sister stop and her body fell limp did he really understand. Bloody droplets hit his face, and he watched the dog’s eyes move upwards toward him, the limp body of his sibling still in its jaws. Hearing a warning growl in its throat, Twitchstripe bounded away, horrified and fearing for his own life, not really caring if any cat of another clan caught him now.
After that day he has been a lot quieter, not exactly caring what became of him, and only putting out forced emotions. Not that anyone but himself even really cares though. At least that’s the message everyone seems to give off. But he’s got a way to go, so he deals with it, keeping the traumatizing memories locked up in an inaccessible part of his mind and beating the angst-ridden emotions off with a large stick.
Other: Any rudeness/random OOC-talk in there is just how I write, not directed at anyone. My apologies.
IC: [Section from another piece of mine, with parts snipped off to keep the total length not annoyingly long. Hope you don't mind.]
The ebony cat heard a mouse scurry away as his huge paw was set down in front of him. He didn't see it. He saw a roach crawl along the wall in his peripheral vision. He didn't recognize the form. He tasted the familiar tang of his clan's scent on his tongue. It felt like poison.
His mouth hung open, and blood dripped off of his head and over his dull eyes. An injury rested between his rounded ears, like a bloody split in his broad black head. His left hind leg was mangled; he held it up and off the ground as he limped along territory that was once his. His tail was broken, and it bent at an awkward angle about midway through. All injuries pained him, but he paid them no mind. He didn't seem to pay anything any mind. He didn't give anything the satisfaction, or the fear, of catching his attention. He was lost in the trap of the skull.
Inside, the two sides of his personality were screaming at each other, fighting for control of his body. One, the basically insane, demented version of him, wanted nothing more than to turn around and kill everything, gain revenge on those who had betrayed him. The sane, merciful side only wanted to get the body to a safe place and let Ragno live. These two 'Ragnos' were mere personifications of his emotions, of course, but that made them no less real to him in the nightmarish landscape of his psyche.
They tangled with each on the black floor of a castle so twisted it seemed to come straight from Hell itself. Spires of a rose's thorns twisted upward to scrape the undulating sky of blood, causing the crimson liquid to come dripping down and threaten to drown both of the personalities. But neither paid mind to anything but the other. There wasn't time for anything else.
In the real world, Ragno stopped. His mind twitched, his eyelids shot back in surprise as he saw the landscape inside. He heard the music that his soul had played for his deaf ears. He felt the cold metal lump that his heart had become. Inside that heart, inside the mind, inside him, a tune of sorrow, battle, and blood played on measure by measure, the metronome of a mechanical monotony keeping it in tune to his soul's writhing. Stacottos of bones snapping marked when his iron-clad claws unsheathed themselves to the cruel world which had so unknowingly born a monster at the time of his conception. The legato of a cat's last droning call for help spread his gait into a run toward the killing, his steps rising and falling with the chords as they franticly raced up and down the keys to keep up with his demented ways.
Why had he never heard this seductively sweet music before? Why had his ears never heard its black tendrils of sound as they wafted ever nearer? It was so beautiful, so grand, but it pained his soul so to hear it. Like the forbidden fruit, he craved more and more of it, but his very nerves seemed to burst into spontaneous flame as it hit the walls of his inner ear. A note of pain escaped his jaws, making his vocal chords tremble, the call coming out of the loudest silence he had ever had the misfortune to come upon. Surely it was end of him. Surely he would drop dead now with this song of death tearing at what little strength he had. These notes being shot as him by the gun of his very heart.
That wasn't a mercy bestowed upon him.
Ragno screamed again, his jaws parting to reveal his yellowed teeth, his dull pink tongue, his almost white gums as his whiskered black lips drew higher and the sound grew even more shrill. His eyes closed; his ears pinned back against his head. His tail fill limp against his legs as they bent so he was almost in a sitting position, but not quite.
Why did this all have to start?
The question echoed throughout his head louder than the previous question, and it was only said once. But it was said so loud that his mind's castle cracked and fell to pieces. The roof fell down onto the black marble floor that the two personalities had dueled for so long. A piece of those rose-thorn towers skewered his conscience, killing his merciful emotions, and for a second his dementia reigned supreme.
Ragno's screaming stopped, his twisted expression staying for a moment, his silent call for help still keeping his lips pulled back. His lower jaw began to move, and an eerie laughter ensued. His orange eyes opened slightly, looking at a world that had once been reality but was now nothing more than ground to be turned into graves. His teeth glimmered, his gums were shown.
Memories flashed before his eyes, accusations from his time of leadership and the soft cooing of his childhood blending together to form the essence of his life. The essence of his life? Confusion. Misunderstanding. One whole mess.
His death, on the other hand, was clean. His orange eyes rolled back in his head; his lips fell to cover his teeth once again, and he fell on the ground, now a black-furred cadaver. Not even a final twitch suggested he wanted to hold onto life. Death, to him, was a blessing that he should have never been worthy of.
[Blade feline]
