Post by Kin on Jun 20, 2012 20:58:47 GMT -5
| [atrb=cellspacing,0,true][atrb=border,0,true][cs=2][classy=charname]cloudeyes[/classy] | |
| [atrb=cellspacing,0,true][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, width:105px; height:365px; overflow:hidden;][classy=stattop]clan[/classy][classy=statbottom]thunder[/classy] [classy=stattop]rank[/classy][classy=statbottom]warrior[/classy] [classy=stattop]age[/classy][classy=statbottom]15 moons[/classy] [classy=stattop]gender[/classy][classy=statbottom]female[/classy] [classy=stattop]sexuality[/classy][classy=statbottom]heterosexual[/classy] | [atrb=cellspacing,0,true][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, width:345px; height:365px; overflow:hidden; padding:2px;][style=margin-top:-18px;][classy=infotop]appearance[/classy][classy=appbottom]Red-eyed albino with short fur. pic[/classy] [classy=infotop]personality[/classy][classy=infobottom]In twolegs, the diagnosis would be sociopathy. Cloudeyes does not feel love easily, if at all. She views it as a practical thing, a bond that serves to tie others together and help each other survive. Though she does not feel love, she mimics it nearly perfectly. The same goes for most other emotions. Cloudeyes does not feel happiness or sorrow as other cats do. However, she does feel anger, and it quickens within her at the slightest provocation. The she-cat has more sense than to unleash this fury at the drop of a feather. Instead, she holds it in and channels it into a berserker style of fighting. When she was an apprentice, the rage was difficult to control, and she fought with blind rage. Now, however, she has a pinpoint control of the rage, and is a fearsome opponent in battle. ThunderClan's medicine cat has given the odd diagnosis that her sociopathy could, with trauma, move into a more severe form or even regress, leaving her in a normal, emotional state.[/classy] [classy=infotop]history[/classy][classy=infobottom]Cloudeyes was born to a former loner, Speckle. The she-cat did not like to speak of her past, and so Cloudeyes is mostly ignorant of her mother's history. She never much paid attention to who her father was, either. In fact, the only thing about Speckle's past that the albino apprentice knows for certain is that she has uncles. She was an inquisitive kit, always sneaking out of the nursery to inspect the camp. Cloudkit showed a marked interest in the warriors who came back from border skirmishes, their pelts splattered with rust-colored liquid. It fascinated her, as it was the only thing aside from deathberries that matched the color of her sanguine eyes. When she became an apprentice, the Clan began to notice the emptiness in her eyes. They were repulsed by what they subconsciously recognized as her sociopathy. Specklefur, as her mother had been dubbed, began to shun her daughter. Not even a moon after her apprentice ceremony, Specklefur formally rejected her daughter as family. The only cat who showed any sort of concern, care, or even tolerance of Cloudpaw was her mentor, the senior warrior Mothfoot. He tried to be like a father for her, tried to be a friend, a cat she could turn to with her issues. However, it was not in Cloudpaw's nature to do so. She showed him a greater care in fetching him his favorite prey and did her best to avoid hurting him-- and him alone-- when sparring. Shortly after Cloudpaw became a warrior, Mothfoot developed a case of greencough and died. Now, Cloudeyes has no cat. She is alone, a pariah in the Clan most famous for its friendliness and open-mindedness[/classy] |
| [atrb=cellspacing,0,true][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, width:450px; padding:2px;][cs=2][classy=infotop]roleplay sample[/classy][classy=rpsample]Why indeed. She'd told Heronflight that no cat would miss her if she left the last time they'd spoken here. It had lay vivid in her mind's eye: slipping away as though going to sleep in the territory, simply never returning. No cat would seek her, as the only ones who cared would be powerless to do anything even if they found her. Cloudpaw simply wasn't worth whatever effort was needed to search for her. Her departure would be mourned by a select few who would eventually forget about her, their attention turning to the new siblings their whorish mother was so very likely to produce. As in life, so in memory-- she would be the silent, red-eyed ghost that faded from prominence, became a flash of remembrance, that flitted through memories of yesterdays. Her presence would be virtually gone. Shalefall and Slatefur would find a new favorite victim to torment, and Smokewhisker would trail after them like smoke after a fire, the most obvious marker of a fire, at times. Cloudpaw's siblings would be attentive to each other, and Owlpaw and Azurepaw could finally gain the warrior names they had long since earned. Cloudstar would not have to deal with the only albino in the forest, and Heronflight's reputation would not be dirtied by association with her. She could see it in the way he went about his deputy's duties. He'd tried to place her on a patrol with Shalefall, and she suspected that he would have come along as well. The gray warrior did not always prank her, but the she-cat had seen the signs she had come to recognize as meaning that the tom had something planned for her. The nettles she'd woken up covered in had merely been the excuse she needed to move out of the camp and avoid the patrol. For once, she was unable to calculate a cat's response to her being pranked. Smokewhisker always cleaned up his brothers' pranks, and so it was no surprise that he'd done so with the snake they'd set on her. But Heronflight was an unknown at this point, something she was not familiar with. He was promising her protection, and he was in a position to follow through with that promise. All the promises of protection in her lifetime had come from her siblings, Owlpaw chief amongst them; they were powerless to stop anything, powerless to even get their fellow apprentices to lay off. Not even Mothfoot, a respected member of the Clan, had been able to curb his apprentice's poor treatment. Logically, leaving made sense. It eliminated the unknown variables of ThunderClan, and placed her amongst the loner-variables she had been calculating for moons now. She'd have to worry about what territory she could claim for herself, how she'd fight for it and keep it from older, stronger cats, how she'd deal with injury and sickness, how she'd survive cold, snowy leafbares alone. Prey hunting would occupy the vast majority of her time, and only if she was lucky would she find some sort of shelter she could return to every night. Mother had mentioned a healer who'd once treated an infected cut on her paw in return for fresh-kill, so if Cloudpaw could find her, she'd be set on that front. And would she choose to remain Cloudpaw? Would she give herself a warrior's name, or would she abandon the appellation of her birth? Would she choose a new name for herself, and if so, what? That was one of the more difficult things that came with being purely logical-- she was not prone to the flights of fancy needed to choose a name. She could think of only two names for herself, each taken from something she already knew. White, for her fur, and Ghost, for the metaphor that fit her life so well. Red eyes boring into Heronflight's green, she spoke. "The probability of survival is greater as a member of ThunderClan." As irritating as the conclusion was, it was true. The worry of being able to hunt enough while injured or sick to feed herself and a healer, the worry about starving or freezing to death during leafbare, the worry of whether or not she'd be able to survive a territory battle, the worry of whether or not she'd even be able to find a place to live, all of it was nullified by remaining in ThunderClan and dealing with the pranks. The snake that had been set on her was not poisonous, no matter how much its bite might muck with her ability to train. And nettles, while they stung and clung, were not crippling, so long as she kept them out of her eyes. Of course, the fact that one had grazed an eye and left it streaming tears when she'd woken just past moonhigh the day of her dawn patrol hadn't helped things. Alas, overall, life as ThunderClan's pariah was still better than life as a loner. And no sooner had the words finished leaving her mouth than had Heronflight continued. “Would you miss them, feel guilt over their hurt? No. So why do you stay and allow yourself to be tortured if you see the situation as permanent?” Was that how he saw her? For the first time, Cloudpaw caught more of a glimpse of why her Clanmates hated her. Did they think her a moving corpse, so unconnected to the world around her? Despite her lack of emotion and poor connection to the cats around her, the albino apprentice was still half-ThunderClanner, still had the genes of a social cat running through her blood. It was as though they'd forgotten that no emotion did not mean no instincts. She, like every other Clan cat, instinctively craved the touch of another, platonic and simply a symbol of not being alone. She was not so crass that she did not know the meaning of family to her kin. Owlpaw had made a personal sacrifice for her, had passive-aggressively alienated the majority of his peers for their treatment of her. Azurepaw was simply too strange for their Clanmates, and had only his siblings to turn to. Raspberrypaw was crude beyond most of the Clan's standards, but she was a staunch defender and lover of her family. Carminepaw, as social and friendly as he was, found his true solace in the only cats in the Clan like himself-- different, uncertain they had the blood to truly belong. No emotion did not mean no understanding. Cloudpaw understood, intellectually. She knew what her actions would do to her kin if she left, and though no pang of guilt or hurt entered her heart, a fury that such would occur did kindle at the thought. Though she did not feel love, it did not mean she did not feel loyalty, could not miss a cat's presence by her side. She'd grown up with the constant presence of her littermates, and if they were gone, she knew she'd feel the loss as though one of her own limbs had been severed. Not an emotional loss, but the knowledge that what had once been there was now gone. But would Heronflight understand such bonds, such ties? Could he comprehend loyalty without love, dedication without affection? She admitted that he was right about the guilt. That was not something she could feel, and she could liken none of her views to it. However, it was something that she was, in her own strange way, "happy" to live without. Guilt seemed like a horrible affliction, bogging down a cat body and mind. Briefly, she wondered if he was hoping for a noble answer to his question of why she remained and allowed her torment to continue. She wondered what he'd think when she told him that she allowed it simply because she knew that there was no way for her to stop it, that she was powerless beyond any cat's comprehension in ThunderClan. A kit was given more courtesy, more rights than her. Cloudpaw knew that Cloudstar, while not a fan of hers, was fair in his judgements, and he'd make a token effort to stop the harassment before returning his focus to his precious mate. Icestream was either sick or pregnant, and it seemed that Tearlight couldn't figure out which. Nobody else would make an effort for her, and they did not care enough about a mandate concerning an apprentice to bow to Cloudstar's command. “Why stay when so few matter?” Cloudpaw had never pondered whether or not any cats were important to her. She supposed the way she treated the ones who harassed her siblings with greater anger and cold logic that could freeze an inferno counted as a type of protectiveness, one that her instincts purred at. But beyond them, there was no cat now that Mothfoot was dead. Heronflight had made a mutually beneficial bargain with her, but the amount of emotion he was vesting in it appeared to be minimal, though growing. "Why don't you leave the Clan, you little kittypet freak?" she quoted, the words somehow managing to be more starkly hateful and disgusted in her monotone voice, stripped of the overwhelming venom with which they had originally been spoken. "It is not a new question." Volefoot's snarled question had dogged her heels in the dark of night, when she cleaned brambles, briars, thorns, nettles, thistles, and moss sopping with mouse bile from her pelt and nest. Why didn't she? Beyond what she'd already decided, why? And a question that had briefly arose during a time of high torment, when her fellows were so malicious that Owlpaw rarely saw anything but red and Azurepaw's bright smile was constantly dimmed: why shouldn't she just wade into the lake, submerge her head, and let her body float where it would? Suicide had seemed like a valid answer for a while, had seemed like the easiest solution to her problems. But then Mothfoot had somehow found out about that idea, and he'd dragged her to the mossy clearing and beaten it out of her, as furious as he was sorrowful. That was the first day she was truly convinced of his paternal love for her. "I am not weak enough to die of a snake bite, to be taken down by nettles or brambles or mouse bile in my pelt." She held her head high, meeting Heronflight's eyes. "My kin lean on what they perceive as my strength. Mother will not care for them. The only cat who is cared outside of my kin is dead. No other cat has shown they care." One ear flicked, a gesture indicating that the thought process had ended. "Only Mothfoot has truly defended me." Perhaps that would be enough of an answer for the tom. She cared greatly for Mothfoot, felt intense loyalty to him and would fiercely defend his memory with all the fury her mind could muster. In a life where she had emotions, she would have loved him deeply, seen him as the father she'd never had. Behind the words she uttered was that simple fact. Though her face never showed emotions, the inflections and intonations in her words gave away the bond that tied her to the tom. Heronflight, by his own word, would protect her. But he had done nothing yet, had not even called upon their bargain for his own gain. Until he showed her that he would protect her, his words were just the empty promise she'd heard before, the vow that fell to the ground and shattered, disintegrating into so much useless dust. Why should she believe him when everyone but Mothfoot had done nothing?[/classy] |
