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Post by }xx.£eaƒm∞n , , on Feb 16, 2010 19:03:28 GMT -5
- They whisper Bringer.
- They point out male.
- They realize a cat.
- They count four winters.
- They guess at American Shorthair.
- Yet no picture they can seize of him.
- They observe a base of burnt orange that shades down to crimson and magenta on the paws and legs. Similiar to that of twoleg tiedye, a rainbow circle radiates outward from his back, mostly in yellows, reds, greens, and blues. The tail is the same, covered in rings of color. No two hairs seem to be the same shade.
The whiskers start out purple but shade to white, the claws clear and the inside of ears pink tinged. The eyes, oh the eyes, so dull and defeated and broken. A dark coral color that seems to have no life, as though no light can shine through the glassy shell.
But be there a burning core? Possibly.
- They label lone male.
- They wonder about his strange, quiet ways. Bringer has always been a cat to keep to himself, to not let his feelings known or his fears confronted. He doesn't feel trust or love for any other being, yet fears that he may die without someone caring for him. A paradox is how he lives, both suspicious and curious of everything he must encounter.
This tom is withdrawn, secretive, quiet, and generally passive. He avoids fights and skirmishes, and tries to talk things out. When it comes to fight or flight, flight is his preferred option, for what he fears more than anything is pain. Pain of the heart, the body, and the soul.
- They have heard that he does not remember much of his past. All that lies between his ears are blurs, of faces, places, phrases and feelings. A musical laugh here, a powerful thunderstorm there. His memories have no order or definition, and are always morphing and fusing since he has no clear idea of what they once were. His farthest clear recall blends into that blur of a past; simply waking up, hunting, wandering. All the motions of surviving that a cat does without thinking. When he started to think and wonder about what happened before, he is not sure, and even fears it. Bringer often wonders what it would be like to have a crisp memory of one's mother and littermates, or first love, or first territory. None of that has been recorded in his mind's film, it would seem. For now, though, he lives trying to remember everything he does, everyone he meets, every sight, smell, taste, touch, and sound, lest he forget ever again.
- Those close to him None, for he cannot remember any of them.
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