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Post by Deleted on Jan 14, 2013 21:59:46 GMT -5
only a crack in this castle of glass
Name: Weaselpaw || Weaselbelly
Age: Seven moons
Gender: Tom
Clan: LightningClan
Rank: Apprentice
Picture: Pic!
Description:
Even among the lean, lithe cats of LightningClan, Weaselpaw sticks out like a sore thumb. It isn't bulk nor height that sets him apart, rather, it's his thin, scrawny frame that ostracizes him. He's of a light build, with a fragile bone structure. Weaselpaw is skinny, composed of no fat and little muscle. He's not strong, or fast, or powerful, but frail and weak. Long legs make him appear gangly and awkward, though his long tail is a blessing in disguise, able to wrap around his small paws and then some. To look at him, he's just skin and bone, though it's unlikely that even all the prey in the forest could bulk him up.
Small paws, long legs, narrow shoulders, large ears, and a small head are a few distinct features of Weaselpaw. He has an ease of movement, however, that contrasts with his awkward appearance, and many are surprised to see the way he moves in a long, fluid gait. His muzzle is small, and his eyes are proportional to his small, defined skull. A shade of solid gold, his eyes stand out from his face, certainly a sight to attract attention away from the rest of his form.
Weaselpaw's pelt is a shade of ebony darker than shadow, and his coat is short, holding close to his frame, and the hairs are rather soft to the touch. He spends little time grooming his easy to maintain fur, so instead of sleek, his coat takes on a fluffier, unkempt appearance, though it does little to add bulk to his overall appearance.
Description Summary:
A skinny black tom with gold eyes.
Personality:
At first glance, Weaselpaw isn't much to behold. Quiet and appearing shy, he sits to the edges of the crowd, watching with a calculating gaze. A thinker and an innovator, his mind is always working to discover new things, new ways of doing, of thinking. He's an open-minded cat, willing to listen and adapt to new ideas and concepts.
Though his weak, vulnerable physical state prevents him from doing many things others can, he still is a determined, hardworking cat. He pushes himself to his limits, struggling to overcome the weakness of his flesh. From his mother, he inherited a fighting spirit, which seems to be the only thing that has kept him alive through his kithood greencough, and his more recent brush with blackcough. Determined to succeed, yet doomed to fail, Weaselpaw seems to be stuck in a vicious cycle of failure, bitterness, and self-loathing.
Weaselpaw is a quiet, brooding cat, much more suited to be a silent shadow rather than a front-running warrior. Silent and methodical, he always thinks before speaking or acting, and his words are always well thought and well planned. When he speaks, a rare occurrence itself, his voice is barely more than a whisper, as though he feels his vocal abilities might shatter of used too much.
History:
Weaselkit was born the only kit to Cobratooth and Bubblefang, a small, sickly kit born in the transitional period between the last days of greenleaf and the earliest days of leaf-fall. Bubblefang was worried about her son, fearing the struggling kit would never make it through his first few moons. Weaselkit, however, stayed the course, much to the surprise of the entire Clan. Though his eyes opened late, once they opened, his parents' fears began to fade. Things were still terse, but it looked like he might actually survive. Cobratooth finally began to spend more time away from the nursery, secure in the hope that his only son would survive. As leaf-fall drug on, it became obvious that Weaselkit's growth seemed stunted. It seemed he was doomed to be a smaller-than-average tom, skinny due to his early sickness. However, that didn't seem to phase Weaselkit, as he still seemed to be a happy kit. Being the only kit in the nursery at the time of his birth, he stayed separated, and that is one weakness he can't seem to grow out of. But as the time drew closer to his six moon mark, in the dead of the Clans' worst leaf-bare ever, a bout of whitecough came over the near-apprentice. As such, his apprentice ceremony was put on hold, fearing he would not be able to handle the sickness as well as the stress of being a new apprentice. So, his ceremony was held back until he recovered, and he was made an apprentice right at the turn of the seasons, near his seventh moon of living.
RP Example:
Gold eyes closed softly as another wave of coughing wracked his frame. He wasn't aware of anything anymore, just darkness that threatened to overtake him. For a moment, he was content to lie there, slowly slipping away, until another round of coughing dragged his pain back to his mind. Still, his eyes didn't open, as solid lead seeped into his bones. He was tired. All he wanted to do was sleep. Just lay right here, and sleep...
"Move."
That single word stirred his mind, though from far away, it seemed. Still, it left a tendril of something more dangling into the darkness, something to latch onto, a memory of a world forgotten. Somewhere deep down in the shadows, a lost voice rose up, barely a whisper against the deafening silence the dark brought.
'I don't want to die!'
From the depths, Weaselpaw began to pull closer to the realm of the living. It was a long, slow, and uphill battle, fighting the chains and demons of the dark, yearning and calling for him to stay, with their ebony soft voices and tempting caresses. He carried on, though, heavy with the bittersweet liquid of the lands he was casting aside. He knew there was something more, something better where he was going. That one word had told him that much.
After what seemed like ages, but was probably only minutes, Weaselpaw's eyes blinked open and he inhaled, like a drowning man catching air for the first time, which brought on yet another coughing spell. The memory of the word spoken came to his mind, and he stood on shaky legs. He half-crawled, half-dragged himself into the den of the dark medicine cat, dropping into a heap in the place indicated by Rookfrost. Herbs were placed before him, and more words from that voice of demons disguised as angels.
"Breathe short breaths through the nose, or you will lose consciousness. Chew the catmint first. How long have you been showing symptoms of illness?"
They were curt, quickly spoken, but Weaselpaw understood. He sucked in air through his nose, resisting the powerful urge to drink in large gulps of oxygen. After he took a few breaths, he began to nibble on the catmint, careful not to bring in too much air through his mouth and into his hungry, aching lungs. After all the leaves were gone, he swallowed, still trying to control his breathing. Watery gold eyes gazed up at Rookfrost, both a giver and a destroyer of lives, his illness concealing the amount of awe and wonder he felt in the dark tom's presence.
Even though the controlled breathing was beginning to help, Weaselpaw still felt light-headed, as though he could fall back into the grip of death at any moment. As such, he spoke in short bursts, much like his usual manner of speaking, though now the need for silence felt more urgent. "No symptoms." Inhale. Inhale. Inhale. "Woke up coughing." Inhale. Inhale. "Tried to... brush it off... Held breath.. Left... Came here..." He knew he wasn't supposed to, but his lungs felt so constricted, he just couldn't...
Weaselpaw gasped for air, jaws parted as the intake of air provoked another coughing fit. It was much less violent than the others, though he still felt his vision grow dark and fuzzy around the edges, shooting out into random starbursts with no rhyme or reason. Once it subsided, Weaselpaw kept his head down, fighting to inhale through his nose and only his nose, clamping his jaws shut. He looked up again at Rookfrost, this time fear in his stare, as well as a silent plea.
'Save me.'
W E A S E L P A W
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