Post by rinpy on Jul 27, 2009 10:03:41 GMT -6
Shapeshifter Form.
.OOC Information.
OOC name -- Rinpy.
Activity Level -- I'll probably post 1 or 2 times a day, maybe less as school starts at the beginning of August.
Current Characters-- None.
How you found Wasted Skies-- Through an ad on deadsongs.
.Character Information.
Full Name -- Markus Crowfoot.
Nickname -- Markus.
Gender -- Male.
Age -- 19.
Job -- Bartender at The Lonely Fox.
First Form -- Black and white domestic cat.
Second Form -- Clouded Leopard.
Last Form -- Sindh Ibex.
Likes --
Dislikes --
.Character Appearance.
Eye Color -- Dark brown, almost black.
Eternal Trait -- Lack of right arm and light colored eyelashes.
Height -- 5'3".
Weight -- 105 lbs.
Overall Appearance -- Markus is a very short man, and being of less than average size of a woman can get some insults thrown at you. He is missing his right arm - it is merely a stump 3 inches below the shoulder. He does not wear a prosthetic arm, since he prefers to be natural and it would be difficult to shift. He is also very thin - there is very little muscle or fat gracing his body at all.
He has a small, heart shaped face with a pointed chin. His nose is also quite small, and reasonably pointed. His mouth is also small - not wide in the least, and is actually a bit plump and womanly. His eyes are wide-set and almond shaped, his almost translucent eyelashes a sharp contrast to his near-black eyes. He keeps his hair short only to derail people who assume that he is a woman.
Markus' coloring is perhaps unusual. He has platinum blonde hair, tanned skin, and very dark eyes. Some people suggest that he dyes his hair, but he would never do anything so unnatural and will put you right if you assume so.
Markus tends to wear very simple things, possibly a checked shirt and jeans or shorts. He almost always wears light colors, to beat the heat. He carries a knife that is roughly 4 1/2" long and quite wide - he keeps it sharp. It is attached to a strap on his upper left leg underneath his clothes, though he rarely uses it, save for chopping up vegetables.
.Personal Character Information.
Personality -- Markus is a very determined man. That also makes him difficult to rouse when he's doing something of interest to him, like attempting to shape-shift better, as he's not naturally very good at it, or maybe attempting a high-level difficulty meal he's never prepared before. He gets frustrated with his shape shifting endeavors frequently, though, even though he knows he's trying as hard as he can. He often feels as if he's not good enough to be a shifter, and he might as well be a human. He pushes himself well past his limit and is almost always tired because of it.
Markus is also very irritable. He gets angry easily, having a spit-fire temper that can rage for hours. He doesn't exactly enjoy the presence of other people, much more willing to be in a field somewhere enjoying the feeling of the sun tanning his already dark skin. Other people test his patience, which he has little of in the first place. One of the only reasons he was hired to work at The Lonely Fox is because the owner figured his tendencies would be entertaining and he liked to clean.
He is a very blunt, honest person. Some people say the best value to have is honesty, but if that were true, Markus would be adored all over, right? Wrong. He may be obsessed with honesty and never lie, but that is not a good thing. He has sour, rude thoughts about other people and he's not afraid to say them. He does not care about the feelings of others. He gets into verbal fights easily, yelling and screaming being one of the only things he feels he can do correctly. He is a very bitter person. He is also full of himself, believing his problems are much more important than those of others. He tends to mock those who come into The Lonely Fox looking sad and whining about their problems, even if they've had a terribly difficult life.
Markus is an old fashioned type of person. He tolerates technology, but he would never use most of the advanced of it unless he had to.
History -- Markus was born into a very large family of relatively poor farmers. His father and mother had 10 children, all boys, believing it to be a lucky number. Markus was the youngest, and by far the least impressive. He took after his tiny mother, whereas his other brothers took after his father's huge side. He is the shortest by 5 inches. They lived far from big cities, and their family had reaped the land for centuries and lived in the same. He, like many generations before him, was skilled in farming. His individual specialty was growing spectacular onions and squash, highly sought after since the seeds had originally come from Earth.
His family was very close, if large and not quite as fortunate as those who live in larger cities. He had a close bond with his brother, Remmy, who was 4 years older. They were always together, talking about mundane and intelligent things, exploring the farm, shape shifting together...it was the only time Markus was ever truly happy. Remmy always called him Tinykus, an affection pet name. He was the only person Markus ever allowed to mention his size, and he actually liked it when he was teased.
As an 11 year old, Markus accidentally cut his arm while harvesting some tomatoes. He thought nothing of it, as it was rather shallow. After a while, however, there was an intense pain in his arm, like little burning pinpricks were running about on needles underneath his skin. He saw the skin on his hand beginning to rot off, exposing muscles below. It seemed to happen overnight. Remmy instantly recognized the signs of flesh-eating bacteria as he rushed into his bedroom after hearing his painful, terrified screams. Since Remmy was the only one in the family who had medical knowledge at all, he knew that if the arm wasn't removed in the next few minutes it could spread to his chest, which would most likely kill him. The family kept a bit of local anesthesia in a first aid kit. He made use of it and hacked off Markus' arm with a saw, as neatly as he could, cleaned it extensively, and stitched it up.
Markus was okay for a long while. He sulked, and he brooded, but he eventually got used to his arm. Then, the war started...
Men from the SEC had gotten a tip from a family friend, who was a human who knew about their shape-shifting abilities. They caught his mother and 4 of his brothers. 4 of his brothers escaped somehow. Markus and Remmy were the only ones left, more horrified than they had been when Markus was infected with the flesh eating bacteria. They both frantically tried to escape from the house, but there was a huge blockade. Remmy shifted once, then twice, then once more...the first time he had gotten to his 3rd stage without having more than 15 minutes between shifts or passing out. He was then a huge Komodo Dragon, and he bit two of the men, which both collapsed and died from his poisonous jaws. He was weakened after that - he could barely move. One of the 5 remaining men shot him in front of Markus, the blood splattering the walls of the narrow wall and covering his face. He shifted into his form as a cat and left the scene as fast as he could, the grief not fully hitting him yet. He ran, and he ran, and he ran - difficult to do with only 3 legs to work with - and finally reached a larger city where he remained until he was 18, in a cloud of mania and depression. He finally moved to Keis after some of his sadness subsided. He didn't like the big city, but he was dying to start over...
.RP Example.
((Last post I did, nothing special, just the first thing on my copy+paste.))
"Don't worry about me," the short-legged female said, a bit of a snarl in her voice. He had touched a nerve. Or rather, spit on it in a strangely benevolent fashion. She didn't want the help of another, she didn't need it, she was stronger than that. Better than that. She recognized the wisdom in his words, though, the gentle kindness most wolves (including herself) seemed to lack. It reminded her of her mother...before...no. She took herself out of her troublesome thoughts abruptly. Her mother wasn't looking for her, she would never look for her, she was dead. She reminded herself of the fact firmly, clenching her teeth and closing her pale golden eyes with a snap. She hadn't thought about that in a long time...
Spela glared at the handsome wolf. She saw him in a new light. He brought pain to her, he brought back memories. Her desire to be Alphess while he was Alpha faded from her system...he could be nothing to her, as he would bring things better left buried. Or more effectively, better left burned so merely the ashes floated around in her thoughts, reminding her not to get too close but without the exact reason why. She felt guilty about her new vision of him, though...
She realized that he had invited her to start the hunt with a start. She wondered how long she had been standing with her eyes closed and jaws locked around air, or rather, clenched around the memory of her mother. She glanced wildly around and saw the sun peeking out from the horizon, spilling it's light over Souldead, making him look unreal, like some sort of god or hero that plagued the stories of many less-than-logical wolves wanting to reassure themselves that someone cared about them unconditionally. She caught herself before she rolled her eyes.
A question emerged at her lips. She relaxed her jaws. She was about to give Souldead something to think about that would make her feel less guilty about distancing herself from him...she was about to ask him, but then she realized she was missing something.
What did he just say? Spela thought warily, with a decent amount of scorn. She had forgotten...she shook her head slightly, trying to clear it. She was feeling a bit hazy with her invasive thoughts and feelings - they all sort of meshed together in a confused, bleak fashion, leaving her with spots in her eyes and with wounded pride. She didn't like feeling out of control of herself, but it happened nonetheless. Of course it does. I've got more on my shoulders. Of course. I should be happy I'm not insane or in denial.
Hunting! Hunting, hunting. That's what it was. Spela was pulled back to reality, relieved that her spell of madness faded away, just like her ambition to be Alphess. She didn't wonder why Souldead, the Alpha, asked her to begin rather than her. She was trying to block him out to prevent another episode from breaking out inside of her.
She stuck her nose in the air and sniffed. Deer. She lowered herself, elbows brushing the tall grass and eyes whipping around the dawn-washed area. She saw some deer grazing in the distance, no more than small dots. She tread carefully towards them, keeping a pace that wouldn't scare them off before she reached them or agitate her limbs. The wolf was quite proud of herself.
Now close enough to see even a tick on their pelts, she concentrated on finding a weaker one, one that was crippled or young. She was thankful for her reddish coloring, which hid her amongst the tall grass with ease. There was one weak deer that would make an adequate meal for she and Souldead. Young, perhaps a summer old, and looking as defeated as she sometimes felt. His eyes were clouded, and standing up seemed to make his muscles ache in protest.
She darted towards him, an explosive amount of speed. It hurt, yes, but the adrenaline now racing through her veins egged her on, forcing her to go as quickly as she possibly could. She ran, losing speed a bit, to the left of him while he ran the other way. She turned sharply and ran alongside him for almost 20 seconds before she overtook him, passing in front of him and then to his other side, barreling into him with her jaws open wide, and tearing off a peace of flesh, blood, and muscle as big as a pup at his shoulder. He went down, the exposed bone from where Spela ripped into him gleaming. She smirked happily.
A successful hunt was hard to come by when you were Spela.
.OOC Information.
OOC name -- Rinpy.
Activity Level -- I'll probably post 1 or 2 times a day, maybe less as school starts at the beginning of August.
Current Characters-- None.
How you found Wasted Skies-- Through an ad on deadsongs.
.Character Information.
Full Name -- Markus Crowfoot.
Nickname -- Markus.
Gender -- Male.
Age -- 19.
Job -- Bartender at The Lonely Fox.
First Form -- Black and white domestic cat.
Second Form -- Clouded Leopard.
Last Form -- Sindh Ibex.
Likes --
- Sunlight.
- Open spaces.
- Growing things.
- Cooking.
- Cleaning.
- Knowing that he's right.
- Thick-skinned people.
- Arguing.
Dislikes --
- The dark.
- Blood.
- SEG.
- Humans, especially whiny ones.
- When it's overcast.
- People who are too energetic and enthusiastic.
- The rain.
- Clutter.
- People who call him names mocking his size.
- Trees.
.Character Appearance.
Eye Color -- Dark brown, almost black.
Eternal Trait -- Lack of right arm and light colored eyelashes.
Height -- 5'3".
Weight -- 105 lbs.
Overall Appearance -- Markus is a very short man, and being of less than average size of a woman can get some insults thrown at you. He is missing his right arm - it is merely a stump 3 inches below the shoulder. He does not wear a prosthetic arm, since he prefers to be natural and it would be difficult to shift. He is also very thin - there is very little muscle or fat gracing his body at all.
He has a small, heart shaped face with a pointed chin. His nose is also quite small, and reasonably pointed. His mouth is also small - not wide in the least, and is actually a bit plump and womanly. His eyes are wide-set and almond shaped, his almost translucent eyelashes a sharp contrast to his near-black eyes. He keeps his hair short only to derail people who assume that he is a woman.
Markus' coloring is perhaps unusual. He has platinum blonde hair, tanned skin, and very dark eyes. Some people suggest that he dyes his hair, but he would never do anything so unnatural and will put you right if you assume so.
Markus tends to wear very simple things, possibly a checked shirt and jeans or shorts. He almost always wears light colors, to beat the heat. He carries a knife that is roughly 4 1/2" long and quite wide - he keeps it sharp. It is attached to a strap on his upper left leg underneath his clothes, though he rarely uses it, save for chopping up vegetables.
.Personal Character Information.
Personality -- Markus is a very determined man. That also makes him difficult to rouse when he's doing something of interest to him, like attempting to shape-shift better, as he's not naturally very good at it, or maybe attempting a high-level difficulty meal he's never prepared before. He gets frustrated with his shape shifting endeavors frequently, though, even though he knows he's trying as hard as he can. He often feels as if he's not good enough to be a shifter, and he might as well be a human. He pushes himself well past his limit and is almost always tired because of it.
Markus is also very irritable. He gets angry easily, having a spit-fire temper that can rage for hours. He doesn't exactly enjoy the presence of other people, much more willing to be in a field somewhere enjoying the feeling of the sun tanning his already dark skin. Other people test his patience, which he has little of in the first place. One of the only reasons he was hired to work at The Lonely Fox is because the owner figured his tendencies would be entertaining and he liked to clean.
He is a very blunt, honest person. Some people say the best value to have is honesty, but if that were true, Markus would be adored all over, right? Wrong. He may be obsessed with honesty and never lie, but that is not a good thing. He has sour, rude thoughts about other people and he's not afraid to say them. He does not care about the feelings of others. He gets into verbal fights easily, yelling and screaming being one of the only things he feels he can do correctly. He is a very bitter person. He is also full of himself, believing his problems are much more important than those of others. He tends to mock those who come into The Lonely Fox looking sad and whining about their problems, even if they've had a terribly difficult life.
Markus is an old fashioned type of person. He tolerates technology, but he would never use most of the advanced of it unless he had to.
History -- Markus was born into a very large family of relatively poor farmers. His father and mother had 10 children, all boys, believing it to be a lucky number. Markus was the youngest, and by far the least impressive. He took after his tiny mother, whereas his other brothers took after his father's huge side. He is the shortest by 5 inches. They lived far from big cities, and their family had reaped the land for centuries and lived in the same. He, like many generations before him, was skilled in farming. His individual specialty was growing spectacular onions and squash, highly sought after since the seeds had originally come from Earth.
His family was very close, if large and not quite as fortunate as those who live in larger cities. He had a close bond with his brother, Remmy, who was 4 years older. They were always together, talking about mundane and intelligent things, exploring the farm, shape shifting together...it was the only time Markus was ever truly happy. Remmy always called him Tinykus, an affection pet name. He was the only person Markus ever allowed to mention his size, and he actually liked it when he was teased.
As an 11 year old, Markus accidentally cut his arm while harvesting some tomatoes. He thought nothing of it, as it was rather shallow. After a while, however, there was an intense pain in his arm, like little burning pinpricks were running about on needles underneath his skin. He saw the skin on his hand beginning to rot off, exposing muscles below. It seemed to happen overnight. Remmy instantly recognized the signs of flesh-eating bacteria as he rushed into his bedroom after hearing his painful, terrified screams. Since Remmy was the only one in the family who had medical knowledge at all, he knew that if the arm wasn't removed in the next few minutes it could spread to his chest, which would most likely kill him. The family kept a bit of local anesthesia in a first aid kit. He made use of it and hacked off Markus' arm with a saw, as neatly as he could, cleaned it extensively, and stitched it up.
Markus was okay for a long while. He sulked, and he brooded, but he eventually got used to his arm. Then, the war started...
Men from the SEC had gotten a tip from a family friend, who was a human who knew about their shape-shifting abilities. They caught his mother and 4 of his brothers. 4 of his brothers escaped somehow. Markus and Remmy were the only ones left, more horrified than they had been when Markus was infected with the flesh eating bacteria. They both frantically tried to escape from the house, but there was a huge blockade. Remmy shifted once, then twice, then once more...the first time he had gotten to his 3rd stage without having more than 15 minutes between shifts or passing out. He was then a huge Komodo Dragon, and he bit two of the men, which both collapsed and died from his poisonous jaws. He was weakened after that - he could barely move. One of the 5 remaining men shot him in front of Markus, the blood splattering the walls of the narrow wall and covering his face. He shifted into his form as a cat and left the scene as fast as he could, the grief not fully hitting him yet. He ran, and he ran, and he ran - difficult to do with only 3 legs to work with - and finally reached a larger city where he remained until he was 18, in a cloud of mania and depression. He finally moved to Keis after some of his sadness subsided. He didn't like the big city, but he was dying to start over...
.RP Example.
((Last post I did, nothing special, just the first thing on my copy+paste.))
"Don't worry about me," the short-legged female said, a bit of a snarl in her voice. He had touched a nerve. Or rather, spit on it in a strangely benevolent fashion. She didn't want the help of another, she didn't need it, she was stronger than that. Better than that. She recognized the wisdom in his words, though, the gentle kindness most wolves (including herself) seemed to lack. It reminded her of her mother...before...no. She took herself out of her troublesome thoughts abruptly. Her mother wasn't looking for her, she would never look for her, she was dead. She reminded herself of the fact firmly, clenching her teeth and closing her pale golden eyes with a snap. She hadn't thought about that in a long time...
Spela glared at the handsome wolf. She saw him in a new light. He brought pain to her, he brought back memories. Her desire to be Alphess while he was Alpha faded from her system...he could be nothing to her, as he would bring things better left buried. Or more effectively, better left burned so merely the ashes floated around in her thoughts, reminding her not to get too close but without the exact reason why. She felt guilty about her new vision of him, though...
She realized that he had invited her to start the hunt with a start. She wondered how long she had been standing with her eyes closed and jaws locked around air, or rather, clenched around the memory of her mother. She glanced wildly around and saw the sun peeking out from the horizon, spilling it's light over Souldead, making him look unreal, like some sort of god or hero that plagued the stories of many less-than-logical wolves wanting to reassure themselves that someone cared about them unconditionally. She caught herself before she rolled her eyes.
A question emerged at her lips. She relaxed her jaws. She was about to give Souldead something to think about that would make her feel less guilty about distancing herself from him...she was about to ask him, but then she realized she was missing something.
What did he just say? Spela thought warily, with a decent amount of scorn. She had forgotten...she shook her head slightly, trying to clear it. She was feeling a bit hazy with her invasive thoughts and feelings - they all sort of meshed together in a confused, bleak fashion, leaving her with spots in her eyes and with wounded pride. She didn't like feeling out of control of herself, but it happened nonetheless. Of course it does. I've got more on my shoulders. Of course. I should be happy I'm not insane or in denial.
Hunting! Hunting, hunting. That's what it was. Spela was pulled back to reality, relieved that her spell of madness faded away, just like her ambition to be Alphess. She didn't wonder why Souldead, the Alpha, asked her to begin rather than her. She was trying to block him out to prevent another episode from breaking out inside of her.
She stuck her nose in the air and sniffed. Deer. She lowered herself, elbows brushing the tall grass and eyes whipping around the dawn-washed area. She saw some deer grazing in the distance, no more than small dots. She tread carefully towards them, keeping a pace that wouldn't scare them off before she reached them or agitate her limbs. The wolf was quite proud of herself.
Now close enough to see even a tick on their pelts, she concentrated on finding a weaker one, one that was crippled or young. She was thankful for her reddish coloring, which hid her amongst the tall grass with ease. There was one weak deer that would make an adequate meal for she and Souldead. Young, perhaps a summer old, and looking as defeated as she sometimes felt. His eyes were clouded, and standing up seemed to make his muscles ache in protest.
She darted towards him, an explosive amount of speed. It hurt, yes, but the adrenaline now racing through her veins egged her on, forcing her to go as quickly as she possibly could. She ran, losing speed a bit, to the left of him while he ran the other way. She turned sharply and ran alongside him for almost 20 seconds before she overtook him, passing in front of him and then to his other side, barreling into him with her jaws open wide, and tearing off a peace of flesh, blood, and muscle as big as a pup at his shoulder. He went down, the exposed bone from where Spela ripped into him gleaming. She smirked happily.
A successful hunt was hard to come by when you were Spela.