Post by dandelion on Oct 28, 2017 17:16:33 GMT -6
Name: Newt
Age: 1 year
Birth Season: Spring
Gender:
Female
Sexuality/Orientation:
Heterosexual
Size: Small and slender.
Eye color: Green
Official Coat Color: Red and black tortoiseshell with white
Coat color description & appearance: Newt's coat is predominantly a mix of black and red, though she has some white markings on her face and chest. She has a black mask stretching across her eyes, while her muzzle and chest are white. The rest of her body is a mottled black and orange.
Coat length:
Her coat is short and rough, giving her a coarse appearance.
Ailments: Newt is autistic.
Personality:
A solitary and strange cat, some of Newt's peculiarities are apparent on sight. Her difficulty with eye contact testifies to her oddness. In personality, she differs as well. She can sit, unmoving and perfectly quiet, for hours on end, before springing to action the moment a target presents itself. Social situations are a challenge for her. She can't pick up on sarcasm, and frequently misses all the most blatant nonverbal cues. In combat, she is aware of and responsive to her opponent's body language, but she doesn't know how to translate that knowledge into the day to day social interactions she has with other creatures.
She has strong preferences and aversions as well. Especially fond of heights, Newt often made her way up trees or cliffs, and could often be seen nestled in the branches or the crevices of rocky outcroppings. Fruits and berries were a particular favorite, as were soft grasses, cuddling with Pearl, and playing in the snow. She did not like wet fur, being cold, mud, or sand, and certain types of meat. She was terrified of small spaces, the dark, and thunderstorms, though she took pains to hide these fears from those around her. When she's especially upset, Newt will chew her paws and rock to calm herself down.
Often at a loss for words, she has compiled a set of stock phrases and expressions she'd overheard, either from other clan members or on her travels, and when stuck for something to say, she will often repeat one of those phrases, either in part or in its entirety. She also mumbles to herself, bits of the stories, fables and proverbs she'd memorized as a kit, and is known to have one-sided conversations with rocks and plants. Frequently lost inside her own head, she seldom speaks, and when she does, she often stammers. Words and sentences are hard for her to form, and take time to construct inside her head. She thinks in pictures, rather than phrases--and translating one to the other was a tremendous chore. Speaking to her animal friends was far easier. She mimics their sounds and of course they understand her because they're friends. She loves games of all sorts, from hide and seek to make believe. Puzzles and riddles are also favorites.
A hoarder, Newt has a collection of odd bits and baubles, everything from smooth river stones to mice bones. and bird feathers, found its way into her den. Her collections were arranged in piles and when she was particularly upset, she would sit and arrange them, over and over, till she was calm again. If anybody else bothered them, she would growl and rage until she'd put them back the way she'd had them. Sometimes, she talked to her collections, and pretended they talked back. Newt is often seen batting a pile of rocks in between her paws, or rubbing her face on one of the larger ones.
Though this was a rarely glimpsed side of her, Newt can be playful, even cheerful and sweet--sometimes acting hyperactive in her joy--but only around those she trusts. As a kit, she was often punished for her restlessness and overeager nature, so she only showed that side of herself to a few trusted companions. Still, she cannot suppress those tendencies entirely. Her fidgeting often manifests in shuffling paws, a gaze that looked everywhere but at the speaker, and a habit of shifting her weight when she spoke. Around Pearl, or any kits she ran across, she displayed a fondness for cuddling and a sweet, gentle temperament at odds with her otherwise vicious nature.
Newt is a reserved, timid, simple young cat. She adores found things, and her collection includes dried flowers, ribbons and buttons. As a kit, she collected rocks, dried leaves and animal bones, with the odd flowering weed tossed in for color. Like she did when she was a kit, when she is anxious or upset, she fidgets with her collection, arranging them in patterns or rows till she is calm again. Sometimes, she carries a rock with her when she goes out, and will play with it when the crowds become too much. She's also befriended a host of small creatures that make their homes in and around the area. All of them, from the beetles that live in the dirt to the ladybugs that dwell in the thistles, have names. Newt considers them her friends, recognizing them on sight, and will happily spend an entire afternoon in their company.
Frequently lost inside her own head, Newt seldom speaks, and when she does, she often stammers. Words and sentences are hard for her to form, and take time to construct inside her head. She thinks in pictures, rather than phrases--and translating one to the other was a tremendous chore. She loves games of all sorts, from hide and seek to make believe. Puzzles and riddles are also favorites. Sometimes, when she is stuck for something to say, she poses a riddle while she thinks of it. A playful cat, Fox is fond of leaving hidden things she has found,scattered for her friends to find. If she is displeased with someone, the surprises she leaves are less pleasant. When Papa scolded her for tracking mud into their den, she left a dead toad near Papa's food. Another time she left a rotted snakeskin in his sleeping place because she was cross at being rebuked in front of the other cats they were temporarily travelling with.
The beatings Papa gave her for both offenses soon broke her of that particular habit.
While she is, most of the time, a fairly passive cat, Newt can at times be stubborn. There are a few points on which she is firmly convinced, and challenging these points will make her angry. The things that make up her collection have feelings, thoughts and ideas, just as wolves do, and shouldn't be harmed. Her insect friends are friends, not food. Because she rarely speaks, her anger manifests in flashing teeth and screeches, bites and growls and torn fur. She doesn't get angry often, and after she does, she is even more quiet and subdued than normal.
History:
Once upon a time, there was a mother cat, a father cat, and a baby cat. The baby cat was small, her orange, black and white pelt reminiscent of the newts that prowled the streams. Her mother was older when she met her father, having given up the life of a pet some years before. Her father was a loner who’d grown up in the wild, far from human interactions. At nine, Newt’s mother was surprised to find herself pregnant with kits. Still, she was pleased, A tough labor produced one kit—Newt— who was small and sickly from birth. Together, the three of them would have made a cozy little family, but fate had other ideas. Newt's mother took sick shortly after birthing her and passed away. Another loner female, who had recently birthed a litter herself, took pity on father and daughter. She became Newt's foster mother until the kit was old enough to wean, then she was promptly handed back to her father. There's something strange about that one, the she cat said, and there was.
Newt was different, and as she would soon learn, different was bad. From the start, it was apparent that something was off about the kit. She was quiet and withdrawn, often spending long hours daydreaming or watching the bugs that often found their way into their den. She was a fussy kit, crying if her fur got wet, or her paws got sticky. She whined about the textures of certain foods and bedding, and fought tooth and claw with her foster mother and later her father each time they tried to groom her. These odd behaviors merely escalated after she was returned to her father, and Newt often sat for hours, rocking and humming to herself.
Her father's solution was to give her a good cuffing each time she acted out, believing that this would teach his disobedient kit self control. Instead it made her even more withdrawn and fearful than she already was. By the time she was four months old, she barely spoke, and hardly stirred from the den. Her father took to leaving her alone for long periods of time, only returning to see that she was fed and given water. His odd, feral daughter troubled and humiliated him. Surely no other cats would wish to join themselves to him while she remained. Yet, she was his child and he could not bring himself to dispose of her permanently. So, he continued on, trying to keep her hidden as much as possible.
For a time, it seemed as if he'd found a group willing to accept them. The pair were taken in by a band of rogues who survived as scavengers. Yet this too was not to be. Newt's peculiarities unnerved the other cats. They feared her vacant staring and found her half mumbled strings of nonsense disturbing. Worst of all was when she brought in a rotted snakeskin and put it by her father's food, as punishment for the sharp scolding--and sound cuffing--he'd given her when he discovered that she had, once again, made a mess in her corner of the den. She'd filled it with her usual collection of rubbish and it was starting to attract bugs. This odd retaliation was the last straw, and father and daughter were asked to leave.
For the next several months, they wandered, searching for a home.
Just after her first birthday, Newt's father, at his wits end took her to Foxcroft and abandoned her in the sewers. She was taken in by Bone Clan. In the months that followed, Newt slowly acclimated to clan life. While she relished having steady food, affection, and a comfortable place to sleep, other adjustments proved more difficult. She was frequently overwhelmed by the crowds, and the other cats' rambunctiousness often frightened her. Though she seemed to be settling in well enough, all things considered, she remained a strange, disconnected cat. It was anyone's guess what she would grow to be as the years passed.
Family: Shonghar (father), living Fessran (mother), deceased.
Generation: One
Colony/Band: Bone Colony
Items Purchased: None
Tag the Staff: Echo-Doodle , Alicefox , rinn
Age: 1 year
Birth Season: Spring
Gender:
Female
Sexuality/Orientation:
Heterosexual
Size: Small and slender.
Eye color: Green
Official Coat Color: Red and black tortoiseshell with white
Coat color description & appearance: Newt's coat is predominantly a mix of black and red, though she has some white markings on her face and chest. She has a black mask stretching across her eyes, while her muzzle and chest are white. The rest of her body is a mottled black and orange.
Coat length:
Her coat is short and rough, giving her a coarse appearance.
Ailments: Newt is autistic.
Personality:
A solitary and strange cat, some of Newt's peculiarities are apparent on sight. Her difficulty with eye contact testifies to her oddness. In personality, she differs as well. She can sit, unmoving and perfectly quiet, for hours on end, before springing to action the moment a target presents itself. Social situations are a challenge for her. She can't pick up on sarcasm, and frequently misses all the most blatant nonverbal cues. In combat, she is aware of and responsive to her opponent's body language, but she doesn't know how to translate that knowledge into the day to day social interactions she has with other creatures.
She has strong preferences and aversions as well. Especially fond of heights, Newt often made her way up trees or cliffs, and could often be seen nestled in the branches or the crevices of rocky outcroppings. Fruits and berries were a particular favorite, as were soft grasses, cuddling with Pearl, and playing in the snow. She did not like wet fur, being cold, mud, or sand, and certain types of meat. She was terrified of small spaces, the dark, and thunderstorms, though she took pains to hide these fears from those around her. When she's especially upset, Newt will chew her paws and rock to calm herself down.
Often at a loss for words, she has compiled a set of stock phrases and expressions she'd overheard, either from other clan members or on her travels, and when stuck for something to say, she will often repeat one of those phrases, either in part or in its entirety. She also mumbles to herself, bits of the stories, fables and proverbs she'd memorized as a kit, and is known to have one-sided conversations with rocks and plants. Frequently lost inside her own head, she seldom speaks, and when she does, she often stammers. Words and sentences are hard for her to form, and take time to construct inside her head. She thinks in pictures, rather than phrases--and translating one to the other was a tremendous chore. Speaking to her animal friends was far easier. She mimics their sounds and of course they understand her because they're friends. She loves games of all sorts, from hide and seek to make believe. Puzzles and riddles are also favorites.
A hoarder, Newt has a collection of odd bits and baubles, everything from smooth river stones to mice bones. and bird feathers, found its way into her den. Her collections were arranged in piles and when she was particularly upset, she would sit and arrange them, over and over, till she was calm again. If anybody else bothered them, she would growl and rage until she'd put them back the way she'd had them. Sometimes, she talked to her collections, and pretended they talked back. Newt is often seen batting a pile of rocks in between her paws, or rubbing her face on one of the larger ones.
Though this was a rarely glimpsed side of her, Newt can be playful, even cheerful and sweet--sometimes acting hyperactive in her joy--but only around those she trusts. As a kit, she was often punished for her restlessness and overeager nature, so she only showed that side of herself to a few trusted companions. Still, she cannot suppress those tendencies entirely. Her fidgeting often manifests in shuffling paws, a gaze that looked everywhere but at the speaker, and a habit of shifting her weight when she spoke. Around Pearl, or any kits she ran across, she displayed a fondness for cuddling and a sweet, gentle temperament at odds with her otherwise vicious nature.
Newt is a reserved, timid, simple young cat. She adores found things, and her collection includes dried flowers, ribbons and buttons. As a kit, she collected rocks, dried leaves and animal bones, with the odd flowering weed tossed in for color. Like she did when she was a kit, when she is anxious or upset, she fidgets with her collection, arranging them in patterns or rows till she is calm again. Sometimes, she carries a rock with her when she goes out, and will play with it when the crowds become too much. She's also befriended a host of small creatures that make their homes in and around the area. All of them, from the beetles that live in the dirt to the ladybugs that dwell in the thistles, have names. Newt considers them her friends, recognizing them on sight, and will happily spend an entire afternoon in their company.
Frequently lost inside her own head, Newt seldom speaks, and when she does, she often stammers. Words and sentences are hard for her to form, and take time to construct inside her head. She thinks in pictures, rather than phrases--and translating one to the other was a tremendous chore. She loves games of all sorts, from hide and seek to make believe. Puzzles and riddles are also favorites. Sometimes, when she is stuck for something to say, she poses a riddle while she thinks of it. A playful cat, Fox is fond of leaving hidden things she has found,scattered for her friends to find. If she is displeased with someone, the surprises she leaves are less pleasant. When Papa scolded her for tracking mud into their den, she left a dead toad near Papa's food. Another time she left a rotted snakeskin in his sleeping place because she was cross at being rebuked in front of the other cats they were temporarily travelling with.
The beatings Papa gave her for both offenses soon broke her of that particular habit.
While she is, most of the time, a fairly passive cat, Newt can at times be stubborn. There are a few points on which she is firmly convinced, and challenging these points will make her angry. The things that make up her collection have feelings, thoughts and ideas, just as wolves do, and shouldn't be harmed. Her insect friends are friends, not food. Because she rarely speaks, her anger manifests in flashing teeth and screeches, bites and growls and torn fur. She doesn't get angry often, and after she does, she is even more quiet and subdued than normal.
History:
Once upon a time, there was a mother cat, a father cat, and a baby cat. The baby cat was small, her orange, black and white pelt reminiscent of the newts that prowled the streams. Her mother was older when she met her father, having given up the life of a pet some years before. Her father was a loner who’d grown up in the wild, far from human interactions. At nine, Newt’s mother was surprised to find herself pregnant with kits. Still, she was pleased, A tough labor produced one kit—Newt— who was small and sickly from birth. Together, the three of them would have made a cozy little family, but fate had other ideas. Newt's mother took sick shortly after birthing her and passed away. Another loner female, who had recently birthed a litter herself, took pity on father and daughter. She became Newt's foster mother until the kit was old enough to wean, then she was promptly handed back to her father. There's something strange about that one, the she cat said, and there was.
Newt was different, and as she would soon learn, different was bad. From the start, it was apparent that something was off about the kit. She was quiet and withdrawn, often spending long hours daydreaming or watching the bugs that often found their way into their den. She was a fussy kit, crying if her fur got wet, or her paws got sticky. She whined about the textures of certain foods and bedding, and fought tooth and claw with her foster mother and later her father each time they tried to groom her. These odd behaviors merely escalated after she was returned to her father, and Newt often sat for hours, rocking and humming to herself.
Her father's solution was to give her a good cuffing each time she acted out, believing that this would teach his disobedient kit self control. Instead it made her even more withdrawn and fearful than she already was. By the time she was four months old, she barely spoke, and hardly stirred from the den. Her father took to leaving her alone for long periods of time, only returning to see that she was fed and given water. His odd, feral daughter troubled and humiliated him. Surely no other cats would wish to join themselves to him while she remained. Yet, she was his child and he could not bring himself to dispose of her permanently. So, he continued on, trying to keep her hidden as much as possible.
For a time, it seemed as if he'd found a group willing to accept them. The pair were taken in by a band of rogues who survived as scavengers. Yet this too was not to be. Newt's peculiarities unnerved the other cats. They feared her vacant staring and found her half mumbled strings of nonsense disturbing. Worst of all was when she brought in a rotted snakeskin and put it by her father's food, as punishment for the sharp scolding--and sound cuffing--he'd given her when he discovered that she had, once again, made a mess in her corner of the den. She'd filled it with her usual collection of rubbish and it was starting to attract bugs. This odd retaliation was the last straw, and father and daughter were asked to leave.
For the next several months, they wandered, searching for a home.
Just after her first birthday, Newt's father, at his wits end took her to Foxcroft and abandoned her in the sewers. She was taken in by Bone Clan. In the months that followed, Newt slowly acclimated to clan life. While she relished having steady food, affection, and a comfortable place to sleep, other adjustments proved more difficult. She was frequently overwhelmed by the crowds, and the other cats' rambunctiousness often frightened her. Though she seemed to be settling in well enough, all things considered, she remained a strange, disconnected cat. It was anyone's guess what she would grow to be as the years passed.
Family: Shonghar (father), living Fessran (mother), deceased.
Generation: One
Colony/Band: Bone Colony
Items Purchased: None
Tag the Staff: Echo-Doodle , Alicefox , rinn
