04-29-2018, 02:39 AM
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Approximately 26; appears as 18 | Birthday somewhere in December | Ages realtime
TNW: Flintlock Lodge | Loyal to people, not groups | NPC X NPC | No siblings
Demisexual panromantic | Single | Scared of relationships
Caucasian | Reference & Reference
— 4'11 typically between 85 and 100 lbs. Slim and fragile.
— Sickly pale skin, extremely messy light brown hair
— Soft green eyes, has a blue starry backpack
— Wears a single paid of pajamas which are brown plaid. Has blue bunny slippers
— Coated in mud and dirt. Hasn't bathed in ages, smells like literal garbage. Tends to attract gnats and flies
50% HEALTH | Has one large gash down his back that zags a bit down. Has a thin but long scar down the bottom of his left arm. Covered in bruises, has a healing busted lip. Nose is broken. Small scar down side of cheek. He has numerous scars down his back and legs. Constantly sore. Struggles with hypersomnia, depression, IED and PTSD.
Trope & Trope & Trope | personality here
55/100 Physical Difficulty | 80/100 Psychological Difficulty | 40/100 Short-Term Recovery
Cat tends to have a lack of strength due to multiple reasons, but he fights as viciously as he can and knows how to keep himself alive even if he gets battered in the process. He's quick and uses his size to his advantage, but relies heavily on weapons.
— Carries a knife at all times in pockets
Attack in bold RED or similar | @ DARWIN for quick responses | PM for any major plots.
Friendly or nonviolent actions may be powerplayed, but won't be reacted to very well.[/spoiler]
TW FOR BRIEF MENTION OF BLOOD
"You ain't gonna be shit if you leave."
As he had left, the words that replayed in his head were replied with fuck you, fuck that, fuck off in his head. Even to the face of who had said it. He had left. Cat found some old pajamas eventually, the touch of fabric to his skin almost a shock at first. But now he'd been traveling for awhile, and he was adjusting despite the discomfort of blood caked on his back, bare feet pulling in and out of the mud. His small size was seemingly inconvenient when it came to clothing, shoes falling right off of him.
His knife which was rusted and colored with red was held in his blistered palms, frail fingers holding steadily to it as his eyes remained tense, flitting to and fro watchfully. He wasn't really shit, not yet. He wasn't decomposing, no animals had taken a crap on his body yet - but he was definitely dirty. Shitty and dirty was a big difference. However, he found himself hesitating as he began moving into something white - something foreign to him. Cat had been traveling for a couple of weeks, maybe months - but it was only today he had ever seen it. He'd seen it a few times through a narrow little window, white powder falling down. But he didn't like the idea of touching it. It was new. It was unknown.
As one toe made contact, it got even more cold. God, didn't people only get this cold when they were in the ground or some shit? Breathing beings were supposed to be all... Warm, from what he remembered. Granted, Cat hadn't a lot of experience with dead bodies, not to the point he knew for sure. His teeth chattered worse than before, his eyes widening as he tried to cope with the cold with a repeat of words. "Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck -" His southern accent repeated the same word over and over, cheeks sucked in breathlessly as his form shook with cold.
The hell was this weird white crap? Some sorta joke from the sky? It was all - all watery. He hated it, he wanted it to fucking die. However, Cat was as of now unaware that it'd require some heat to do that. A sense of alarm filled him the more cold his feet became, and they felt more and more numb with each step. Christ on a bike he was gonna die. After everything he's been through - the scars littering him - the blood still stuck to his back and legs - he was gonna die from weird water white bullcrap. What the hell.
[align=center][div style="width: 507px; text-align: justify; font-family: helvetica; font-size: 9pt; line-height: 1.4;"][spoiler=A CAT HAS NINE LIVES | TAGS; 4/28/2018]Jonathan Cat Hunter | Introduced + only known as Cat | Cisgender male, he/him"You ain't gonna be shit if you leave."
As he had left, the words that replayed in his head were replied with fuck you, fuck that, fuck off in his head. Even to the face of who had said it. He had left. Cat found some old pajamas eventually, the touch of fabric to his skin almost a shock at first. But now he'd been traveling for awhile, and he was adjusting despite the discomfort of blood caked on his back, bare feet pulling in and out of the mud. His small size was seemingly inconvenient when it came to clothing, shoes falling right off of him.
His knife which was rusted and colored with red was held in his blistered palms, frail fingers holding steadily to it as his eyes remained tense, flitting to and fro watchfully. He wasn't really shit, not yet. He wasn't decomposing, no animals had taken a crap on his body yet - but he was definitely dirty. Shitty and dirty was a big difference. However, he found himself hesitating as he began moving into something white - something foreign to him. Cat had been traveling for a couple of weeks, maybe months - but it was only today he had ever seen it. He'd seen it a few times through a narrow little window, white powder falling down. But he didn't like the idea of touching it. It was new. It was unknown.
As one toe made contact, it got even more cold. God, didn't people only get this cold when they were in the ground or some shit? Breathing beings were supposed to be all... Warm, from what he remembered. Granted, Cat hadn't a lot of experience with dead bodies, not to the point he knew for sure. His teeth chattered worse than before, his eyes widening as he tried to cope with the cold with a repeat of words. "Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck -" His southern accent repeated the same word over and over, cheeks sucked in breathlessly as his form shook with cold.
The hell was this weird white crap? Some sorta joke from the sky? It was all - all watery. He hated it, he wanted it to fucking die. However, Cat was as of now unaware that it'd require some heat to do that. A sense of alarm filled him the more cold his feet became, and they felt more and more numb with each step. Christ on a bike he was gonna die. After everything he's been through - the scars littering him - the blood still stuck to his back and legs - he was gonna die from weird water white bullcrap. What the hell.
Approximately 26; appears as 18 | Birthday somewhere in December | Ages realtime
TNW: Flintlock Lodge | Loyal to people, not groups | NPC X NPC | No siblings
Demisexual panromantic | Single | Scared of relationships
Caucasian | Reference & Reference
— 4'11 typically between 85 and 100 lbs. Slim and fragile.
— Sickly pale skin, extremely messy light brown hair
— Soft green eyes, has a blue starry backpack
— Wears a single paid of pajamas which are brown plaid. Has blue bunny slippers
— Coated in mud and dirt. Hasn't bathed in ages, smells like literal garbage. Tends to attract gnats and flies
50% HEALTH | Has one large gash down his back that zags a bit down. Has a thin but long scar down the bottom of his left arm. Covered in bruises, has a healing busted lip. Nose is broken. Small scar down side of cheek. He has numerous scars down his back and legs. Constantly sore. Struggles with hypersomnia, depression, IED and PTSD.
Trope & Trope & Trope | personality here
55/100 Physical Difficulty | 80/100 Psychological Difficulty | 40/100 Short-Term Recovery
Cat tends to have a lack of strength due to multiple reasons, but he fights as viciously as he can and knows how to keep himself alive even if he gets battered in the process. He's quick and uses his size to his advantage, but relies heavily on weapons.
— Carries a knife at all times in pockets
Attack in bold RED or similar | @ DARWIN for quick responses | PM for any major plots.
Friendly or nonviolent actions may be powerplayed, but won't be reacted to very well.[/spoiler]