[size=7pt]My cat, Crypt, daughter of Jezebel and related to Capone (yea, I know plenty of cats are) is one of my favorite characters, but sadly, since she is a very... anti-social cat, she is hard to RP with. Therefore, I need to spice things up a little. If you have any ideas, you are welcome; however, I was thinking that, either, she gets forced by a tom or somehow (maybe catnip has something to do with it?) gets knocked up? I don't know. Either way, she ends up having kits. She won't like them. She might even want to destroy them.
Open to other plots.
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Username:Frostt (Dark Dove)
Cat's Name: Crypt
Appearance:
Crypt was named so because she seems to resemble a ghost. The mixed colors of her pelt tend to be overwhelmed by her silvery white fur, making her look like she is illuminated by a silvery haze. The most distinct part of Crypt is her face; Crypt's face is the purest area of her body, untinged by the colors of black and pale orange that swirl in the layers of her fur on the rest of her body. Crypt's faded blue green eyes compliment her face gloriously, giving her majestic beauty. Her nose is surrounded by a thick line of black and the tips of her ears are also black. Crypt's fur is fairly long, giving her thin body some bulk. Don't be fooled, however. Under Crypt's thick fur also lies thick, lean muscle. Crypt is quick and agile as well as strong, making her a brilliant fighter. Crypt is average sized for her age.
Personality:
Don't let her beautiful, glowing appearance fool you! Crypt is a vile cat, thought by many to lack any sort emotion. Many say she "gets it from her mother." Crypt has a sharp tongue and always has some hateful remark to spit like venom at anyone who crosses her. Though Crypt is uncaring and ruthless, she is not stupid. She knows when to use her seductiveness to her advantage; Crypt also knows how to pretend like she has emotions or sense of care for the well-being of others. Crypt thoroughly understands the consequences of crossing any cat higher than her or stronger therefore understanding when she must simply accept a higher authority.
Crypt is the kind of cat that likes to play with her prey. She enjoys the slow mental agony of an individual; it satisfies her much more than any sort of little "pointless spit spat," as she calls it. She would rather watch an enemy squirm. Her sarcastic, calculated personality tends to repel many cats. What drives Crypt crazy is senseless display of emotion. She despises seeing family members do any stupid thing to protect or avenge each other, especially if the plan involves little or no thought beforehand.
Plot Ideas: None at the moment but open to anything
Role-Playing Sample:
A small she-cat, obviously young and not fully developed, glided through the forest on her over-sized paws. Soon she vowed to herself soon I'll grow into these clown paws. Wise beyond her years, the she-cat's mind was the breeding grounds of a killer, a torturer, a heartless demon. Crypt felt hollow inside. The only emotion she felt was the joy at watching prey die beneath her paws; it was sick, really. But what cat wasn't? We are all sick in our own special way she thought to herself.
Her pelt, glowing like some demonic ghost in the dark forest, was ruffled and a few twigs had gotten snagged in her tangled pelt. Better not let that stay there she laughed to herself, stopping to yank the twigs out of her matted pelt and groom it quickly. I have to look good for my grand entrance. The she-cat glided to the place she had buried a large squirrel, one of the rare catches the she-cat made. She despised hunting. She really did. But she wasn't mousebrained enough to think she could survive without hunting. Unlike other cats, she spent her time focused on reality instead of kits' games and fairytales. Truly, the she-cat was a miserable being. Her anger stemmed from her self-loating and self-pity and more importantly, a lack of her mother's love, but of course she didn't admit that to herself. She hid it behind her own vile personality and the venom in her words.
Grabbing the limp squirrel in her teeth, the she-cat strutted back to camp, basking in her own strength. She couldn't imagine what it would be like to be an elder: weak, helpless, pitiful. She vowed to never let herself live to see the day the strength didn't course through her paws like electricity. The day she didn't feel youthfulness coursing through her strong, yet... fragile body. Her soft belly. Her exposed throat. She really despised the weakness of all animals, cats included. Suddenly, the squirrel in her mouth made her sick. She held back the bile that threatened to come up. It truly was completely sick how weak and helpless the squirrel was. She panicked, suddenly not as sure of herself as she was only heartbeats ago. Am I the same way behind this mask of hate and hostility? Am I just a weak being, ready to be so easily demolished by the strong?
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