Posts by MarxtheScizor

[Contains forced babying and diapers; don't like? Then don't RP.]

Apollo was always nothing more than a slave; a cat-eared man, writhing and squirming against a harness wrapped around his upper body, ensnaring his torso. He shifted and kicked until he gave up for only a moment, allowing the man selling him to drag him up to a wooden platform. His knees buckled, and he was forced to the ground, on his hands and knees. Unlike the other neko slaves, he was wearing a thick, white diaper covered by nothing, bulging out like an inflated balloon with thickness as he squirmed in place. The auctioneer pat his dry diaper affectionately, and spoke, "This is my newest slave for sale; he's a rebellious little one, but he can become a proper slave with a cruel enough master. I'll give him to anyone, for any price I think is high enough; now begin your bidding!" His head swam; he wasn't that young, was he? He was nineteen, almost twenty, and as he listened to the numbers being called out helplessly, "Nine hundred!" "One thousand!" "Two thousand!" The numbers were wracking up, the price rising; who would buy him, and what would happen to him?

NAME: Dimitri Vasiliev
_Name Origin: Russian
_Nicknames: Tri
_Middle Name: None
_Family(ies): None
GENDER: Male
SEXUALITY: Homosexual
BIRTH DATED: September Ninth

APPEARANCE: At a first glance, you are drawn to his sheet-white flesh, taut with muscle beneath his dark blue peacoat. His skin, free of blemishes and scars, seems to be untouched, perfectly pristine, until you look a measure closer, at his eyes. His eyes, you will see, are perpetually ringed with what seems to be an intermingling of tiredness, and boredom; they are a cold blue, mingled with a steely gray, and always seem to be glazed over. The skin around his eyes is usually darker than the rest, and each eye is highlighted by his blond, almost golden, hair, that seems to be strangely well-groomed, as if he pays extra attention to that one detail-his hair-and nothing else. You then notice something else; he stands at five feet, ten inches tall, and appears to have a curvy, though muscular, figure, almost feminine in a way.
__Vanity Items: He always wears a dark blue peacoat with golden buttons

PERSONALITY: Dimitri is an intelligent boy, with a penchant for keeping his mouth shut. He doesn't enjoy idle chatter, and prefers to be left alone, to deal with his own problems; you may quickly notice that he purposefully distances himself from others, so he doesn't have to get wrapped up in their business. Something you mustn't forget would have to be his adoration for condescension and cruelty; he thinks of most others, unless they are higher-ups that deserve his respect, as children who get in his way. If someone so much as stubs their toe, he will make sure that they do not cry like infants, and attempt to get them to tough it out. Even if someone had a broken leg, his reaction would still be a good, old-fashioned, "Suck it up." While he does seem to be very cold and detached, there is something that sets him apart from others around his age; when he is faced with wrongful punishment of any sort, he will immediently become bitter and cold, perhaps even more distant than usual. Dimitri is the type to cry crocodile tears if he doesn't get what he wants, and you should be certain that he will make it look like someone hurt him just so he can skip out on either punishment, or a particular activity he is not fond of. Overall, not the best person you could ever hope to meet, until you get to see his other side; he is, while condescending, protective of the other orphans. While he prefers to detach from their affairs and not get involved, if another orphan is in serious danger and cannot get out of it on their own, he will defend them with tooth and nail.

STRENGTHS: Intelligent; Fiercely protective; Respectful(to an extent); Computing; Hacking

WEAKNESSES: Detached; Judgemental; Mathematics; Geography

PHOBIAS: Claustrophobia(Fears confined spaces)

Day or Night

Sober or Drunk

Peace or War

Night Owl or Morning Bird

Healing or Fighting

Revenge or Forgiveness

DISABILITIES: Insomnia
SKILL: Computer Intelligence
FACECLAIM: He strongly resembles this picture

NOTES OR PLOT:
TEXT

Apollo squirmed when he was lifted by the scruff, yelling out wordlessly. He began to kick his legs, though his mobility was restricted by his diaper, and whined unintelligibly for a long while. The auctioneer smiled grimly, and took the money gratefully as the crowd dispersed. "Good luck; he's a fiesty one! Better break'im quick, mate!" Annoyed, the neko wailed and squirmed about, angry about his predicament.

A pristine, white hand briefly swat at an alarm in the neighboring room after it sounded off, and the hand's owner didn't seem very eager to start the day. Without a word, the lump underneath the crumpled, white sheets clutched a pillow, and shifted about slightly, as if uncomfortable, before he lifted his head, eyes ringed with darkness as usual. He refused to say anything, merely keeping his expression calm as he stared at the clock. The first words that escaped those frigid, pale lips were only, "I'm always awake." Scowling, he narrowed his eyes, and sighed after rubbing his temples, kicking away the sweat-soaked sheets. An alarm clock, to him, was superfluous; he didn't bloody need one, didn't anyone even begin to comprehend that, even after all this time here? Without saying anything else, he ran a hand through his blond hair, and checked himself out in a tiny, dirty mirror; he looked good enough. His hair remained of great importance to him, and as much as he itched to brush it, he knew that the messy look he had now was good enough. However, he couldn't resist running his delicate little hands through it, just to untangle a few knots, and smooth it out. A set of cold, gray eyes latched onto the door as he spoke, "Open door." When the door promptly opened, he slipped through, and crammed both hands into his pockets. Dimitri refused to open his mouth again, after that; he just exited the room and watched another fellow spy, a girl named Katya, leave her room. He said nothing, as usual, and instead walked right by as if she were invisible.

Apoll whined as the strange male carried him so kindly, snuggling into him, for a moment or two. He frowned, and stuck out his lower lip. "I'll never be all yours." He growled defiantly, squirming around in the male's grip, annoyed by the behavior of this person who had purchased him. "Just get me outta this dumb thing now! I'm no baby!" His voice was angry, high-pitched, and he looked like he wanted to attack the person holding him.

| Bracken | Brackenpaw | (To be determined by the leader)

Age: 10 moons old

Gender: Male

Rank: Apprentice

Desired Rank: Deputy

History: Brackenpaw was born a rogue, to two, rather foolhardy rogues who thought they could take on any challenge. At the time of his birth, he was dubbed Bracken, and, as he grew older, the young kit became curious about the other cats he often scented near the forest. His parents began to care less and less about him, only looking out for themselves, and, eventually, he ventured onto the territory of LunarClan, as a six moon old kit, after two days of searching for shelter. Luckily for him, a warrior discovered the homeless kitten, and he was taken into LunarClan. Before long, he became an apprentice, with the name Brackenpaw, and the rest is history; he adjusted to Clan life, and now lives with LunarClan as a loyal young apprentice.

Personality: Brackenpaw isn't usually the sort of cat who speaks, but when he does, he can be colder than ice. He is often very calm and level-headed, though he can be somewhat rude when pushed too far. Oftentimes, he can be a cunning and intelligent young tomcat, who is sometimes rather difficult to interact with. Brackenpaw is, generally, protective of his Clanmates, though he doesn't trust every cat he sees, and can be vicious when confronted.

Coat Color: Ginger

Eye Color: Blue

Markings: Dark ginger tabby markings

Other Appearance Features: None

Mate/Crush: None of either

Kin: Unknown, might be deceased

Other:

Brackenpaw, whom had been in camp, weaved his way through the camp's entrance after hearing the loud, angry hisses of fighting cats. He smelled blood and the stench of decay, which made him draw his upper lip back in a snarl, but said nothing. Judging by the scent on the white-furred corpse, and the words of Hornettail, a rouge cat had killed her, and the older cat wanted vengeance. Not fazed in the slightest by the sight of Snowcall's dead body, the ginger tabby apprentice shoved himself between Hornettail and Reol, baring his fangs at Hornettail. "You're not being rational, Hornettail! Think about this, won't you?!" He shot the older tomcat a furious glower, his blue eyes narrowed in rage, as he growled, "Do you think death will bring back the dead? Do you think that she would want you to murder someone because she died as warriors do, in battle? Use your head, you piece of foxdung! Stooping to these rouge's level would make you worse than they could ever be!" With that, the angered ginger tabby turned to Reol, and lashed his tail, sighing as if exasperated by Hornettail's behavior. He mouthed the word 'flee' to the rogue, and unsheathed his claws, arching his back as he glowered at Hornettail, chin raised, as if waiting for a retort.

Brackenpaw lashed his tail, and watched the intruder respond to his Clanmate. Without saying anything, he backed off, before shooting a glare at the rouge, and flicking an ear. "I would fight you, but I know that Hornettail wants to do the honors. It seems that rogues don't know when to take a hint when they get one." He then glanced at the warrior, and licked one paw calmly, making sure that his ginger fur was flattened. After doing this, he noticed that his Clanmate had either disregarded his words, or ignored them. His claws sunk into the dirt, and he let a bitter snarl escape his throat as he strode away from the fighting cats, looking for someone to take out his frustrations upon. With a hiss, he slid under the belly of nearby rouge, claws unsheathed and fangs bared, hissing like an adder as he aimed to slash the rogue's underbelly with his claws.

I've been trying to drum up something useful for Brackenpaw to do, but so far, I've got nothing. He doesn't even have a mentor.

I have a tiny idea, by the way; maybe Brackenpaw could kind of hold a grudge against Hornettail for not listening to him during the battle? He takes things a bit too seriously, sometimes, and doesn't like being ignored for anything, so I think it'd fit.

Yes, you can. :)

ᒥƑαωη Ƥαωѕᒧ wrote:

I mean, I have Mottlesplash already if you're interested in her being his mentor? If not I can make a new one.

I don't mind if Mottlesplash is his mentor.

The switch from Other to assassin was more fluid than One had initially expected; all it took was the dream, the hazy first glimpses of the strange young girl he knew was Alpha, to awaken him from a sleep that had felt instantaneous, as if it had never happened. It had been harder before; he could only awaken randomly from this sleep that seemed eternal, but, by now, he knew when he had to take control, though it didn't always work. A soft purring noise altered him to the furry, white feline laying in his lap, and he smiled to himself, comforted by the sound. One knew this cat's given name, and he crooned to it softly, stroking it with a gloved hand, "What a good little creature; you may be cute, but I can't stay here right now." When the cat stared at him with wide, sweet little eyes, he chuckled and carefully set the little feline into his cat bed, positioned by the regular bed he had been sitting within. After kicking away the comic book his Other had been reading, so that it slipped under the bed, he scowled at his reflection in the mirror. "I look like Clark Kent's geeky younger brother; my Other has no fashion sense. If he dressed half as well as I did, maybe he'd score with the so-called ladies once and a while. Sadly enough for him..." He trailed off, while he kicked away his blue-striped pajamas and slipped on a dark gray hoodie, overlaying it with a lighter gray jacket, before throwing on a pair of black pants that hung just above the ankles. After pulling up the hood over his head, he looked at himself again, this time smirking in satisfaction, "...Let's just say that I'm one to go for gentlemen, rather than ladies." With that remark, he spun away from the mirror, and ran a hand through his black hair until it finally fell in the messy way he wanted it to. He decided to clam up, and walked over to the window when he heard very faint noises from outside, sliding it open. Luckily enough, he lived nearby Four, though he didn't know it, and guessed that something was going on near her home. However, he decided to let them come to him; he slipped out the window, and leaned back against a nearby tree, both hands shoved into his pockets, pretending to be just an average kid, hanging out after curfew like a little tramp.

One was silent, watching the neighbor's house with what seemed to be a disinterested stare, until he heard tiny nails clawing at the window. The plaintive mewling he heard from inside of his Other's bedroom made the boy sigh, as he slipped over to the window, and opened it up again. "There, you little rat; are you happy now?" He asked the fluffy, white-furred kitten as it rubbed against his legs, sighing to himself; the pathetic creature was growing on him already. Without another word, he abruptly closed the window, and strode back over to the tree, where his Other's feline rubbed its delicate fur over his legs, twining itself in and out. He used one hand to keep his hood in place while looking around, and soon took notice of something that made his heart race; he could hear people's voices. His hearing wasn't incredible enough for their speech to be fully legible, but he made out snippets, snippets that he knew for a fact pertained to him. Suddenly, Blanc's fur fluffed up, and it let out a vicious hissing noise, at the scent of dog. Before he could stop it, the cat was running for the fence, and One sprang off of the bark of the tree, propelling himself into the air. He barely managed to grab the edge of the wooden fence when he came face-to-face with what seemed to be a man, someone familiar to him. The name popped into his mind immediently, coming back to him a flash, Seven. Breathing softly, the raven-haired, pale boy took a few steps back, and scowled, immediently taking a defensive position, cat cradled in his arms, but refused to say anything.

One stared directly at the caramel-skinned girl when she appraised him, and immediently dismissed him as a threat. He placed the fluffy, white-furred cat on the ground, stroking its pelt gently, but stared at the girl, analyzing her. While she didn't look too threatening, at a first glance, he soon noticed that she looked flexible, strong in her own way. His cold, blue gaze narrowed darkly for just a moment as he looked over the other assassin, the one named Seven. Without a word, he removed one of his gloves, and allowed the sticky, clear liquid bubbling at his fingertips to show itself, dripping down his arm without any adverse effects. However, when a few drops struck the grass, it shriveled and turned brown, tainted by the poison. His gaze flicked back to Four, and he spoke without putting his glove back on, "If you insult me again, you'll end up like that. You're fortunate that I have second thoughts about doing it right now, or I'd have made you scream already." A sickening grin spread over his face, and he laughed to himself, using one hand to prod the bark of a tree. It immediently began to rot, and he took his hand away only after a large section of the tree was decaying. "I never liked that tree; always ruining the view. If only this were live prey; it's better if they beg and squirm like the rats they are." His voice was like honey; sickeningly sweet, and smooth, deceptively so, as if it were designed to fool anyone who spoke to him. One pulled his hood farther over his head, and, without looking at the other assassins, continued on, "When do we get the chance to hunt, rather than be the hunted? I'd love to show those ingrates the meaning of the word pain, make them die slowly and painfully; their screams will be so delicious."

Finished! :)

Brackenfrost

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name ❧ Brackenfrost
gender ❧ Male
age ❧ 19 moons old
rank ❧ Warrior
deity ❧ Aeron(Celtic God of battle and slaughter)
powers ❧ Brackenfrost is unusually adept at battling, but his power is blood manipulation. He can manipulate his own blood, or other cat's blood, from outside of their bodies(from wounds) and make the blood either return to its wound(which doesn't automatically heal it, it just stops the bleeding) or use it to fight(which drains his energy).
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[font=georgia]pelt color ❧ Primarily white, and dark brown
markings ❧ Mottled, dark brown tabby markings
scars ❧ n/a
eye color ❧ Dark green, with hints of light brown
breed ❧ American Shorthair
disabilities ❧ n/a
detailed appearance ❧ Brackenfrost is a very small tomcat, with velvety soft, smooth fur. His eyes are pine green, very dark and cold, and his claws are sharper than most. He has a dark brown, mottled tabby pelt, though it is predominantly white, in certain locations. His build is rather frail, at a first glance, until any cat takes notice of his lean, muscular shoulders and hind legs. Despite his lack of scars, and short stature, his gleaming, white fangs and wickedly sharp claws can appear to be frightening, to some. His eyes usually have a hungry look within them, as if he constantly craves the thrill of battle.
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[color=lawngreen][font=georgia]positive traits ❧ Intelligent, perceptive of other cats' feelings, calm in tense situations
negative traits ❧ Harsh towards young cats, often acts very cold, can be extremely merciless in battle
fears ❧ His own death, sickness
likes ❧ Fighting, hunting, being left alone
dislikes ❧ Being watched, reckless cats
quirks ❧ He tends to flick his tail while he is thinking and hunting, he also tends to pace when agitated
strengths ❧ Brackenfrost is an amazing fighter, and has a knack for sneaking up on prey, as well as other cats
weaknesses ❧ Brackenfrost is often a bit too cold, and is usually quick to think the worst of others
detailed personality ❧ Brackenfrost is, for all intents and purposes, a warrior who enjoys being left to his own devices, most of the time. He can be very cold towards cats who are nosy, or otherwise bothersome, but works well with cats who tend to leave well enough alone. Despite this, however, he is an intelligent cat, who thinks on his toes, and can be very patient with other cats, if he wants to be. Brackenfrost can be somewhat rude; though he does respect his deputy and leader, he sometimes disagrees with choices they make, which can make him come off as rebellious. However, he never seems to know when to back down, until he analyzes the situation further, and can be the sort to hold in his anger. When it cones bursting out in battle, his true brutality and cunning come to the forefront, and he stops caring about the lives of those involved..on the opposing side, that is.
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[align=center][fancypost bgcolor=#3B5323; border: solid 0px transparent; width: 180px; height: 100px; margin-top: -10px; overflow: auto;] [color=lawngreen][font=georgia]father ❧ Longpelt(elder, NPC) mother ❧ Foxtail(elder, NPC) siblings ❧ Redpaw, Sandkit(both deceased) kits ❧ n/a past names ❧ Brackenkit, Brackenpaw past ranks ❧ Kit, apprentice history ❧ Brackenfrost lived an easy life, at first; his two littermates were very adventurous, and they often attempted to venture out of camp together. They spent most of their days playing with tumble weeds and pretending to be warriors, like most kits of SaharaClan, and often boasted about their futures as powerful warriors. However, like most kittens, they were very curious, and his sister, Redkit, convinced his brother, Sandkit, to venture out of camp when the sun was in the sky, in the blistering heat. Brackenfrost didn't know what had happened until it was too late, and, in the night, his mother and father were both in a panic. A patrol set out to find the missing kits, and they were found; Sandkit was dead of heat exhaustion, and Redkit was very sick from lack of water and food. Brackenfrost barely had any time to grieve the unfortunate loss of his brother, when Redkit's apprentice ceremony was delayed one moon for her escapade. As such, he became an apprentice long before his sister, who constantly complained about how unfair it was that she wasn't apprenticed, until her ceremony finally came. She hadn't learned her lesson from last time, and continued trying to leave camp unsupervised, even going so far as to try staying up during the day, instead of during the night. As a result, she lagged far behind Brackenfrost, who was making quick progress already. He often had to listen to her brag about her adventures, though she was often fatigued when he spoke with her, and soon grew tired of it. Eventually, Redpaw did something no cat anticipated; she tried to go on her own hunting patrol, without supervision. Her mentor went after her, as did a patrol of cats who had been in camp at the time, including Brackenfrost, but it was too late; she had tried climbing a large rock, which fell on its side, crushing her body immediently. It was at this point that Brackenfrost's mother and father chose to retire to the elder's den, sobered by the death of two of their only kits, and he passed his warrior assessment. He became Brackenfrost, and vowed to teach whatever cat he apprenticed respect, how to protect themselves, and work until whatever cat he had to apprentice was not reckless or overtly confident in his or her own abilities. [/fancypost][fancypost borderwidth=1px; padding:0px; width:190px][/fancypost]

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[color=black][font=courier](c) CobaltThunder

Brackenfrost padded out of the warrior's den just in time to see Sandcloud and her apprentice leaving camp. After taking a quick look at the meager fresh kill pile, he determined that they were probably going hunting, and smiled to himself briefly at the thought; Sandcloud had never been a great hunter. He merely glanced at the other cats in camp, rolling his eyes at the silly antics of the kittens, before striding out of SaharaClan's camp, following the scents of Rowanpaw and his mentor. His pawsteps were silent against the sand as he neared the two cats, smirking coldly. "You'll be teaching Rowanpaw how to hunt, I see." Brackenfrost flicked his tail off to one side, and licked one paw, drawing it over each splay of whiskers. Without waiting for any kind of response, he glanced at Rowanpaw, and mewled, "Shall I assist you, or will you both be fine?" He kept his voice quiet, as to not alert any prey, before the scent of sand rat wafted his way. However, he decided not to point it out, merely searching the area for other prey, scanning every inch of the sand.

Brackenfrost lashed his tail, and nodded to Rowanpaw. "Alright; thank you, Sandcloud." He told the young warrior, examining her apprentice with a casual smirk. Without another word, he motioned with his tail for the apprentice to follow, and whispered, "Follow my lead; watch me, then you will attempt it yourself." When the scent of sand rat grew stronger, he was perfectly silent, and his pawsteps made no sound. He crouched down, belly pressed against the sand, and let his tail flick about in the sand. The sand rat looked around warily as he approached, and he eventually flicked his tail towards it, dragging it along in the sand. Frightened, the sand rat started to scurry away, in the wrong direction, led directly into Brackenfrost's jaws. He killed it with a swift crunch to the neck, and didn't even bother to look over at the young apprentice as he went on, "Remaining quiet is the most important thing you can do, at your stage of apprenticeship; whilst hunting, you need to consider how heightened the prey's hearing could be. For instance, sand rats can hear you if you make too much noise, and when they notice you, they could run away. Make some, enough to distract them, then pounce, when you get the hang of it. Distraction can be vital, but it can also make you loose out on a catch, if you aren't careful. Certain prey are faster, and can get away quickly; your best bet would be to kill them before it's too late." With that, the mottled brown tabby glanced at Rowanpaw, and mewled, "You try, now." through his freshly caught prey, dangling limp in his bloodied maw.

Brackenfrost watched the young apprentice calmly, and noted that his hunting crouch was decent enough. He flicked his tail when Rowanpaw noticed a lizard nearby, and nodded with approval when the cat looked back his way. Rowanpaw wasn't the best hunter ever, nothing too remarkable, but he seemed to be a fast learner; he'd improve greatly with time, he was sure of it. Without saying anything, he backed off, giving the younger cat some space, and glanced at the lizard from afar, making sure that it didn't notice him. The mottled brown tabby tomcat licked one paw, and ran it over each splay of whiskers as he watched the apprentice, careful not to make a sound.