Posts by Phantasm ~

Alliance: RiverClan
Age: Two months (real timed)
Sex: Male
Gender identity: Tom-cat
Current Rank: Kit
Sexuality: Undecided

Species: Domestic cat. A touch of Maine Coon, and perhaps a smidgen of wild-cat as well (serval).
Pelt colour: Black smoke
Eye colour: Dark hazel (brown-green)
Markings: Nothing too notable. A small kink in the end of his tail. Tufted ears.

Appearance: Tall, dark and roguishly handsome. Fine-boned, it is the weight of his fur on his frame that makes him seem larger than he appears. Otherwise Phantasm is handsomely lean and slender like a knife, extending mainly in one direction: up. His coat is medium length, and is rather thin. While his winter coat is thicker and better suited to the cold than his norm, he dislikes chilly weather, and is more a creature of heat, harkening back to old days where in another life he grew up in BloodClan's arid deserts.

Personality: Amiable, suave, enigmatic, unconventional. Quite incapable of empathy where it does not suit him, though Phantasm is remarkably principled. An odd fellow, he is both sardonic and cheerful even in the grimmest of situations. With his sharp tongue and biting wit, it's not uncommon for him to make enemies quickly. To those he is close with however, Phantasm is a loyal and reliable friend... mostly.

Favorite colour: Green
Likes: Wandering, without any purpose or destination in mind. Hot, dry weather - sunbathing is an unabashed passion of his.
Dislikes: Swimming - it makes him uncomfortable, and feel quite literally out of his depth. Any kind of thoughtless, stupid action. Violence - to an extent (he understands when it's warranted). Winter, particularly snow.

Brief history:

- Born in RiverClan to Spiderblade. (12/2016)

[ Family tree. ] Spiderblade (Photostar x Bulletinboard) x Unknown (NPC)
[ Friends. ] N/A

Birth:

Warped ~ wrote:

Spiderblade was curled in the nursery, arched protectively around her swollen belly. The tortoiseshell's mottled black-gold fur was in disarray from tossing and turning, strewn with straw and moss. It was time, and the pregnant queen hadn't ever felt more unprepared.

It was a quick birth. Tending to her newborn kittens shakily when it was done, Spiderblade tried to still the quivers that wracked her small frame. She felt exhausted and vulnerable, defied by her body, and not quite up to the task at hand. Wasn't it not so long ago she'd been a kit herself? A young medicine cat apprentice with no clue what was in store for her? She wished that Timescale or Morningcoffee were here. Her old mentor and colleague (no, not just colleague - friend) would know what to do, and how to quell her worries. She breathed a low sigh.

One of her kits mewed plaintively. He was black smoke, his fur as dark and contrasting as her own. Spiderblade licked his tiny body, nudging him into the warm curve of her belly. Would she be able to keep him safe? Curling herself tighter around her children, her jaw stiffened. She would certainly try.

Fancypost:

[justify]In the cavernous chasm where RiverClan's camp resided, Phantasm had found a little ledge on which to sun himself. Spiderblade was out hunting for the day, leaving him to his own devices. While vigilant, his mother did not necessarily believe that boredom was bad for her kit - it meant he had to learn how to amuse himself. Which was not the simplest of tasks. Already the black smoke was already quite fastidious in his tastes, and was not easily entertained by the type of things other children were. Currently however, he was quite content to just lounge.

The dark youth lay there in an easy, graceful sprawl, one forepaw hanging over the edge. The sun seemed to pour forth from above with a dazzling intensity, warming the stone quite comfortably. His little nook wasn't far from the ground - the two month old was not quite that agile yet - but it did jut out rather precariously of the stone wall. It didn't faze him in the slightest. He would've climbed higher and steeper if he could. [/justify]

[justify]Blinking open one eye, Phantasm smiled amicably at Minnowscales. "Yes, it's quite nice." Even though he'd been born during the early winter, the kit detested the bitterly frigid weather that came with the season. His coat simply wasn't as thick or insulating as other RiverClanners, and he found that the cold seemed to soak him to the bone. The sun - when it was strong enough to burn through the muggy, grey cloud cover - was gloriously warm. "Somewhere out there I hope it's like this every day."

Twisting nimbly onto his back, the tom stretched out his long legs, toes kneading the air. Exposing as much of his shadowy grey and black belly fur to the sunshine as possible, he chuffed happily. "What's your favorite season? I think I like the sound of summer."[/justify]

[justify]Having been napping indulgently for most of the afternoon, Phantasm was in the slow process of waking up, his eyes drowsy half moons. The kit stretched in his sunny spot, idly watching the goings-on of camp, not paying attention to much of anything.

The audible sound of Octoberkit's transformation made him twitch. Head swivelling, he watched as the molosser-dog lumbered toward the river bank, seemingly unaccustomed to his now heavy paws. Hadn't there been another kit in the canine's spot only moments before? Prompted by his curiosity, the slender black smoke rose to his feet and followed suit. He stepped lightly beside the dog, ears angled forward attentively.

His reflection wavered in the glassy surface of the river as well. His slim, lanky frame seemed quite small and weedy next to Octoberkit's solid bulk. "How did you do that?" he piped up. Still young, he didn't quite understand the concept of shape-shifting. [/justify]

[justify]Sidestepping the powerful sweep of Octoberkit's tail, which seemed to be a force of nature in itself, the kit eyed him watchfully. Just a power. He found that answer a bit too elementary, a bit too unsatisfying. He was itching to delve into the nitty-gritty of powers and how they worked, but decided that perhaps not even Octoberkit himself knew. Phantasm was dubious though of the idea that he'd "hoped" his form into existence. Surely there was a little more to it than that? Was it really that easy? Then again, just about every average joe seemed to have powers.

The dark-haired tom looked the mastiff up and down appraisingly. "Boulder," he offered cheekily at his question, teeth flashing. "Or Pumpkin. Or just Octoberpup, I suppose." The black smoke swept his gaze distractedly back to his own reflection, undecided on what kind of body he himself would prefer... it felt odd to imagine himself as anything other than a feline. [/justify]

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[justify][size=8][font=georgia]Phantasmkit was beginning to feel weary with the constant humdrum of camp. He was bored - and it was the kind of boredom that seemed to blend restlessness and lethargy. Brooding, he sat in some corner of camp, the tip of his tail flicking idly, as if marking the seconds as they passed by.

The slim black smoke blinked up at the sky, which hung grey and dull above him, clogged with clouds that threatened rain. Or worse, freezing cold snow. The inklings of a frown tugged at his features, his small shoulders hunching against the chill that lurked in the air. What to do? He didn't really know many RiverClanners that well, and while he had no qualms about approaching strangers (ultimately, that's what they were), he itched for something that would last beyond a conversation.

He batted half-heartedly at a leaf that floated past him, the depths of the cavern RiverClan lived in quite airy today.

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[justify][size=8][font=georgia]Settling himself beside Hotch, Phantasmkit sat with his ears angled forward attentively, dark eyes on Vanillapastry. He was intrigued by herbs and healing, although he couldn't claim to know much about either. When she produced the small, delicate flowers and asked what they were, his brows furrowed.

"Marigold?" he offered, before seeming surprised at his own answer. He didn't actually know definitively what they were, but for some peculiar reason the rich gold of their petals just seemed to echo that name, even if it was not what they actually were. There was a vague impression, like a fingerprint on his memory, that lurked in the fringes of his mind. How was it that he'd never come across it before? Unlike Emilia, his memories were firmly sealed away, and he had no knowledge of who he might have been in a previous life.

A delicate frown curling on his muzzle, the dark-haired kit glanced around himself hesitantly, as if worried someone might sense his confusion. It would be easy enough though to mistake it for simple indecision at his own answer.

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[justify][size=8][font=georgia]Rosewater's pacing slowly drew Phantasmkit's attention, and he watched the serval circumnavigate the cave, his ears flicking idly as they drew closer.

"Hello," he replied smoothly, echoing their smile with a broad one of his own, teeth flashing. "Well, the sky, if you want to be technical. Stuffy old sky and some stuffy old clouds." He snorted. It was a dismal outlook, but the day was rather lackluster after all. Unlike Rosewater his thoughts didn't tend to wander to fanciful notions, and while he was often preoccupied, it wasn't exactly traveling musicians that came to mind. He wasn't quite as good at entertaining himself with such ideas, and so there was naught to do except languish in his boredom. "I'm Phantasm," he offered his name glibly. "What are you humming?"

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[justify][size=8][font=georgia]His dark little triangle of a nose wrinkled with distaste. "Plenty! It rained and I got wet yesterday," he answered Rosewater drolly, his babyish tone mostly feigned. Most frivolous nonsense that came out of Phantasmkit's mouth was usually faked to some degree; he was not generally one to act kittenish like others his age.

He didn't truly dislike the sky, but he wasn't fond of cold weather. Days when the clouds burned off underneath the hot sun, and the sky stretched impossibly blue from one horizon the next were his favorite. Today though the sunshine was weak and insipid, and did little to provide any warmth. But perhaps the clouds were pretty. It was unfortunate that he didn't really notice. Blinking at Arcanepaw's quip, he shot the canine an appreciative smile. He tipped his head toward Sylmae, but Rosewater had answered her already.

"Phantasm," he repeated amiably for Hotch, remembering the wolf's dark, rangy form from earlier. The tom-kit's own coat was nearly as dark, but interspersed with shades of variegated grey that made him look like smoke given shape. Unlike the wolf though, Phantasm revelled in the attention, although there certainly were times when he appreciated solitude. "The clouds aren't very obliging today," he replied, referring to their stormy appearance.

And just like that, a few rain drops splashed on ground, falling from the hole in the ceiling above.

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[justify][size=8][font=georgia]Perhaps it was all in his head, a strange coincidence, but a coincidence nonetheless. It would be easy enough to explain. His mother was a former medicine cat, even though she didn't talk much about those days, she could've mentioned herbs to him at some point when he was younger (even if she rarely seemed to show interest in them these days. Her amnesia seemed to leave her clouded sometimes). It would make sense then that he could remember things about them that he wasn't even sure even knew in the first place.

The kit wasn't quite ready to believe that though. There was the vague outline of a door in his mind, and the paint seemed to be peeling around the edges. If only he could pry it open just slightly. His phantom fingers couldn't quite feel for the handle though, and his memory of that moment at the herb training seemed vague and indistinct now, as if it hadn't really happened. As if he'd constructed the details himself, in a childish fantasy.

Phantasmkit's features were pinched in thought, a sprig of marigold at his dark paws. He'd brought this little scrap back with him, as if perhaps if he carried it with him it might jog his memory. If it seemed strange to others, perhaps they could just assume the young tom had taken an interest in healing. He hadn't really, even if medicine and their uses intrigued him.

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[justify][size=8][font=georgia]Dusk had settled, creeping into corners and nooks and deepening shadows. The moon hung fat and round in the sky, and Phantasmkit watched it musingly. He in all honesty wasn't particularly sure if he liked moonlight. Blue-toned and distant it seemed. At the same time the quiet that settled over camp as RiverClanners bedded down for the night was quite pleasant, and the young tom was quite content to sit out in the cool light. Spiderblade had checked on him before she'd gone to sleep herself for the night, and the queen didn't seem bothered by his late night contemplation. She was good like that; dutiful enough to see that her kit was fed, healthy and happy, and to also let him make some measure of his own decisions.

The two month old blinked, the glow worms above winking back at him from the cavernous ceiling. The dim light filtering through the gaping hole in the stone above seemed illuminate camp just enough to see the silvery outline of its walls. He would've liked to see what the forest outside was like at night, but it was reasonable to assume that the RiverClanner's who had taken the night patrol wouldn't be quite partial to that thought. So he stayed where he was, ears twitching thoughtfully.

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[justify][size=8][font=georgia]He hadn't expected to be found so quickly. Phantasmkit looked up at the advisor, ears flicking back with uncertainty. "Well..." He trailed off. He wasn't quite sure if he could explain his predicament to Lonewolf. Little did he know he was hardly the first to find that he remembered things he ought not to remember; so many of the Clans were rife with reincarnations running amuck. But Phantasmkit's world was still very small, and he was still young, so the tom-kit felt a bit ruffled at being caught out.

The others appeared before he could conjure up some suave reply to Lonewolf's question, and he inclined his head towards them. His dark hazel eyes widened a bit as Emi intervened on the marigold's behalf. Watching the tiny otter try desperately piece the petals together, the equally small kit coughed to himself. "Sorry... do you want me to fetch you some glue or something?" he asked, with a hint of amusement in his tone. He was a little more aware of the fact that the flower was a lost cause, but why rain on her parade? And well, he was also enjoying the show. Perhaps it would distract the others and give him an excuse not to go into the finer details of what exactly he'd been doing. And he imagined that Kali or Sylmae would be able to gently explain to the otter how the real world worked - likely far better than he could.

Noticing the disquiet in Kali's very blue eyes, the slim tom straightened, doing his best to appear nonchalant. "I wouldn't know. If it does though, I feel sorry for the healers." His nose wrinkled imperceptibly. That was what he imagined that medicine cats did all day - sit around chewing foul poultices. Emi would think it was carnage.

[ *chucks cans of muse at everyone* ]