Posts by georges

GENERAL INFO — *+:☽

( eden simul stamus midday / agender & female pronouns )

— twelve months / born in the springtime / ages sporadically

— volary flights / member / former loner

GENETICS & RELATIONSHIPS — *+:☽

( james midday x npc / sibling to aristotle midday )

— demi or aromantic / single / not looking

— ½ of...

AESTHETIC — *+:☽

( physical health: 100% / mental health: 100% )

— domestic feline shapeshifter

— eden is a very pretty feline. she has a pair of large doe eyes, a demure disposition, and a graceful air. her fur is long and silky; a mousy brown-gray lynx point with cream-lilac accents and white toes, with other white accents under her eyes. when angered or feeding, she transforms into a huge, gnarling monster. wolflike and massive, she become a hulking, bloodthirsty hybrid.

PERSONALITY — *+:☽

( ravenclaw primary, hufflepuff secondary / neutral good )

— blank, calm, distant, awkward, unemotional, indifferent

— eden doesn’t have much of an understanding of real emotion and social connections, but that doesn’t make her cold nor callous. she is a friendly and warm person, albeit a bit distant, and confidently indifferent.

INTERACTION — *+:☽

( physically neutral / mentally difficult / angel faced killer )

— aspiring healer / excellent fighter / will start fights

— attack in white or @ account

— powerplaying nonviolent/healing actions is allowed

OTHER — *+:☽

( heartchart / ask.fm / studies & storage )

— penned by Bellus / pm this account for plots

name: Eden Simul Stamus Midday

position wanted: Swan of Healing

backup: Vulture of War

experience: Eden is strong willed and whipsmart. She has a tactician’s mind, and that can be applied to both healing and warfare.

Paws pressed firmly upon the jungle ground, Eden stood a rigid and awkward presence among the ebb and flow of the traffic current. Her eyes were downcast, entrapped upon the confines of parchment as she soaked up new knowledge like a sponge. Alone, tucked within a corner of camp, Eden read her book with shoulders tense.

Did she want to be interrupted? No. Was it expected? Definitely. Eden was keenly aware of the throes of clanlife, including the apparent lack of privacy. She wasn’t upset, however — she flickered honeyed brown eyes up to meet the quirky crumbling exterior of the serpentine child that approached her, watching calmly as the stumbled through his words like there was cotton stuck to his teeth. But as he floundered, her restless mind was quickly taken away to semi-related reaches. For instance, how could someone be good at reading? Was it based on speed, or eloquence of reading aloud? Maybe it depended on comprehension, but that largely just depended on education.

Snapped from her thoughts due to an awkward silence stretching before her, Eden realized that the boy was waiting for her to answer a question. She blinked, quiet for another moment, before flipping her book closed and showing Elanor the cover. “Mythological Beasts of the Northwest,” she said a little robotically, and unknowing on where northwest referred to. “I got it from a local merchant,” she added tunelessly, a smile pressing against her maw for politeness sake.

Eden knew nothing of this creature and his inner turmoil. Call her new, new to everything really, but when her daily stroll had been interrupted by the great clashing and clattering of earth, her first reaction had not been attack. Instead, the dainty form of the fluffy feline had drawn to a halt when she’d discovered the noise, wide eyes taking in the trembling form before her. A quick glance assured her that no one had been injured yet — he’d picked a rather vacant side of town, so she was the first responder.

Slipping away from her hiding spot near the trunk of a tree, Eden’s gait lead her closer to the intruder, ears abuzz with potential threat. Her bones ached. “HEY!” she hollered over the sound of crashing rock and rubble, her voice carrying surprisingly well and perhaps a bit too ghoulish for this form. Her face was hardened and unresponsive to the chaos. “GET OUT OF HERE!” Perhaps not the best route to take, but her choice nonetheless.

Oh. So that’s what was happening. The terrible force of this youngling creature was focused not upon some wayward mistake, but by deliberate action. He picked up the earth with a sullen detachment and slung it at their home with intent to harm — it wasn’t until a massive hunk of rock and rubble was careening toward her that Eden could finally burst into action.

Her limbs twisted, joints popping and snapping violently as her body bubbled. Skin melted away into dark brown, coarse fur; her frame began to grow and change. Suddenly standing in the place of Eden was a large and violent monster, something of a bear and wolf, whose red eyes locked upon Ritsu with a blind purpose.

She quickly lunged at the intruder with her gaping jaw gnashing and slobbering wildly. She intended to bowl him over, hopefully snapping his mental hold on the earth, and hold him to the ground with her mighty paws.

INFORMATION —

☾ georges leblanc midday

☾ pansexual | hopeless romantic | masculine

☾ ten months | vierge | ages irregularly

☾ loner | french immigrant | reminisces of the old world

RELATIONSHIPS — RULES OF ENGAGEMENT — KILLER CUTIE

☾ single | [ 0 ] crushes | [ 0 ] "maybe" crushes

☾ jamieson midday x caroline leblanc | half sibling to aristotle midday

☾ ½ of...

VISUALS — DOMESTIC FELINE HYBRID — STATUS: STRONG [100%]

☾ half domestic feline half lynx; appears more domestic, but has a wild undertone

☾ rich brown fur comprised of acorn and chestnut hues and faint, marbled tabby; low white accents

☾ thin and very silky fur, tufted ears, very graceful features and high cheekbones; a roguish mix of noble and pauper origins; thin and limber frame

☾ wide, beautiful honey yellow eyes

— injuries: n/a

PERSONALITY — HUFFLEPUFF PRIMARY, GRYFFINDOR SECONDARY — CHAOTIC GOOD

☾ strong sense of morale and justice; strives to achieve liberty and justice

☾ innately curious, seeks out knowledge at every turn

☾ lively and bright; hopeful, with a mischievous sense of humor

☾ vastly intelligent tactfully; becomes a different person in battle

CONFRONTATION & INTERACTION — LOVERBOY — UNEXPECTED BADASS — EUROPEAN

☾ difficult physically | close distance primary

☾ tactician’s brain | experienced fighter | will start and finish fights

☾ naturally peaceful | friendly | understanding but immovable

☾ can powerplay peaceful or non-violent actions

☾ attack in white underline & @ account | penned by Bellus

He couldn’t have been lost. He wasn’t, Georges was sure that he knew where he was and that he had come across the border of the Clan, but where did the border end? He traipsed along it, paws pressing against the ground as he moved forward, doe eyes cast inward toward the springtime glow of the territory. Every so often he would stop, scenting the air and calling out to hopefully catch the attention of someone that could be of aid to him, then he would step off again to repeat the process. He’d come a long way from his island home, following in the footsteps of his elder Aristotle, so he would be ashamed to stop now.

He did stop, just to call out again, uncertain. “Um, ‘ello?”

Oh. “Oh!” he said it aloud. The bright-eyed youth turned a quick pivot to stare at the approaching figure, smelling of moor-grass and wild flowers and rain. He blinked, once, twice, before his partially pale face flushed deeply pink. The whole way over he’d planned out his introduction, and yet there he was, at a loss for words.

The reason behind that extended farther than just surprise, however. “Ah, oui, ‘elp!” Georges offered, aristocratic face breaking out into a wide smile. “My name is Georges,” he began, English clunky and rough before it smoothed into a pleasant jeeorje of his own practiced name. “I would— I’m asking to join.” Obviously he was not a native speaker, though he’d been dutifully studying for preparation. His understanding was coming along nicely, but his speaking...

His smile fluttered a bit, and he breathed out a bit airily.

French he was! Terribly so, at that. Georges had grown up secluded among a group of snobs, surrounded by nothing but French-speakers that viewed him and his late mother as nothing but country bumpkins. He was happy to leave, following in the footsteps of his kin, though he knew that Aristotle lived here not when it was the Tribe, but WindClan according to his few letters.

Laureat responded quickly, so Georges had to snap his attention toward the other’s words to be able to comprehend. Chez Laureat? “I am an excellent navigateur,” he confided smoothly, pulling himself up together to smile and wink charmingly. “I can find my way, but... rest, s’il vous plait.”

//excuse my French because I’m super rusty

It was almost funny, watching someone peering at every scuff on the floor, but Georges didn’t quite outright laugh. There was a good natured smile placed upon his handsome features as he approached, padding forth on tentative paws. Truth be told, he had been doing almost the same thing; memorizing his routine, practicing language within his head, and coincidentally running into some equally familiar and unfamiliar faces.

Amidst a lull in his approach, Georges turned bashfully toward Laureat, feeling a bit like he intruded. “Le château... is he very old?” he wondered earnestly, head tilting unconsciously.

Georges padded forth curiously, honeyed eyes widening in stupendous interest as he snuck into the crowd as inconspicuously as possible. Where were these people from? BlizzardClan? Doit être froid.

As he sat and gazed curiously toward the duo, his ears caught snippets of the conversation and a realization hit him like a freight train. “Oh, mademoiselle!” he said, startled with himself. Where were his manners?! Georges looked toward Olivia brightly. “Félicitations! Do you, er, need anything?” He couldn’t contribute to the conversation due to his lack of knowledge in politics, but he could be a gentleman nonetheless!

He was brand new to the expansive, rolling fields of the bound meadow. They were so different from his island gardens, visions of wilting flowers and palm leaves nothing compared to the wide moors which stretched as far as the eye can see. Georges was captivated — amazed by the glory of the long, flowing grasses under the ethereal vision of the heavens above. Paradise, sure enough, splaying over the inky sky each and every evening; two of which Georges had been so lucky to witness. Not that the islands weren’t beautiful themselves, but he much preferred the newfound experience that the meadow had to offer.

Such was the reasoning behind his dedication to discovering every inch; conducting voyages that went all day, and sometimes into the night. Georges was naturally a curious soul, therefore trekking along a seemingly endless expanse of territory was hardly boring to him — it was thrilling, taking in the springtime visage of Mother Nature. He was faultless in his exploration, admiring every bit of the meadow from the smallest bubbling brook, to each blossoming wildflower. But as his third evening was drawing nearer, he had to confess to those heavens above that this was the most beautiful scene he had come across yet.

Perhaps a remnant of a time long ago, the castle stood steadfast on the green horizon, watching over a blooming orchard garden nestled within the folds of hilly earth. The trees were tall and spindly, full of life and huge white and pink flowers, their petals drifting casually through the breeze. The grass was plush and green under his paws, gnarled pathways cobbled into the earth along the tree lines. Bright yellow eyes took in the sights of ripening lemons, hanging from old rain-washed and age-eaten wooden posts as he ducked underneath them, weaving around stocks of lavender and baby’s breath. Bushes full of flowers wound up old fences; grapevines dotted perches close to the earth. The sound of birdsong lifted his tufted ears and made his heart sore, taking in every dip and swell of the lush flora surrounding him. Such boundless beauty — what did they use it for? The trees, or the morale. He could imagine parties here under the stars, lit up by colored lanterns hanging from the branches, swaying with music. Or maybe they just napped under the shade; drank wine and lemonade and cider from the plants.

Content, Georges sighed.

Georges swears, he promises, intègre! that he doesn’t get lost too easily, but Mon Dieu is he lost now. He crossed a border somewhere, maybe twice or more by now, but no matter how hard he tried to find his way back to the meadow he just ended up even more turned around. Granted, it was only a day’s travel, but he knew he had gone too far when he reached l’océan. It touched at his fawn paws softly, as if in consolation. If only he had a map, or more than three days knowledge of this new land — he wouldn’t have gotten himself into this mess. Truly, he didn’t know where he was.

Nonetheless, the ocean was a comfort. He didn’t realize that he missed the smell of salt, the feeling of white sands under his paw pads, so he found himself melting into the embrace of the warm, windy seafront. An old friend greeted him in the water, comforting his startled heart. Georges knew he could defend himself if needed; the ocean knew it too.

Feeling somewhat invigorated by a wave which had sent a few drops up to his face, Georges gathered himself up and set upon exploring this new place, and hopefully finding his way home. He padded upon the stand strongly, searching along each horizon for any sense of familiarity as he followed the waterline. He expected, initially, that the tall sidelining of stone would fade and lighten; it did, almost, but shadows grew the more he walked. Curious, Georges directed his gaze up, up, up to what should have been the sky, but what was instead—

“Une île?!” he gasped, stumbling back a bit before stumbling more. Startled, his nimble paws became clunky and useless as he slipped over the sand, sent careening down into a pothole at least seven feet deep. There was a small cavern on the beach which he had initially the foresight to avoid, but was now laying uselessly at the bottom of, damp and chest heaving for air.

After a few moments, feeling came back to his numb body, so Georges lifted to his paws with a groan. The cavern was small, its entrance trickling with sand, graying sky above visible from its gaping mouth. Oh, just his luck — lost and trapped. “Hello? Hello!” he called tentatively at first, voice raising as some small alarm grabbed him by the heart through his sore ribs. Dieu reste mon âme.

A disquiet settled underneath his skin, borne of finespun aristocracy, though fear served as another great equalizer. Several long, steep minutes passed where Georges became more and more agitated, a lump of cotton forming somewhere in his throat just from the stress of it. Too high to jump and too steep to climb, he would surely perish without assistance.

A great sigh of relief unraveled the anxiety coiled within him when a timid voice reached his velvety ears. A child, it seemed, but he would not complain to a child he may soon owe his life to. Un autre joueur, he thought to himself, squinting up at Lucas from here he stood back to the sun. “I am okay!” Georges called back, accent heavy on his tongue and thoroughly rattled from the fall; but alive.

The vines crept from the mouth of the cavern, twisting down upon him like sneaking fingers searching in the dark. He peered toward them, a bit miffed, but determined to get himself out of the hole. He approached eagerly, glancing up and down the vines to assess, then grabbing hold with his claws and twisting his limbs around for a better hold. This way he could get himself up about a foot, but there was only so much he could do with paws. They kept calling down at him, but he couldn’t quite make out what was being said.

“Pardon, mes ami! Perhaps you could... uhm, pull me up?” the domestic shouted up at the duo, honeyed eyes crinkling in concern. His body dared not betray him despite his quickly progressing fatigue; he would hold on, fight tooth and claw if he had to. Georges didn’t look forward to dying in a hole.

Briefly concerned, he remedied: “Pardon! I meant not to startle!”

She seemed meek, like a mouse trapped in the body of a cat, but the way she smiled expressed a sincerity of emotion with Georges could not help but to mirror. Olivia spoke tentatively, uncertain like a promise of rain, quite easily frazzled but resolute in her beliefs. He dipped his head at her declining of his offer respectfully, gaze resting upon her face as she then inquired of him. He smiled easily, a little less tightly-spun himself. “My name is Georges Leblanc Midday,” he greeted as smoothly as possible, the awkwardness of English in his mouth smoothed by the well-worn tenor of his name. “It is my pleasure to meet you. Might I say, your eyes are very beautiful,” Georges was sober in his words of flattery toward the elder feline, though the twinkle in his own eye and tilt of his smile betrayed him. They had the same eye color, did they not? He thought himself quite humorous in it all, masking comedy with manners like it was second nature. He continued, youthful and chipper. “Enchanté, mademoiselle...” had he missed her name?

I’d love for an interaction with Georges! He’s pretty new here, and I could see them being friends!

A little about Georges!

- He’s inspired by Brian Wiles’ interpretation of the Marquis de Lafayette

- He comes from a distant island; his mother was of noble blood, but his father was a player

- His older half brother Aristotle Midday lived here when it was still WindClan

- He understands English, but is still grappling with speaking it; very thick accent

I’m sure I’ll think of more later! :,^)

The castle was grand and glorious, though well worn with an age before his time. Its walls were foreboding, whispering with timeless tales, golden glow, and fascinating memories. Georges was captivated by it, hence his presence among one of the largest rooms in the common area. He’d chatted with a friendly canine just moments prior, taking their advice to heart — “no one here really knows each other; people come and go,” to him meant action.

“Bonsoir, mes amis!” the pretty feline announced, gentle voice echoing off the stone walls. A few faces gave him funny looks for his bluntness, but he took no heed. “I would like to conduct a meet and greet!” There, that should do it. Setting his jaw, he waited eagerly.