Post by petserpit on May 1, 2015 12:06:57 GMT -5
Name: Plato
Gender: Male
Age: Late teens (18-19)
Tribe: Jellicles
Tribe Position:
Family: Lillian (Mother) – (Father Unknown) – Quickpaw (Mate)
Appearance: Plato is Greek-Thai by blood, a cross between an Aegean and a Khao Manee. Good food and dominant Aegean genes have blessed him with somewhat sinewy physique, solidity of the back, stomach and hips, but reoccurring kittenhood illness has left him somewhat stunted. In spite of his considerable strength, he bares an air of litheness. Willowy and fluid in movement, causing him to appear waspish in the eyes of many. His eyes are a pale golden shade, deep set and sharply accusing in his gaunt face. They are the strongest surviving trait of his father, as his mother occasionally noted. His ears are partially torn, with a mauled appearance, and an abundance of bite marks lay beneath the fur of his head and nape. The fur of his lower belly is thin, uneven with erratic scarring. His colouring is dominantly white, with bright planes of rust brown and black. His voice is low with a slight harshness to it's tone. He maintains a vague Grecian accent, passed on from his mother.
Human Appearance:
Personality: Plato is silent and inoffensive in his manner. He never approaches anyone, unless they so choose to approach him first and he never speaks until he is spoken to. It seems there is little ease in his countenance, during obligatory conversation. However, it would seem that there is some lustre in his will to conduct himself properly. Though his tone is hard, he has an ingrained and dutiful tendency to be stiffly polite and cautious. Especially to queens. Though this mentality often gives him the air of someone cold and lacking care and involvement, almost robotic. A sign that his mannerly and respectful ways in company, have merely been taught, not used out of empathy or consideration.
To the few whom he trusts well enough, he does show himself to have a wry, somewhat surreal sense of humour, which he expresses so dryly and fleetingly, that many miss the joke. He is also, privately admiring and compassionate to females. He seems to have an unusual mistrust of toms, which those who realize it, find rather baffling. However, his love for queens, in his mind, is boundless. They appear to him, as the stronger, more powerful of the sexes and wishes to treat them as such, albeit in a subdued manner.
Plato has a lingering fear of contamination. Due to persistent sickness in his youth, both internal and external, he maintains a fierce desire to keep himself clean. It would appear that his fur has thinned in many areas, and his skin has become raw beneath from excessive cleaning. He also has a tendency to chew on wads of herbs for medicinal purposes, and the bitter scent now permanently underlies his own. Plato does not much like the taste of meat, and only eats it because it is readily available and in abundance. He never eats offal, under any circumstance.
Faults: Plato's shell of disconnection is difficult to crack. He seems incapable, in early acquaintance, of providing any friendly, concerned or insightful behaviour. Though it is true that he answers to other to the best of his ability, conversing with him is a chore as well as uncomfortable to many. It would seem that through his wall of correctness and eloquence, there is no interest for any cat that may approach him. Though he is polite, his distrust and paranoia, burn bright in a seemingly unseeing gaze. His mind will appear to wander as you speak to him, as he concerns himself with other matters. He is essentially very poor at expressing interest and trust.
Plato's defensive skills leave a lot to be desired, as, in spite of a general grace of movement, he is completely tactless when it comes to fighting. He only ever goes for the face of his enemy, unleashing everything into the flesh of the face. While this can sometimes be affective, it still leaves limbs free to retaliate and damage him. He is incapable of play fighting, as his technique is too harmful to allow.
Describing Word: Disciplined
History: Plato was born in Hammersmith, in the month of February, of the immigrant Aegean, Lillian. One could never have called Lillian, overly maternal. She was self assured, immovable and a staunch disciplinarian. A stone face, with a sharp tongue and apparently nothing but fiery words for the kitten at her hip. A sickly kitten, Plato would suffer from persistent, seemingly unending viruses, fatigues, fevers and skin diseases. Plato, in the spirit of his youth, was racked with frustration and anger at his impedimenta, as they obstructed his strength and thirst for boisterous play. His frustration made him scream, curse, destruct that which lay about him, albeit feebly. His attempts to rebel against his sickness was fruitless, against the wrath and might of Lillian. She would scold him and shame him with words of his staving virtues. She would bite him a bat at him with the smartness of of Vulcan, striking a white hot blade with his hammer. These harsh acts silenced Plato, as, in spite of his kitten's mind, not a single one spoke hatred of him. Today, he knows in his heart, that not a day, hour, not a minute went by, when his Mother did not love him.
Plato knew of his father, only by threat. Though he lived in a stomach churning mingle of fear and admiration for his almighty Mother, she would frequently frighten him further for good measure. The picture she painted for the young tom, was that of a sinister Asian spirit, that would fly weightlessly, across the land to meet him in the midst of his poor behaviour. She assured him, that he could bite him harder and his tongue could lash more fiercely that she ever could manage. He would drag him into the dirt for his disrespectful actions towards her. This was the image that sealed Plato's mentality as a respectful youngster. Though achieved by hard means, his disciplined character would support him in the long run.
When Lillian, whom Plato had thought invincible, died after exposure during a cold snap, the tom became lost. With out the constant, heavy presence of his mother, a great emptiness gaped at the centre of Plato's life. For a time, he merely drifted about London, existing in a sort of disbelieving daze. The thing that gradually woke him from his mystification, was a fresh and budding love for a young queen, named Nuru. In the midst of his maturity, Plato had discovered his love of queens. He had always had an affection for females, in spite of a lack of experience, that was unmatched by that for males. He thought their manner more pleasant, strong, and their image a delightful bounty. He discovered a particular love for full bodied queens, as they gave off an aura of value and truth in his eyes. That was Nuru, a fat, golden queen. Although his attraction to her began with an image, it flourished with the flavour of her countenance. She had taken him in, a waif, and fed him on liver and heart. Immediately, he knew her to be nothing like his Mother. She spoke to him in the most foreign of ways, her voice lilted and gentle, as if he were something precious and delicate, that he might be subdued. It served as an endless comfort.
Broken from his stupor, Plato made it his duty to himself and the late Lillian, to thicken his skin. He released the repressed kittenhood energy, pushing his body to toughen to the city environment. Although he lived alongside Nuru, and she indulged him with sweet morsels, he began to train himself to hunt properly.
One day, in the Autumn months, he had been awaiting Nuru's presence, only to be met by a stranger. A pale and lank creature, baring an undeniably similar scent and countenance to Nuru. Plato guessed a friendly or blood connection. The cat introduced itself as Valentine. It presented him with a plump, fresh heart, wrapped in creamy cloth. It said, quoting Nuru;
“I am with you in all but voice.”
Plato ate, without question, though he eyed Valentine, who watched silently as he consumed the heart, with uneasy question. It smiled that same, soft and lulling smile that he was so familiar with. When he had finished, licking the blood from his lips, Valentine rose, ever smiling.
“Take care of Nuru, fresh vessel.” It whispered, before diving at Plato's feet, lunging at the base of his belly.
It had all happened too fast, and it had not occurred to Plato, until some days later, that Valentine had attempted to emasculate him with his teeth. He remember fighting it awkwardly, frantically. Trying to press that steel, serpentine body into the ground, away from his exposed vulnerability. Catching it's snapping jaw in a vice, and sinking his claws into the flesh of it's cheeks, slick with the saliva frothing through it's teeth. He remembered the last glimpse of it's torn and bloodied face, contorted with rage as he fled the area. Choking sobs and the burn of adrenaline, held his body for hours after he had collapsed somewhere unknown.
Another spell of disconnection fell over Plato, though this time, it was one of fear. Acute paranoia that plagued his every waking moment, as he feared that Valentine would reappear, spurting saliva through it's cheeks, like soap bubbles through moth eaten rags. It was some months after the incident that the Jellicles discovered Plato, his body stiffened with anxiety and damp with tears and sweat of hysteria. It took some while to settle Plato into the tribe, as for the first few days, all he did was sit, curled up and whisper about cats with holes in their cheeks. Plato never spoke to anyone, even as the fear seeped away, he began to dwell on his act of cannibalism. A wave of remorse and guilt passed over him, and he began to obsessively vomit. Retching until he could bring up nothing but clear bile. Trying to clear away all traces of Nuru from his being, trying to “set him free” from him, as he was convinced that he could feel the dear creature writhing in his stomach. He thought Nuru a “him”, because he had finally made the connection between the similar scents of Nuru and Valentine. Nuru was not a queen, he had been a eunuch.
As the elder Jellicles nursed Plato through this agonizing period, through the haze of fear and guilt and sickness, the virtues and teachings of Lillian, began to peak through again. Mother loved, even in death, he later concluded. Even with the eventual return to deep set virtue, amongst the company of the Jellicles, Plato remained affected from his encounter, and his sin. Despite it, he still tries to keep a straight face, to stay strong in his surroundings, and distance himself from others, to prevent such a grave mistake from weighing heavy on him. While he has, though rarely, mentioned his upbringing as well as his assault, he has never confided in anyone about the ritual of Nuru, and his involuntary consumption of his heart.
Some years into his time with the tribe, nearing the peak of the Jellicle ball, Plato was met with the opportunity to take Victoria as his mate, thus sealing her status as a fully matured queen. He is ashamed, even now, to admit that it was due, merely to having been mesmerized by her grace and exotic beauty that he had done the deed. In the days proceeding the ball, he was saddened and humbled to discover that the bond between them was so very brittle and weak. Forced. He had moved in to quickly. He had felt disgusted with himself, that he had taken Victoria, without ever having loved her and within the week, he presented her with a sincere, if unemotional apology. This left both himself and Victoria, dazed and somewhat empty, as they had both cared for each other, but no love had been present between them. It was some time proceeding this chain of events, that Quickpaw entered Plato's life. He had known of her presence in the tribe for quite some time, having exchanged brief smiles with her from time to time, but he had never become acquainted with her, until the fall of his relationship with Victoria. At first he was not sure what to make of her. He was slightly bemused, though greatly fascinated, by her seemingly boundless motivation to lift his spirits. After quite some time, trying again and again to cheer him up, the bright young queen managed to elicit a chuckle from the previously unmovable tom. Like hat, the barrier was broken, and the two began to bond mutually. They grew closer and closer as the weeks went by, revealing more of themselves to each other, their mentalities slowly melding. However, Plato still kept the darkness of his past hidden from her. It weighs heavy on his conscience. Their relationship finally concluded, when they agreed that, at the coming of the next Jellicle ball, they would formally become mates. They have committed themselves to each other.
RP Sample: He gazed silently at the slight and mottled queen, as exchanged soft and languid words with the two, matronly elders. He trained his eyes upon light gestures of her hands as she told an amusing tale with great enthusiasm. He did not think it right to look into her face, though it grew ever brighter as she laughed heartily at their wise old quips. He merely stood dormant, a few feet away from the scene, staring intently at the movement of her hands. Even as he felt her eyes fall upon him, he never raised his own to meet her gaze. It was only at the beckon of her finger, which many have been jarring to anyone else, that he nodded and walked forward to meet the little party. He took both her hands and kissed them fleetingly. He felt her smile again.
“Did you hear the story, Plato?” She asked him, her voiced laced with humour, he supposed, at his refusal to look at her properly. He confirmed;
“Certainly.”
Comments: Quickpaw, feel free to message me, if you wish to discuss anything.
Gender: Male
Age: Late teens (18-19)
Tribe: Jellicles
Tribe Position:
Family: Lillian (Mother) – (Father Unknown) – Quickpaw (Mate)
Appearance: Plato is Greek-Thai by blood, a cross between an Aegean and a Khao Manee. Good food and dominant Aegean genes have blessed him with somewhat sinewy physique, solidity of the back, stomach and hips, but reoccurring kittenhood illness has left him somewhat stunted. In spite of his considerable strength, he bares an air of litheness. Willowy and fluid in movement, causing him to appear waspish in the eyes of many. His eyes are a pale golden shade, deep set and sharply accusing in his gaunt face. They are the strongest surviving trait of his father, as his mother occasionally noted. His ears are partially torn, with a mauled appearance, and an abundance of bite marks lay beneath the fur of his head and nape. The fur of his lower belly is thin, uneven with erratic scarring. His colouring is dominantly white, with bright planes of rust brown and black. His voice is low with a slight harshness to it's tone. He maintains a vague Grecian accent, passed on from his mother.
Human Appearance:
Personality: Plato is silent and inoffensive in his manner. He never approaches anyone, unless they so choose to approach him first and he never speaks until he is spoken to. It seems there is little ease in his countenance, during obligatory conversation. However, it would seem that there is some lustre in his will to conduct himself properly. Though his tone is hard, he has an ingrained and dutiful tendency to be stiffly polite and cautious. Especially to queens. Though this mentality often gives him the air of someone cold and lacking care and involvement, almost robotic. A sign that his mannerly and respectful ways in company, have merely been taught, not used out of empathy or consideration.
To the few whom he trusts well enough, he does show himself to have a wry, somewhat surreal sense of humour, which he expresses so dryly and fleetingly, that many miss the joke. He is also, privately admiring and compassionate to females. He seems to have an unusual mistrust of toms, which those who realize it, find rather baffling. However, his love for queens, in his mind, is boundless. They appear to him, as the stronger, more powerful of the sexes and wishes to treat them as such, albeit in a subdued manner.
Plato has a lingering fear of contamination. Due to persistent sickness in his youth, both internal and external, he maintains a fierce desire to keep himself clean. It would appear that his fur has thinned in many areas, and his skin has become raw beneath from excessive cleaning. He also has a tendency to chew on wads of herbs for medicinal purposes, and the bitter scent now permanently underlies his own. Plato does not much like the taste of meat, and only eats it because it is readily available and in abundance. He never eats offal, under any circumstance.
Faults: Plato's shell of disconnection is difficult to crack. He seems incapable, in early acquaintance, of providing any friendly, concerned or insightful behaviour. Though it is true that he answers to other to the best of his ability, conversing with him is a chore as well as uncomfortable to many. It would seem that through his wall of correctness and eloquence, there is no interest for any cat that may approach him. Though he is polite, his distrust and paranoia, burn bright in a seemingly unseeing gaze. His mind will appear to wander as you speak to him, as he concerns himself with other matters. He is essentially very poor at expressing interest and trust.
Plato's defensive skills leave a lot to be desired, as, in spite of a general grace of movement, he is completely tactless when it comes to fighting. He only ever goes for the face of his enemy, unleashing everything into the flesh of the face. While this can sometimes be affective, it still leaves limbs free to retaliate and damage him. He is incapable of play fighting, as his technique is too harmful to allow.
Describing Word: Disciplined
History: Plato was born in Hammersmith, in the month of February, of the immigrant Aegean, Lillian. One could never have called Lillian, overly maternal. She was self assured, immovable and a staunch disciplinarian. A stone face, with a sharp tongue and apparently nothing but fiery words for the kitten at her hip. A sickly kitten, Plato would suffer from persistent, seemingly unending viruses, fatigues, fevers and skin diseases. Plato, in the spirit of his youth, was racked with frustration and anger at his impedimenta, as they obstructed his strength and thirst for boisterous play. His frustration made him scream, curse, destruct that which lay about him, albeit feebly. His attempts to rebel against his sickness was fruitless, against the wrath and might of Lillian. She would scold him and shame him with words of his staving virtues. She would bite him a bat at him with the smartness of of Vulcan, striking a white hot blade with his hammer. These harsh acts silenced Plato, as, in spite of his kitten's mind, not a single one spoke hatred of him. Today, he knows in his heart, that not a day, hour, not a minute went by, when his Mother did not love him.
Plato knew of his father, only by threat. Though he lived in a stomach churning mingle of fear and admiration for his almighty Mother, she would frequently frighten him further for good measure. The picture she painted for the young tom, was that of a sinister Asian spirit, that would fly weightlessly, across the land to meet him in the midst of his poor behaviour. She assured him, that he could bite him harder and his tongue could lash more fiercely that she ever could manage. He would drag him into the dirt for his disrespectful actions towards her. This was the image that sealed Plato's mentality as a respectful youngster. Though achieved by hard means, his disciplined character would support him in the long run.
When Lillian, whom Plato had thought invincible, died after exposure during a cold snap, the tom became lost. With out the constant, heavy presence of his mother, a great emptiness gaped at the centre of Plato's life. For a time, he merely drifted about London, existing in a sort of disbelieving daze. The thing that gradually woke him from his mystification, was a fresh and budding love for a young queen, named Nuru. In the midst of his maturity, Plato had discovered his love of queens. He had always had an affection for females, in spite of a lack of experience, that was unmatched by that for males. He thought their manner more pleasant, strong, and their image a delightful bounty. He discovered a particular love for full bodied queens, as they gave off an aura of value and truth in his eyes. That was Nuru, a fat, golden queen. Although his attraction to her began with an image, it flourished with the flavour of her countenance. She had taken him in, a waif, and fed him on liver and heart. Immediately, he knew her to be nothing like his Mother. She spoke to him in the most foreign of ways, her voice lilted and gentle, as if he were something precious and delicate, that he might be subdued. It served as an endless comfort.
Broken from his stupor, Plato made it his duty to himself and the late Lillian, to thicken his skin. He released the repressed kittenhood energy, pushing his body to toughen to the city environment. Although he lived alongside Nuru, and she indulged him with sweet morsels, he began to train himself to hunt properly.
One day, in the Autumn months, he had been awaiting Nuru's presence, only to be met by a stranger. A pale and lank creature, baring an undeniably similar scent and countenance to Nuru. Plato guessed a friendly or blood connection. The cat introduced itself as Valentine. It presented him with a plump, fresh heart, wrapped in creamy cloth. It said, quoting Nuru;
“I am with you in all but voice.”
Plato ate, without question, though he eyed Valentine, who watched silently as he consumed the heart, with uneasy question. It smiled that same, soft and lulling smile that he was so familiar with. When he had finished, licking the blood from his lips, Valentine rose, ever smiling.
“Take care of Nuru, fresh vessel.” It whispered, before diving at Plato's feet, lunging at the base of his belly.
It had all happened too fast, and it had not occurred to Plato, until some days later, that Valentine had attempted to emasculate him with his teeth. He remember fighting it awkwardly, frantically. Trying to press that steel, serpentine body into the ground, away from his exposed vulnerability. Catching it's snapping jaw in a vice, and sinking his claws into the flesh of it's cheeks, slick with the saliva frothing through it's teeth. He remembered the last glimpse of it's torn and bloodied face, contorted with rage as he fled the area. Choking sobs and the burn of adrenaline, held his body for hours after he had collapsed somewhere unknown.
Another spell of disconnection fell over Plato, though this time, it was one of fear. Acute paranoia that plagued his every waking moment, as he feared that Valentine would reappear, spurting saliva through it's cheeks, like soap bubbles through moth eaten rags. It was some months after the incident that the Jellicles discovered Plato, his body stiffened with anxiety and damp with tears and sweat of hysteria. It took some while to settle Plato into the tribe, as for the first few days, all he did was sit, curled up and whisper about cats with holes in their cheeks. Plato never spoke to anyone, even as the fear seeped away, he began to dwell on his act of cannibalism. A wave of remorse and guilt passed over him, and he began to obsessively vomit. Retching until he could bring up nothing but clear bile. Trying to clear away all traces of Nuru from his being, trying to “set him free” from him, as he was convinced that he could feel the dear creature writhing in his stomach. He thought Nuru a “him”, because he had finally made the connection between the similar scents of Nuru and Valentine. Nuru was not a queen, he had been a eunuch.
As the elder Jellicles nursed Plato through this agonizing period, through the haze of fear and guilt and sickness, the virtues and teachings of Lillian, began to peak through again. Mother loved, even in death, he later concluded. Even with the eventual return to deep set virtue, amongst the company of the Jellicles, Plato remained affected from his encounter, and his sin. Despite it, he still tries to keep a straight face, to stay strong in his surroundings, and distance himself from others, to prevent such a grave mistake from weighing heavy on him. While he has, though rarely, mentioned his upbringing as well as his assault, he has never confided in anyone about the ritual of Nuru, and his involuntary consumption of his heart.
Some years into his time with the tribe, nearing the peak of the Jellicle ball, Plato was met with the opportunity to take Victoria as his mate, thus sealing her status as a fully matured queen. He is ashamed, even now, to admit that it was due, merely to having been mesmerized by her grace and exotic beauty that he had done the deed. In the days proceeding the ball, he was saddened and humbled to discover that the bond between them was so very brittle and weak. Forced. He had moved in to quickly. He had felt disgusted with himself, that he had taken Victoria, without ever having loved her and within the week, he presented her with a sincere, if unemotional apology. This left both himself and Victoria, dazed and somewhat empty, as they had both cared for each other, but no love had been present between them. It was some time proceeding this chain of events, that Quickpaw entered Plato's life. He had known of her presence in the tribe for quite some time, having exchanged brief smiles with her from time to time, but he had never become acquainted with her, until the fall of his relationship with Victoria. At first he was not sure what to make of her. He was slightly bemused, though greatly fascinated, by her seemingly boundless motivation to lift his spirits. After quite some time, trying again and again to cheer him up, the bright young queen managed to elicit a chuckle from the previously unmovable tom. Like hat, the barrier was broken, and the two began to bond mutually. They grew closer and closer as the weeks went by, revealing more of themselves to each other, their mentalities slowly melding. However, Plato still kept the darkness of his past hidden from her. It weighs heavy on his conscience. Their relationship finally concluded, when they agreed that, at the coming of the next Jellicle ball, they would formally become mates. They have committed themselves to each other.
RP Sample: He gazed silently at the slight and mottled queen, as exchanged soft and languid words with the two, matronly elders. He trained his eyes upon light gestures of her hands as she told an amusing tale with great enthusiasm. He did not think it right to look into her face, though it grew ever brighter as she laughed heartily at their wise old quips. He merely stood dormant, a few feet away from the scene, staring intently at the movement of her hands. Even as he felt her eyes fall upon him, he never raised his own to meet her gaze. It was only at the beckon of her finger, which many have been jarring to anyone else, that he nodded and walked forward to meet the little party. He took both her hands and kissed them fleetingly. He felt her smile again.
“Did you hear the story, Plato?” She asked him, her voiced laced with humour, he supposed, at his refusal to look at her properly. He confirmed;
“Certainly.”
Comments: Quickpaw, feel free to message me, if you wish to discuss anything.
