Post by Basile on Nov 2, 2011 20:22:14 GMT -6
The Basics
Name ://: Dementia
Age ://: Thirty - Six
Breed ://: Haruba
Theme ://: Winter Cursed
The Personality
Bold ://: This is definitely not a kitty to try an bluff out of anything. He'll call you on it in a heartbeat, even if he knows he's wrong, just to show that he's not afraid. Whether it be a creature ten times his size, or simply going against the norm for his species, this haruba will do what he wants, when he wants, and he just doesn't care what anyone thinks of him for it.
Callous ://: This is probably not the person you want to make crude jokes around. Dementia lacks the essential brain to mouth filter that most things are born with. For that matter he lacks the brain the eye filter, and the brain the paws filter, and just about every filter one could think of. If something pops into his head, he says it, regardless of the consequences. If he thinks someone a foul pig, he says so, and the same if he finds something that's meant to be serious quite funny. He simply doesn't care if he offends, or if he makes enemies with his words. To Dementia, his own opinion is the only one that matters.
Reclusive ://: Can you really blame this haruba for not liking company? He's seen so much betrayal that he's lost his faith in cat kind. Perhaps it's just better to rely on oneself and no one else. True, it can be lonely at times, but there's no risk of getting hurt. No one to betray you, lie, to you, or turn their back on you. No one to run away when you need them there most. No, it is much better to be alone, and Dementia will fight tooth and claw to keep his home safe from the dangers of others.
The History
Some of us are born knowing who we will be, what we will become. And some of us are not. Personally, I was one of those that fell soundly into the second category. I was just a normal haruba kite, born with a sister in the middle of the blazing desert heat. My life was pretty simple. I quickly established dominance over my sister, and while we were with our mother, the little she-cat was my servant, happy to comply with my every whim. That's probably a lot of my problem, right there. I never had to do anything for myself. Perhaps if I had, I wouldn't have ended up in this mess...
It all started out so easy. I left my mother and my sister and struck out on my own. Perhaps a bit early, but then I had always been the impatient sort. I wandered for days until I found the perfect place to settle. It was a small oasis in the middle of the blistering desert, surrounded on all sides by lush greenery and absolutely teeming with life as all creatures, both big and small, came to drink there. The most picturesque hunting grounds if I'd ever seen one. But of course, there was no way such a pretty piece of land wasn't already claimed. It was an older Haruba that I met there, his fur bleached by the desert sun to match the land around him. I met him with claws extended, of course, and used my youth and superior size against him. The old one did not last long.
What I did not know then, as the old one slunk off to tend his wounds in some unknown part of the desert, was that he had a mate with him. That mate, seeing that her male had been driven off, quickly ran after him, her green fur flashing in the bright light. I paused briefly, to admire her retreating form. If only I'd realized then what I knew a few moments later, I would have run the she-cat into the ground and drug her back to the den by the scruff of her neck. I didn't, though, and by the time I did, the pair was long out of site. There was no way I was leaving this prime patch of land unprotected, so I let them be.
As I was settling into my new home, I realized something about myself. I was, for the most part, a rather generous person. I stalked around the oasis several times before they gave themselves away. A soft whimper, just on the edge of my hearing, that was all. But it was enough to snap my head around to the thick tangle of bushes. I stalked closer to it, my hackles raised, hissing in warning. The sound did not come again, but now that the silence had been broken, I was not going to stop until I had seen every last inch of my new home. What I found in those bushes both shocked and appalled me.
There were kites. Three of them.
One, the smallest, was still and cold, his white fur stained red from the punctures in his neck. Obviously his mother had tried to move him, but had ended up killing him instead. I turned away from him, my eyes searching the deepest recesses of that dark, green cavern. I saw them, then. Two more kites, huddled together and trembling with their fear. They were about halfway grown and obviously healthy, unlike their dead brother. In front was the she-kite, beautiful in her deep pink and orange coat. Though she trembled, she blocked her brown brother and hissed valiantly at me in an effort to be brave.
Despite myself, I tossed my head back and chuckled, my fur settling back into place. I knew I should find their presence offensive and distasteful, but I simply found them amusing. What I did not understand was how their parents could have so callously abandoned them. Thinking back to the moments before, I felt disgusted at my admiration of the retreating green coat of the she-cat. How could she leave her own kites? I would have been devastated if my own mother had done such a thing to me.
And so it was that I found myself, barely an adult myself, and a male at that, taking care of two kites that I had no relationship to at all. The first thing I did, after assuring the two that I was not going to kill them, was take the white kite outside, out into the hot sands, and bury him beneath the surface. It seemed more fitting for him, rather than let him be ravaged by the scavengers of the desert. After that, it was simply a matter of convincing the kites that I was not going to suddenly turn on them. It was an easy thing to do. Mostly, I just ignored them. Day by day, they ventured closer to me, bent their heads to drink with me in their sites, even began to sleep together rather than taking turns on watch.
Somehow we became a content, happy little family unit, and the kites grew.
However, as all kites do, they eventually grew too big, too self sufficient, to remain at my oasis. The male left quickly, never quite comfortable in my presence. The female stayed for a while longer, several years in fact, our territories overlapping so much that she was often at the oasis. And yet one day, she was gone as well. I waited for that she-cat for many seasons, but she did not return. Eventually, I had to accept that she had moved on, and I found my heart breaking. I had come to love the brave little kite, and her leaving felt to me like a betrayal. It felt to me like she had abandoned me, as her mother had abandoned her.
The oasis became a distasteful place to me after that. The food I caught turned my stomach, the water tasted rancid with the flavor of betrayal. So I moved on, leaving my perfect home that I had fought and won to whoever might come across it. I traveled far and wide, across the desert and out of it, through plains, towns, and even to the very edge of the world where the water began. Eventually I found myself in the mountains, where it was so cold that not a single soul was near. The hunting was poor, and the weather even worse, but there in the cold silence, I finally found my peace. And there is where I have stayed, my coat taking on the very essence of the mountain. I am one with the mountain, and it is one with me. Here I will remain, until the day the cold wraps me in her sweet, loyal embrace.
The mountain will not betray me. Of that I am certain.
