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Post by Moosefoot on Oct 29, 2012 22:10:34 GMT -5
* DON'T YOU CRY NO MORE *
NAME Moosefoot
GENDER Male
CLAN ShadowClan
RANK Warrior
APPRENTICE None
AGE 21 moons
DESCRIPTION A massive brown tom with yellow eyes.
APPEARANCE EMoosefoot, is named Moosefoot for a reason. It’s a good reason, really, with his broad shoulders, bulky build, and rather intimidating figure. Even as a kit, he was a large thing, and when he starting toddling around like a little mouse-brain, he used his big paws to trod on his older brother. His bone structure is a little thicker than what’s normal, but as far as deformities go, he’s got none. No old breaks, no new ones for that matter, no cracks or deformed growths. In fact, his structure is quite good, almost downright impressive. He’s sturdy, but tall, larger than quite a few of his Clan-mates, not that he doesn’t try and seem smaller, if for no other reason than to make them more comfortable talking to him. He’s larger than Deersprint, his shoulders easily above his elder’s, not that his sibling would let that go to his head, StarClan forbid. His muscles are thick, well made, and generally imposing to everyone he comes across. He’s a big tom, and he knows it, though he tends to move with a certain grace that is owned by all large felines.
His fur, is darker than his sibling’s, for that matter as well. Where his brother is a mixture of creams, ginger, and white, he’s a dark brown. To be more accurate, it’s a mixture of brown and lighter brown ( almost a tan of some sort), that covers his under carriage. This fur, is as long and attractive as his brother’s, even if it does take more up-keep than a short coat. The thick coat keeps him warm during winter, hot during summer, and teeth from grabbing his throat easily. He keeps it in good condition, so it’s relatively tangle free most of the time. It also helps him hide in shadows, with it’s dark color and all. Even his yellow eyes seem to go with the brown colored tones, giving them an almost vivid quality, and tend to always seem keen on something.
PERSONALITY
Anger-issues
This is perhaps the least obvious of his personality traits. It's the one he'd really rather you'd not know about in the slightest. It's the trait that he buries deep and hard, and still it rises like fur during a fight. This issue, because it is in an issue, has been around ever since he was a young apprentice, ever since he really started to become himself in the traditional sense. While it was the thought, and occasional sight, of his father, it really has wildly progressed, evolved, and worsened from that point on. The chances that he'll move on, let this anger go, is slim to none. Until that nonocurring day comes, however, he's saddled with this anger that seems to constantly burn in his chest, hot and painful with every breath. When confronted with a fight, that anger seems to coat his vision into red, and all he knows is the satisfaction of destroying an enemy, blood on his paws, and their pained screeches as they run for cover, away from him. Deersprint is the only one left who can really sooth that anger. Sandstream is dead, Bearclaw doesn't have the talent, and Rowanclaw only increases the fury at the sight of his face. Deersprint can generally help his brother keep a cap on it, though not very easily. He does it well enough that without him next to him, it's very likely that there would be quite a few more dead cats laying around, rotting. Without his kin near him, his temper all but runs his thoughts. His anger never truly recedes, it more simply settles, like a layer of oil over water, leaving a foul taste in his personality.
considerate
He may be a monster in a fight, willing to kill anything that comes across him, but outside of one of his fits of pure temper, he's quite the cat. He has a general rule of thumb that leads him to be considerate of other cats (that he likes), and careful of what he says to certain ones. That's one of the biggest points he and his brother differ, and often he finds himself rolling his eyes sky-ward, and sighing in that long suffering way of all burdened siblings. Another way to describe this, would perhaps be polite. He would rather not get himself into trouble, at least trouble that he can't fight his way out of. There are certain taboos that one apparently doesn't cross, and killing Clan-mates is one of those. He likes a good conversation with someone, and if you'd like those conversations to repeat, you tend not to piss those cats off. Deersprint doesn't seem to understand that, but who says the younger cats can't teach the older? Bearclaw isn't very hopeful about that, but he doesn't know Deersprint like Moosefoot does.
Smart
His brother is the loud, mouthy, cocky, womanizing one. Perhaps it's his romantic loss that encourages this aspect of Moosefoot. Perhaps it's the fact that he just lucked out on teh genetic lottery, tall, smart, and attractive. Either way, Moosefoot is the general brains of the operation, though it most often seems that Deersprint has a bit more in the way of obvious common sense, and Moosefoot tends to overthink things that really shouldn't be over thought. With his brains, he's the one who generally researches and finds out essential info that they need before they do anything that may get the pelts ripped off of their bodies. He's also the one that tends to be looking for a way out, if their enemy is more on Deersprint's level, while in other cases, he's the one trying to talk them free of a bad situation. Both ways has ended up with them with a few cuts and bruises, and that stupid smile on their faces when they escape, a rush of adrenaline still pounding through them. He's smarter than his brother, he just doesn't constantly remind him, finding it rude and distasteful. He has a tendency to brood, to think things over and over, even after it's beaten into the ground and bloody.
Quiet
His brother is the talkative, charming, suave one. Moosefoot is the quiet one who is content to watch the interactions of other cats, including his brother, to see the honest reactions of other cats. It's something that he perhaps approves of the most, not that he exactly approves of it. Some would say that he is like an overgrown shadow, constantly behind his older brother, and never having an overlarge amount to say to other cats, even cats he likes. He enjoys the peace and quiet of having a moment where nothing is going wrong, when he and his sibling aren't off on a 'job', where the night sky is something that can be taken in an enjoyed in all it's quiet brilliance. There have been a few times, times he considers some of his dearest memories with his brother, of just lying there, looking at the night sky as the stars came out, and just looking. It's nights like that, that make him feel small, and that's no mean feat. He's also content to listen to other cats talk, and to listen. He likes the sound of voices, though they may not be 'soothing'.
HISTORY kit
Born to the second litter of Rowanclaw and Lightheart. He was the only survivor, but he was given an edge by being the largest of his litter. Moosekit never knew his mother, nothing beyond the scent of safety and love at least, and to him, his strongest memories of the nursery include Deersprint, then Deerpaw, the sound of his voice and the feel of his brother’s fur against his. His brother was there, when his father wasn’t (refused to be), and after a time, he started resenting the presence of their father. Their father who fought only shadows in his mind, who had no time for him and his brother any longer. Their father who only dealt with his sons when he must. However, it would be a long time before he realized that he had grown to resent his father and what he stood for. He never hated his brother, how could he? His brother was his world, for those first six moons of his life. From when he was kitted and to when he became an apprentice, were such abnormal times in other’s eyes, that he seemingly forgot the world outside of his one cat family.
At least, until his brother seemingly sank into his training, giving the adventurous, polite kit time to explore the camp for himself. He found himself at the medicine cat den, watching, learning, questioning the cats he found there. He liked Bluefur well enough, the tom was old and tended to loose his attention, but it was Ravenpaw who also indulged his curiosity that made him happy. He learned happily, and it’s hard to say, but perhaps it was for a short while that he dreamed of dabbling in medicine, that perhaps StarClan would change the rules and he could learn along side the she-cat. He was wrong, of course, but when your that young, and unsure about your own future, any future was precious to you. He had asked to become an apprentice to Bluefur, but it was Ravenpaw who gently turned him down, telling him that the path was not open to him, that it was blocked by two sets of prints already, and the trail could only be marked by two sets. He moped for awhile, but he came around, eventually.
With time, and crushing knowledge he‘d never obtain his dream, he wandered away from the medicine den to his own devices, often following in his brother’s wake, or at least at his shoulder. It amused the Clan, perhaps in a sad way, that the young tom was never far from his older sibling, taking cues and learning from the older tom, while making his own mind up about situations.
apprentice
The fact that his brother was his only kin at his apprentice ceremony was not lost on him. His brother’s ginger pelt was the thing he focused on, keeping his heart from galloping out of his chest as he was given (perhaps reluctantly) a grizzled warrior for a mentor. Bearclaw was an older tom, who accepted no half-answer to any question asked. He also drilled him on everything he knew, from hunting to fighting, to everything in between, leaving the gangly apprentice almost too tired to stumble into camp at night, at least at first. Rowanclaw made an appearance in his life again, really for the first time, and the joy he felt at finally being worth his father’s time was almost overwhelming. Between the two, he knew he was going to be one of the best warriors in the forest, the fear of anything that he came across. If only he could keep his eyes open while eating, and talking to his brother, who he had been separated from, if only by the schedule they were on.
Deerpaw became a warrior, and he yowled his brother’s name with the rest of the Clan, pride making him sit taller and watch keenly, hoping his brother’s smart mouth wouldn’t come into play. Now that Deersprint was a warrior, their days were gone from between them, leaving them only evenings to speak quietly, catching up on what they missed of each other during the day. It was during this time, that his brother drifted from him. As if, now that he could connect to their father on a more personal level, a warrior’s level, Moosepaw was good on his own, watching them pad away and carry on with each other. It was during one fit of reluctant jealousy that he really noticed Sandpaw, aside from thinking how warm she felt sleeping in the nest next to his.
How did he do this? He ruined her hunt, ran into her, and almost clawed her ears off. Needless to say, she wasn’t thrilled with him. However, when he looked into her eyes, (so pretty) his jealousy, hurt, rage, and resentment vanished, cooled for a moment. Then it was gone, and the feelings were back, and his nerves escalated. She had the audacity to laugh at his expression, and from that hour on, he and his new friend were rarely from each other’s site. He stopped asking if Deersprint would like to hunt with him, if he could go on patrols with him, because really, the answer had been ‘doesn’t Bearclaw have something else for you to do?’ from his father, or ‘ Sorry, Dad already asked. Next time, for sure!’ Instead, he abandoned Rowanclaw and Deersprint the way he had felt left behind in the apprentice’s den by them, Sandpaw and Bearclaw becoming his family, and he was honestly surprised that he really did think of Bearclaw as his replacement father.
Not that he didn’t miss his brother. Badly. Things didn’t seemed destined to change, however.
warrior
He was glad his brother attended his ceremony, it wasn’t like the older tom just ignored it. Ignored him. However, things had gone so long, so unsaid, so unheard that they were beyond repair. Sandstorm was his rock, his shoulder, his heart. He loved her, so much it almost hurt. He pretended to ignore his brother’s looks, the ones that seemed to accuse him of abandoning them. He couldn’t stand to look at his father, to think about him though. The injustices, the old hurt, the ignoring, the comments, they were all that came to mind when Rowanclaw’s name or image was in his mind. He didn’t understand how his brother could follow him so blindly, like a kit after his mother. Sandstorm, helped though, control that anger to where he could tolerate it, talk it out with him. That’s not to say they never argued, but she wasn’t his closest companion for no reason. She settled him where his family infuriated him.
That’s about where it all went wrong, though.
Looking back on that moment when they were assigned the patrol, he can feel nothing but dread and horror now. The four of them went on the patrol, a tension of silence unspoken thoughts and feelings between them, the only sound aside from the daily sounds of the world, was Sandstream’s cool voice telling them of the markers, if they might need to be renewed. He had done his best to ignore the feeling of eyes stabbing into his back, almost accusing. He can still recall the way the day scented, the feeling of wind on his fur, and the feeling of sun on his fur.
He never saw the streaks of fur coming for them. Not until claws and teeth were sinking into him, trying to end his life. He struggled with all his awkward, still growing mass, trying to get the vicious tom off his body. He couldn’t see anything else, hell, he barely remembers what happened in the first place, but he could hear the screams, hisses, and snarls of rage from the other cats, the ones they were fighting, and the ones who were trying not to die. He still has nightmares about waking up to the scent of the mangy tom on top of him, reeking of dirt and blood. It’s still enough to make him gag.
His memory picked back up again as the tiring tom was ripped off of him, his body aching, and head spinning from the adrenaline. He had gotten to his feet as fast as he could, trying to ward off any other attackers, but it was over. They were gone, and he was out of breath, almost trembling. At first he didn’t realize where the scent of blood was coming from so strongly. Then, he stepped between his father and brother, and saw the sight of his mutilated almost-mate on the ground, dying a death undeserving of a warrior. There are a lot of things he doesn’t remember that day. There are also a lot of things he does remember though.
How the sun stopped being warm. How his family’s voices fell on deaf ears, and how he pleaded with them to help him get her back to camp, or to find the herbs he needed to help her. They refused, and he can remember the sound of his voice as he all but begged them to help him. Finally, he had no choice but to make and her as comfortable as he could while she passed, or at least try to. The trek back to camp was silent and heavy, and he heard nothing around him, stumbling a few times, his mind looping on his own agony and loss (’I’msosorrypleaseforgiveme,IfailedgreatStarClanIfailedandnowtheyknow,myfaultmyfaultmyfault’) He was sure he was in shock, by time they got back to camp, but the horror truth of the situation kept him going, numb and silent as his mate. Silent as the grave. The irony wasn’t lost on him in the slightest. He groomed her, lovingly, carefully, getting the dirt and as much blood as he could out of her fur. His grief, wouldn’t be contained. He spent that cold night with his nose pressed into her cold fur, doing his best to stifle the sobs that wracked his body, welling up in his throat, threatening to turn into screams of loss and of grief.
Instead, there was silence. He didn’t sleep, at least for no more than an hour or two. He didn’t speak, just constant silence, body-language half smothered with grief. He maintained this silence, for a quarter moon. His brother’s warmth next to him constantly, was a comfort and a constant reminder to him, how he’d ruined the perfection his life could of been. When he finally broke his silence, his mourning started, and his drastic change in beliefs started as well. He emulated his father, just as he had emulated his brother as a younger cat. However, his temper started to return, border-lining on deadly towards other cats he fought against. His brother took Sandstream’s place in keeping his head cool, but to much less success.
He hasn’t, nor will easily, look at another she-cat as he did his Sandstream, and his codependence on his older brother is almost crippling. Bearclaw and he have stayed relatively close, and he’s tried to get his brother to speak more to the older tom, thinking the two toms might get along more than they like, without much success. It keeps him busy though, and occasionally amused. He still blames himself heavily for Sandstream’s death, to the point where he almost fears falling for another she-cat, and it’s enough to keep him awake some nights, long into the darkness.
ROLE PLAYER Doc here, got him up, kinda. x3 Fly, if you want me to tweak things, let me know.
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