IP: 47.35.76.214
Posted on March 26, 2017 at 11:57:02 PM by windsong
NAME: Windsong
Age: 3 years
Gender: Female
Eye Color: Gold with a brownish "honey" colored tint
Appearance: Averagely built, stands at 32 inches and weighs 95 lbs. She's more lithe than anything, the power is derived from her hindquarters and shoulders, and her legs are sturdily built. Windsong is an off-white, described somewhat as a "dirty white" if you may. She's got some grey scattered around her shoulders and sides, and a small, visible clump of grey right above her nose.
Personality: Windsong is an introvert. She isn't the sort to burst forward and get into one's face; she's more comfortable sitting back and analyzing strangers before getting to know them. She's cynical and witty, and her honesty can be a bit blunt. She struggles a bit socially but means well. Has a temper when you manage to get under her skin -- and she isn't afraid to use her teeth when needed.
Imprintability: Possible
OOC : Zanzibar
SAMPLE POST:
January 27th, 1995
A blistering cold wind beat against my face as I stumbled into the arctic evening. My bare hands searched for warmth, planting themselves into the pockets of my jacket and curling into fists, nails digging into my palms. I shuddered, a great, big sigh that made my body tremor against the howling winds. My skin was already going numb on my face, and my initial thoughts wanted to drive me back into the safety of the building.
But, I relented. For some reason, I felt liked I needed to be out here.
My feet tracked against the snow-coated paths of the air base, leaving faint imprints in the snow that were soon swept away by the wind. I felt like my existence was being erased. And I liked it that way. Maybe it was better off if I just vanished from Valais. Who would care, anyway? Not these people. Not the government. Hell, not even my family. I wouldn't be missed.
At the thought, I laughed. My lips curled, releasing the sound into the night, losing it in the tempest. What a lonely fellow, I mused to myself.
The base at night was desolate a lonely. The only thing alive was snowflakes dancing in front of the security lights that dimly illuminated the military establishment. I crept along the shadows, skulking along in the cold.
What am I doing? Why was I here? The doubts drove deeper, their nasty claws dragging across my skin and making me miserable. My heart felt heavy in my chest as I pondered these things, kicking at the piles of snow at my feet, trying to bite back a bitter wave of frustration that burned in my eyes. I was becoming pathetic. I was becoming weak.
But I wasn't going to go soft because I couldn't answer someone's questions. And how dare that man toy with my emotions.
Don't be angry at him for your weakness, my mind scolded.
Coming to one of the many hangars, I rested my back against one of the walls sheltered from the wind. My nose was beginning to run, and most of the circulation to my fingers was prickling away. I ran the palms of my hands together, trying to create a bit of warmth as I stood out here, letting the evening absorb me. My fingers shook, tracing against the creases of my hands, until they ran to the wrists of my coat, sinking underneath the warm layer of clothing.
My left hand found it. A series of ghosts upon my right wrist.
I rubbed my thumb across the scar tissue, feeling the slight bump across the smooth skin of my wrist. My lips frowned, mind tracking back to the days when this injury had been inflicted. Pressing my thumb down firmer in the spot, part of me could still feel the pain resonating from that time. A cold swipe of a blade, and the warm prickling as agony rippled from the torn skin fibers. Quickly and painful, but it clouded what truly pained me.
Remembering the swab of alcohol and the pressure of gauze upon the wounds, my stomach churned at the thought of that sick game. As quickly as I inflicted myself, I mended myself. Back then, I felt like I was patching up the real issues of my life, but in reality, they still existed.
My mind snapped from the fading echoes of my past, and I let my hands slide out of my sleeves. I was better now. Those days were long gone. I had gotten past that obstacle in my life. Cutting never solved anything. Cutting was only ever the weak way out.
I wasn't weak. At least not anymore.
And if I had to raise hell to prove that to people, I would.
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Replies:
- . - By . April 16, 2018 at 04:17:56 AM
x - By Meryl April 1, 2017 at 01:13:18 PM
Accepted! >> - By Sol March 27, 2017 at 02:13:16 AM
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