Post by freshwater on Jul 5, 2009 19:40:08 GMT -5
the preface[/color]
· a name you will n e v e r forget -- F R E S H W A T E R
like t i n y shards o f [glass] m e m o r i e s-- Liam && 'Freshie' of the K i T T Y P E T S and Freshpaw of the B R O O K
· a g e -- f i f t e e n moons
· g e n d e r -- too d i f f e r e n t to be c a t o r g a r i z e d [tom-cat]
· d. n. a. -- t a k e the s p o o n and m i x the S A L A D bowl [random]
· a l i g n m e n t -- s p e c i a l like n o other [WARRiOR]
· s t a n d i n g -- l i f e is j u s t so u n f a i r beneath t h e bubbling B R O O K [BC]
· i m a g e s -- blurry patterned form +strong head && heavenly eyes
the story
• Physical Description
[/i]
Happiness doesn't mean that everything is perfect,
it just means that you have decided to look past the imperfections.
Freshwater is certainly an all different specimen on his own. Born gray with tabby stripes, it was evident from birth that young Freshwater was one heck of a tomcat. With fresh-green eyes that gave him his name way back when he was forced into the clan, the young tom certainly catches the eye of some she-cats and the admiration of young apprentices, but even with his sharp jaw and lean figure, he isn't beautiful like the great deputy Crowflight or strong and handsome like some of the other drop-dead gorgeous toms out there. The tom is somewhat starling handsome to a point, though, even at such a young age. Fur that can't make up its mind whether its a warm foggy grey or sweet silky ivory, which frame a figure that was slightly strong. Upon first glance, cats will think he's lanky and long before smiling as they notice the challenging thrust of his jaw, the high, proud cheekbones and chiseled mouth. Even still, he can't be considered handsome at best, but only appealing. When he was born his pelt was that of melted stone, pelted with flickering lights that were just grayscaled versions of the night sky, but now -as he got older - patches of pure white, fluttering pillows of cushiony clouds, revealed themselves on various parts of his fur, mainly his chest, neck and legs. The tabby lines of the past are faint - barely noticeable - along the hues of melted stone and liquid frost that line his pelt.
His eyes are silver-green with traces of amber. In the right light, his eyes continuously shift between these three shades - the fluttering argentine, luminescent moss and unforgettable shade of distinct copper-tin [tinted with paler hues of the other shades] always pierces right through the viewer's soul. It is both an electrifying moment and a fearful one; it had been known to make some bounce with glee and others shudder with uneasiness. Most of the time, however, his eyes are the same warm jade hue of his mother, with dancing lights of glassy amber behind them. A gleaming molten green, sky-bright and more liquid than sunlight, fills his irises like honey does a dip in a stone, mesmerising any cat weak enough to believe that they are portals to his soul. Wide open with kittish excitement or narrowed in a bout of anger, they have always captivated the gaze of those around him – like a monster's blazing headlights does a cat in darkness.
Because of his kittypet heritage, parts of his pelt seem more plush and soft than even that of a newborn kit - so most cats mistake him for such - but beneath all the fluffiness is hard core muscle that inevitably has the power to rip out flesh, if provoked -- which he rarely is. Tall on his legs and wire-lean but not skinny to the point of looking like some mutated grasshopper, he could be a very attractive tom in matters of stature – if not for the fact that he was born as a kittypet. The young tom - cats whisper - must have some sort of disorder - OCD maybe? - because his pelt is always clean to the highest point that it sometimes disgusts those around him, whether or not he has just recently been on a lengthy hunt from sunrise to sunset or to have just woken up. Even his just-got-out-of-bed look seems to be perfect, his silver-white pelt smoother than stone with the exception of a few perfect tussles of fur that gather around his chest, cheeks, and the space between his ears. Despite that - or maybe because of it - his face has a strangely appealing shape, with shimmering lids that burn the soul; it tapers down into a slender muzzle, elegant even when twisted by his laughing smile, and is topped by two long, pointed ears. Even the thick scars crossing his cheek, long-ago wounds that nearly made him lose an eye, or other such injuries that are glittered randomly across his frame are completly hidden, covered by the vanishing cloak of his fur. They hide beneath secret places like the crook of his shoulder, beneath the joints of his legs, the edge of his cheek and so forth. Slender shoulders, firm and agile paws, a waistline to make the snakes melt with envy; yes, Freshwater could have been a magnificent tom. If he wasn't born a kittypet.
As for the rest of him, the young warrior has been known to make some she-cats look twice and hold their breath, but at the same time - this chance more often - not cause even a twitch of affection in another's eyes. He is simply this -- sweet enough to be your friend, strong enough to protect you, but
strengths;;
dontMiSTAKEmeFORaGiRL
more slender and smoother than a fish, he's quicker than anything. perhaps even one of the fastest in the forest, surprisingly.
iKNOWmySTUFF
sharp, quick and smart, the once kittypet is a force to be reckoned with. his mind is like a clock, always whirling, always spinning and never stopping.
justDON'TquestionME
he has been known to his closest friends to be nearly intolerably stubborn, but at the same time it's so vague that other cats rarely notice it. even in the worst situations, he has the superb ability to sway the crowd's opinion to fit his own and calm their spirits too. his voice, thick with confidence and the fiery determination that's burning inside him, is impossible to argue with.
myWORDSareLiKEhoney
sweeter than anything, most she-cats find themselves usually flushing under his cute gestures and warming phrases. he's a good friend, a good comforter even though he'll never be chosen as a lover.
weaknesses;;
yeahI'MnotTHATstrong
what he makes in speed, he lacks in power. although he's certainly strong enough to hold his own, he's notmuscular. at all.
youKNOWiSTUMBLEandFALL
others find this funny, but he doesn't. if he's not tripping over something, whether it be his paws or his words, he's usually making a fool of himself. its a touchy subject, his clumsiness.
myWORLDisJUSTaLiE
he has a tendency to procrastinate or shy away from any problems. he doesn't like facing reality, the truth of things. he runs from them like the plague.
theTHiNGSiDOareEXTREME
literally, everything he does or feels is to the extreme. he does everything to the fullest, whether it's filling the freshkill pile when it's empty to following through with a week-long angry streak. he never falls short, though his intense work often strains him and his health.
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• Personality
Maturity begins when we're content to feel we're right about something, without feeling the necessity to prove someone else wrong.
The first impression that most cats have upon when meeting the young tom, is that of this: a cat with simply no worries, filled with nothing other than the pure bliss of being alive. of course, Freshwater does not give the impression of a young, naive warrior as most give nor does he make others think that he's some terribly stoic, serious tom who has no liking for the simple pleasures - like running about carelessly - of daily life. He is simply a different cat all on his own, seemingly easily to describe at first but in reality truly impossible to be able to identify in words alone.
Despite the fact that he wasn't born under the clan and the belief of StarClan, Freshwater is surprisingly loyal to the higher ranks and the warrior code. There is seldom a time when he would betray his new family for those of his previous home - his former housekeepers and companions when he was little - especially since he holds a secret resentment against his mother, Irenia, and father, James, as well. Certainly enough it is true that not many cats in BrookClan can recall when the reliable Freshwater turned his back on his friends and family. even more astonishingly, although he doesn't completely believe in the idea of StarClan, cats don't seem to blame him for his lack of trust in those 'dead cats'. sure, to some degree, the green-eyed tom understands that when he dies, he will go somewhere like the two-leg's equivalent of heaven and hell, but overall he isn't quite sure of the so-called powers of them. to him, they're just regular cats that - when you're in trouble - you can't rely on for help. They're only good for the weak-minded, those who would rather put their minds, souls and hearts into that belief, because although they were real, live creatures before, they certainly aren't now. The opinions of his friends and family are far more important than those of some deceased felines that existed long before he was born. A part of him even wonders whether or not they're actually good, real nonexistent cats or just kithood tales like some others say.
He has a respect for the higher rankings, Swiftclaw and the like, but it is harder to identify than most. The multi-colored tom does not kiss the ground in which those cats walk on, padding after them like a lovesick kitten, nor does he treat them with a type of cool indifference that would get on their bad sides. Freshwater follows any orders he is given without real argument, but if he truly disagrees with what they tell him to do, he will simply smile and nod with his mouth zipped shut. Later on, when they ask him if he accomplished the said task, he will look at them with complete innocence and head tilted, ask them what in the world they could be talking of. Cats have come to understand that he will never ever completely respect any sort of medicine cat, deputy or leader as he should - not that they expect him to - and seem to be okay with it. Apparently, for Freshwater, broad smiles and honeyed words can sweeten them too.
Despite the carefree outlook he has on life, the young warrior is rather smart for his age and although most of his days are filled to the brim with his honest smiles or chiming laughter, there is a part of Freshwater that holds the complete calmness and seriousness needed to hold on to a high position such as that of leader. He has no ambition to become leader or deputy - too troublesome, he says - but certainly has the god-given traits of one. One thing that he loves other than running, is planning but he feels terribly uncomfortable in giving orders to anyone other than his sister, even if the cat is someone as small as a kit.
Overall, Freshwater is like his name, not just in the color of his eyes and personality. He is like the sun -- burning and bright as the rising sun with the power of a thousand stars beneath his knowing viridescent gaze and molded and quiet like the setting sun in front of huge crowds, but beneath it all a certain maturity that comforts the heart. There is a depth to him that is hard to see and because most cats mistake him for someone easy to understand, to play around with, they are often surprised when he lashes out - suddenly to - with a certain unfamiliar and unbelievable, cold anger. As most cats find out, much of him is unreadable, emotions not really showing but also blatantly bright as the blinding sun.
likes;;
iLOVEtheRAiN
sweet, clear smells. fluttering breeze. splattering droplets. its all so wonderful.
MYlovelySiSTER
frostflight. the only famlly that he recognizes; he trusts her with all his heart. she is, perhaps, the only one he will ever be able to be with without feeling ill at heart.
theSWEETandJUiCYfood
luxurious, wonderful prey. mind-blowing challenges. something wonderful, something new compared to the stale, dry petfood. it confuses him - so much - why frost enjoyed (still does, probably) it.
theFEELofTHEwindINmyFUR
pounding heart, dancing paws, breakneck speed. rapid freedom. perhaps the only thing that he can really feel at ease with, freshwater is beautiful when he runs, when he dances.
THEYREtheFUTUREofOURlives
tiny bundles of fur. helpless mews and baby blue eyes. despite his irrational fear of loving those around him - in the mately sort of way, that is, 'cause he has no problem withfriendship- the milky sweet scent of kits constantly allures, entices him. he loves it.
dislikes;;
LONLiNESScanKiLLyou
death and eery silence. storm gales and shuddering thunder. don't forget me. since that day he went back home, to see how his parents were doing, his ever-growing fear of being left alone still haunts him.
theSiLENCEcanKiLLyou
soundless, creaky floor boards, muted sounds of the deaf and mute. he can't take the silence; he doesn't understand how cats can use the words 'comfortable' and 'silence' in the same sentence. it's completly horrifying.
THOSEwhoBETRAYEDme
mother, Irenia, and father, James, don't seem to care. backstabbers, he calls them, them having abandoned him or so he feels. to him, he has no parents.
theyHiDEbeneathCRUELmasks
his clanmates who haven't accepted him. sneers, cruel jokes, hisses unsheathed. somewhat of a strong-minded, headstrong cat he wont step back from a fight, always ready to fight. he cries, though, when no one's watching because his home - either of them - can't accept him.
iCANTevenLOOKatYOU
commitment, togetherness, dependency. the idea oflovinghas never been more frightening in his eyes. it's scary, having so much power over a soul, so much power that you could hurt them. too much power, the voice inside of him whispers, that he's not worthy of, that he won't be able to handle.
• History[/i]
The past scampers like an alley cat through the present,
leaving the paw prints of memories scattered helter-skelter.
The night was still, the wind barely rustling the leaves in the treetops. It was far too muggy to be sleeping right now, and there were far too many sounds being for the young tom fall into anything deeper than a half-slumber. Two green-blue pools of nearly translucent aqua blinked beneath his tiny lids as that same double-hued patch of fur peeked out of his mother's warm embrace and the slightly annoyed, drowsy smirk was too bemusing to be ignored by many, the kind that - when he got older - was sure to make a she-cat's heart flutter. The darkness was eeiry and fearsome, but the ever-steady ba-bump of his mother's heartbeat was enough to calm his soul...
A frosty breeze whistled into the small opening of the den, wheeling past his ivory-dotted oculars, and the sound was enough to awake the young juvenile. Eyes blazing with wild fear, he scrambled frantically to his paws with the blood rushing in his ears as he was startled awake by the sound, the smell, of the wild.
He stopped in search for danger, suddenly aware of his surroundings. Where was their house? Their parents? Then it hit him, blasting him straight off of his paws and back into the uncomfortable stringy moss that th- these forest cats had to sleep on. Mind whirling, he remembered; his name wasn't that awful
He sucked in his breath, another frozen blight of gust sending a chill down his spine. Mama wasn't going to, Papa wasn't going to. All because they were gone, gone, gone. Harshly , he let out a breath and sunk back into the prickly moss, the wiry twines pressing into his stiff back. Freshpaw rolled over and pressed his face into the oddly comfortable now lichen - yet somehow not, as it would never able to compare to the blissful softness of his mother, or the blanket... - as he softly let out a strangled cry, his chest constricting over the loss.
But then the son rose, the blinding light streaming into the den and he slowly sat up, a miserable frown settling on the crease of his lips. It was time to get up now, to train for the inevitable.
Groggily the smallish, almost ghost-like tot that barely passed as a juvenile - an 'apprentice' they called it - emerged from the cramped den, eyes blinking rapidly to wipe the remaining sleep from his vision. Thoughts of his dreams tugged at his semi-conscious mind but with a quick shake of his sharp head the remaining wisps of the night fog were dislodged and he could set his eyes on the day ahead.
He met his mentor standing at the edge of camp - what was her name? - soon after, ignoring the obvious hateful look that drowned her would-be otherwise pretty face. Instead of shooting her back with a equally disdainful look, the tom flashed her a brilliant, blinding smile and blinked warmly, seemingly not at all fazed by her unhappy outlook. In response, Mistedflame had - oh yes, that was her name - blinked softly and laughed at him, her face suddenly opening up. He quirked his head to the side, bemused and all worries lifted off of his shoulders, before joining in he with a warm chuckle of his own. After a moment, they bounded into the forest to begin their training.
All of it didn't seem nearly as bad anymore. Maybe living with them would be alright.
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__ F A M i L Y | C O N N E C T i O N S
[/left]⋅JAMES⋅ -› f a t h e r -x- [male] --› ALiVE xx KiTTYPET_ UNiNFORMED
⋅IRENiA⋅ -› m o t h e r -x- [female] --› ALiVE xx KiTTYPET_ HEALTHY
⋅FROSTEDFLiGHT⋅ -› s i s t e r -x- [female] --› ALiVE xx WARRiOR _ LiViNG
⋅IRENiA⋅ -› m o t h e r -x- [female] --› ALiVE xx KiTTYPET_ HEALTHY
⋅FROSTEDFLiGHT⋅ -› s i s t e r -x- [female] --› ALiVE xx WARRiOR _ LiViNG
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