Post by URCHIN . on Oct 13, 2007 14:46:07 GMT -5
URCHIN!
age FIVE.
gender MALE.
breed(s) GERMAN SHEPHERD CROSS.
pack COUNTRY.[/center]
personality
To be truthful, Urchin is a little bit of a nutcase in every sense of the word. He is rambunctious, openly active and prone to speaking his mind, even if the consequences are less than fulfilling. The dog, despite being in his prime, still retains some of his puppy-like youth with the fact that he likes to ask questions and to answer questions; he is confident and out there, but not overwhelmingly so, as well. To be frank, Urchin is simply Urchin.
He’s a scruff bag with his manners, adding please and thank you to things when he sees the need to, and shortening words when he’s too lazy to say them. The dog has a slight city accent, too, having originated from the city but migrated when he was still a young’un to the warmer, calmer aura that the countryside offers.
Sometimes he can’t make up his mind, torn between what is right for him and what is right for others. Urchin is no martyr; he comes first before all else, but there have been times when he has wondered what it’s like to help someone else. He’s not gluttonous, really, it’s just that the act of selfishness has been bred into his mind, and he is honestly trying to change that. Sort of.
Miles of smiles all year around, the male is light-hearted when it comes to most things, and he doesn’t really have a serious side to him. He likes to solve things through play and action rather than careful thinking, thus resulting in a rather spontaneous streak within the animal, but he doesn’t really care.
Truth be told, the only thing Urchin really does care about is surviving. He has time for relationships, for friends and enemies, but the core heart of the dog is simply getting on with the nitty gritty courses that life serves him. Optimistic but not irritatingly so, the male does have his pessimistic side—he just prefers not to let it shine through.
Gentle without a fault yet prone to bouts of sheer aggression when threatened, not everything about the stray is as rainbow-y as he likes to kid others. A mean streak, as you might call it, has also been bred into him by the tyrannical father figure he had as a youngster, as well as a rough time on the city streets.
Overall, Urchin is simply just that: Urchin.
appearance
Trampy in appearance as well as personality, there really is nothing as genuine as this dog when it comes to genetics and how things can turn horribly wrong.
Gangly and lanky, especially for one of his crossbreed, Urchin’s strain of German Shepherd DNA is quite obvious to the eye. He has some of the colouring and the muzzle, as well as the build of an Alsatian, but the rest of him is a mystery. Some have debated that he is part Siberian Husky, because - really - who’s ever heard of a grey German Shepherd? but the dog’s heritage is elusive, even to him.
He is tall, but not overly-intimidating, with murky blue eyes that look like more of a sewage-colour blue than anything else, once again demonstrating the lack of knowledge that he has about his parents. His fur is short but thick, apparently water-resistant or weather-resistant due to the fact that he rarely feels the cold, and his actual colouring is a mixture of varying shades of browns and greys.
You could not really describe Urchin as handsome unless you really had to (or perhaps you could, it all depends), and he’s not terribly bothered by his looks either way. One thing is to be said about his smile; it is often half-hearted and not really there, but when he does give the canine equivalent to a grin, it oozes confidence, something that he only half has with regards to his personality.
history
There is little that Urchin can actually recall about his past, if he is honest.
Having been roughed up at a young age by his father’s gang and promptly thrown down a long flight of stairs in the city at the age of a year old, most of Urchin’s childhood is lost to him when he sustained damage to his head as a result of the discipline his sire issued. However, what he does know is that his parents weren’t the best dogs in the world.
Both were corrupted with Lust and were only with each other for appearances. Gabrielle gave Uriel three offspring when they met after she had just come into heat, and a few months later, Uriel’s bloodline was confirmed. He had two sons and a daughter: Oliver, Urchin (the deemed runt) and Delta, and it was soon established that Oliver would take over Uriel’s gang whilst Delta would be used for making allies: she would be mated off as soon as she came of age and Urchin - well - he didn’t really have a role.
So he was used as the punch-bag for the gang, not that he minded, since he was already told that he could do nothing right. Push came to shove and he was thrown down some stairs, losing half of his memory in the process, although it didn’t bother him. The night after the accident, he fled the city for fear of it happening again, and at the age of eighteen months, the dog became a loner.
The countryside was kinder to him, and he survived there for three years before a pack was established. Avoiding it whenever necessary, it was when he turned four that he decided to mingle with the pack, and thus Urchin’s existence has been somewhat happier since then.
Kaal notices that there has been no rain for quite a while.
Slumped on the veranda of the abandoned house, he has been watching soft winds blow the weeds around for about an hour, and he has just taken the time to glance up at the sky. Although overcast and grey, not a droplet of liquid has fallen on the ground in the two weeks since winter blossomed into the warmer and more welcomed season of spring.
The wolf snorts lightly, tilting his head to the side as if contemplating that fact. When it rains, he is usually confined to the house with his pack, or wandering the other areas that border the city, but since it hasn’t rained for a while, he debates on doing other things for a change. Perhaps he could amble into the city and investigate what has gone on since his last visit—yes, that seems like a good idea.
He inhales, rising to his feet and shaking himself down. It irritates him when excess dust and dirt clings to his fur like he has seen human children cling to their mothers, and so he makes a point of getting rid of most of the molecules that have attached themselves to him whilst he has been resting. A short grunt follows as Kaal inspects his surroundings and then bounds down the rickety steps that lead towards the cotton fields, a sudden liveliness in the way he moves.
Perhaps the prospect of visiting the city has warmed him up; he doesn’t quite know. Either way, he fancies popping along to see Alcatraz in order to ensure that she’s kept her side of the bargain. Kaal chuckles to himself, vaguely amused by the fact that rumours are circulating about his son’s parentage. The dogs are afraid of mixing their blood with that of a wolf’s? He laughs again and rolls his eyes, trotting through the fields at a leisurely pace - it’s not as if Alcatraz is expecting him, is it?
Scenery changes. From green to mottled brown and then hints of grey, the Alpha makes his way towards the city, perfectly content to let his presence become known to whoever and whatever may see him. Whether they are canine or lupine does not bother him; he walks with grandeur and cockiness in his stride, a slight swagger to the way he struts and an unreadable expression on his face. Maybe he will get to see the child progeny - his son - whatever the pup’s name is… Methane, he vaguely recalls from rumours. Methane.
Kaal’s expression changes to one of slight disdain as his paws make muffled sounds as he treads upon the pavement of the city, choosing to take the shortest route to his child’s future territory. Methane sounds so mundane, he muses silently, turning a corner and then another one as twists and turns present themselves to him much like a labyrinth, but it doesn’t matter, because he knows the way. He’s been to the place plenty of times before.
And then the building rears its ugly head from where he can see it through a gap in a fence, and he wriggles through the fence with alarming urgency, pushing past a few of the cardboard boxes that stand guard outside the warehouse, as if to protect it from unexpected visitors. Well, he’s not exactly unexpected—call it his little spring surprise, perhaps. Another wry grin; Alcatraz certainly has a surprise for him, no doubt. He exhales, strolling into the middle of the draughty interior before settling down and making himself comfortable.
Silence. A few seconds tick by as Kaal wonders if the bitch is actually around, before he yawns loudly and decides to summon her. Hell, he’s made the trip to her territory, so she can run around after him - it’s not as if he particularly cares. “Alcatraz,” he calls, with reasonable volume, “Alcatraz, my darling sweetheart; come out, come out, wherever you are!” Sarcasm, of course. Sod it if her pack hears what he’s saying. She can deal with it.
Kaal just wants to see his son.
Slumped on the veranda of the abandoned house, he has been watching soft winds blow the weeds around for about an hour, and he has just taken the time to glance up at the sky. Although overcast and grey, not a droplet of liquid has fallen on the ground in the two weeks since winter blossomed into the warmer and more welcomed season of spring.
The wolf snorts lightly, tilting his head to the side as if contemplating that fact. When it rains, he is usually confined to the house with his pack, or wandering the other areas that border the city, but since it hasn’t rained for a while, he debates on doing other things for a change. Perhaps he could amble into the city and investigate what has gone on since his last visit—yes, that seems like a good idea.
He inhales, rising to his feet and shaking himself down. It irritates him when excess dust and dirt clings to his fur like he has seen human children cling to their mothers, and so he makes a point of getting rid of most of the molecules that have attached themselves to him whilst he has been resting. A short grunt follows as Kaal inspects his surroundings and then bounds down the rickety steps that lead towards the cotton fields, a sudden liveliness in the way he moves.
Perhaps the prospect of visiting the city has warmed him up; he doesn’t quite know. Either way, he fancies popping along to see Alcatraz in order to ensure that she’s kept her side of the bargain. Kaal chuckles to himself, vaguely amused by the fact that rumours are circulating about his son’s parentage. The dogs are afraid of mixing their blood with that of a wolf’s? He laughs again and rolls his eyes, trotting through the fields at a leisurely pace - it’s not as if Alcatraz is expecting him, is it?
Scenery changes. From green to mottled brown and then hints of grey, the Alpha makes his way towards the city, perfectly content to let his presence become known to whoever and whatever may see him. Whether they are canine or lupine does not bother him; he walks with grandeur and cockiness in his stride, a slight swagger to the way he struts and an unreadable expression on his face. Maybe he will get to see the child progeny - his son - whatever the pup’s name is… Methane, he vaguely recalls from rumours. Methane.
Kaal’s expression changes to one of slight disdain as his paws make muffled sounds as he treads upon the pavement of the city, choosing to take the shortest route to his child’s future territory. Methane sounds so mundane, he muses silently, turning a corner and then another one as twists and turns present themselves to him much like a labyrinth, but it doesn’t matter, because he knows the way. He’s been to the place plenty of times before.
And then the building rears its ugly head from where he can see it through a gap in a fence, and he wriggles through the fence with alarming urgency, pushing past a few of the cardboard boxes that stand guard outside the warehouse, as if to protect it from unexpected visitors. Well, he’s not exactly unexpected—call it his little spring surprise, perhaps. Another wry grin; Alcatraz certainly has a surprise for him, no doubt. He exhales, strolling into the middle of the draughty interior before settling down and making himself comfortable.
Silence. A few seconds tick by as Kaal wonders if the bitch is actually around, before he yawns loudly and decides to summon her. Hell, he’s made the trip to her territory, so she can run around after him - it’s not as if he particularly cares. “Alcatraz,” he calls, with reasonable volume, “Alcatraz, my darling sweetheart; come out, come out, wherever you are!” Sarcasm, of course. Sod it if her pack hears what he’s saying. She can deal with it.
Kaal just wants to see his son.
