Post by {CHARLIE! on Oct 13, 2007 18:18:37 GMT -5
CHARLIE.
age THREE YEARS OLD
gender FEMALE
breed(s) RHODESIAN RIDGEBACK
pack LONER
personality
to decribe one as indepth and truly endless alike charlie would be to plaster a million and two words from three different dictionaries to describe each and every complex act she presented upon the world. it was just that simple, however ironic simple was in this situation.yet, there was always one place to start with a complex individual and it just so happened that with charlie it was no different. for one, charlie was one of enough-said solitude. she'd hear nothing of the packlife seeing as to how abiding by rules didn't really fix her fancy. plus, those that ran the packs down from where she was rom were die-hard punks. except she herself, being the inferior between males and their hormones, she was the most dedicated canine in ellis island - or she was. the ridgeback, charlie, was much more then just a solitude child, she was an individual striving for much more - perhaps a suitable packlife. she couldn't, quite simply, take much more of 'this' solitude for it'd done nothing but bore burden after burden. some spoke of an impassiveness that burned through her veins like the rage of a thousand unclaimed souls. charlie would simply and flat out tell you if she didn't like you from head start, but she wouldn't do it nicely or with a hint of spite - just simple and uninterested like most of her comments or accusations went about.
spite. it was one of her ten thousand qualities, but hidden beneath her unmoveable tendacy to keep quiet about her feelings. no she was not an emo-freak, it was just that - like all living beings in the 21st century, figured that they were outdated until proven needed. so uneeded flair ups weren't common with her at all like her snide, but poetic remarks or insults. charlie was just that smooth of a cat - funny funny funny. against all odds, charlie was a reasonable female though her limits had bounds and her bounds would remain unbroken for everlasting time. that, indepthly, meant rapes. if you attempted to rape her, you'd best believe all of those meger ninety pounds plus the rageful movements of her actions, she'd pack an unwanted punch to those unnerved by their hormones. yet, being so small compared to man males - it was a wonder she'd not produced many unwanted children already. it was her wit that kept her out of such predicaments, but wit could only persue you so far.
wit. being from new york, it wouldn't completely match the out-of-the-streets type smarts she had going on. charlie could quote from marie antionette and shakesphere without a problem, upon her own request of course, yet she was simply from that one forgotten place on ellis island. there was one simple answer to that though and it was intertwining culture. that of france and england came commonly and who other to witness it them the one that was around it all? tourist came to ellis island to witness that of immigration, but she'd been victim to a hate crime and was stuck upon that island for some time. solitude being the ending crisis. they spoke in tounges different from that of hers or her parents, worldwide languages that'd been expressed in many different forms and charlie'd been exposed to them all.
appearance
being such a creature of god, she wasn't prefect which definately meant she had flaws somewhere around that structured body of hers. for one, across that left shoulder of hers was a seemingly healed flesh wound. nothing about it was fresh, but it still showed slightly against the golden-brown and slightly thin coat that conducted the windbreaker she called fur. to accompany that scar was a short, very short, story one that simple logic could've avoided. yet, we weren't learning about her physique through quirky stories now were we? so anyways, with that one scar was another that claimed that of her blackened nose - making it slightly pink at certain points. never fuck with a wet and pissed cat, thats for sure. acustom to that of standard rhodesian ridgebacks was ,infact, the ridge itself. down from the shoulderblade was a ridge of fur going down her back, much like that of an irritated feline only it was parted like moses parted the sea. ignoring the obvious, charlie had a black mask across her face in various spots - covering her eyes and what not. it came a foot or two down from the begining of her tail to a inch or two down.
floppy, puppyish ears were another attribute on charlie's darling figure. they were tipped in black, with brown the majority until black came in a irregular position. the mask, spoken of before, didn't cover her whole face, but merely that of her eyes then it dissapeared until the nose came up - it was as if she'd tipped it in black ink. but other then her coat colors, she was a fit chick - muscular but not a muscle head per se. charlie's legs were somewhat improportioned to he body, long and lean to the thick and short appeal of her upper half. devilish, amber eyes completed her insanity plea, but then again insanity couldn't be completely quite so easily. she wasn't a mangy mutt with patches of fur missing or a tooth or toe, but she wasn't inhuman which put her in the exact rut that all street dogs were; canine poverty.
history
it was a magnificent city, with a statue bigger then life itself and mixed media and culture. it was new york in the 'flesh' and the canine life of luxury, unless of course you were charlie. much of her childhood was gone to her for it wasn't as interesting as she'd wanted it - therefor not worth remembering. though she could distintly remember when she was about a year old she broke the dog law - she got caught by the dog catcher. the fuzz in dog terms. on the streets, near the statue of liberty, she was in the back of a white truck - forgotten by the world as her parents just let her get taken without care. now it was understandable that she was a year old and perfectly capable of doing her own, but it was still the fact that they acted just as if she were another loner on the streets geting picked up by the fuzz.
well, fortunately for her, the catcher happened to be a rookie and didn't screw the latch on the door properly. he hit the wrong bump and charlie was thrust into the cold waters of the divider between ellis island and new york itself. she swam her heart out, making it just barely to the island of which she didn't like from the start. it was a tourist attraction, for one, and it wasn't what she knew was home. it was isolated from the many cultures she'd grown to hear and love. the island was a living hell to her. there was absolutely no one in sight except the people of the tourist and from what she could see, the only food source happened to be the fish in the w a t e r. there was no way in hell that she was going back in that anytime soon. for about a week and two days, charlie starved in a corner in one of the rooms of the center.
it wasn't until the third day of the second week that she was found, lethargic and hungry out of belief she didn't fight them when they touched her or when then they picked her up and loaded her upon the boat with the millions of other people. eyes were on her, but honestly she was out cold within moments of being moved. they brought her back to new york and put her in a rehebilitation center of which she stayed in for a number of months. by the time she got out, she was already two and a couple of months and back to tip top shape. she never did catch up with her family and she really didn't linger on it. they'd gotten what they'd deserved, whatever it was, but she was sure it was something horrid and unexplainable. back to her normal self, charlie stayed in new york for a number of months -topping her to a whooping three years - of which she began to travel abroad with the humans in storage areas or secret passages until she came upon this area of which she now calls home.
Dawn had broken the shackles of the dark twilight over the pridelands, and the sleepy day shuddered and shook the shattered chains from its awesome, burning yellow form. The sun had just pushed past the horizon, prepared to make its daily battle across the deep blue sky. The waking world did not know of its absence, and one could only imagine the responsibility of the relatively small star, to have to rise every morn, never to sleep in, to shed life on this miserable little planet. But of course, a being of greater intelligence would figure that it was not the sun that was responsible for the dawn, but the Earth itself, in all of its rotating glory.
The feline who observed the sunrise felt a bit of sorrow at each sunrise, mourning the veil of darkness that night brought with it. The night was dark enough to veil him, even in spite of the off-white, light-colored coat that the savannah cat claimed. She missed the stars, and the moon, and the rich scent of the evening. She could only imagine their woe, having been flourishing so beautifully before that wrathful sun god had beaten them down into their homes, leaving them to cower until the next night. The night was a true performer, living to entertain its people, for no matter how many times she had been beaten and cast aside she always pulled through to sing a melody of the twilight the sleeping world. To the lioness, there was nothing more perfect than the devoted actress of night.
Which is exactly why she dreaded the begining of the day. The reason why a frown was so pitifully against her face. Though with this being true, morning also brought new oppertunities for someone of her liking - a simple rogue. It opened up the will to join a pride unlike any other and because of that it was beside her to move away from her damned home. The reason why now she was elegantly moving herself along the unseen pathway to the heart of Durus Creek; the home of the pride she'd been searching for. It'd been spoken of a newly acquired king - Jonah - of which she'd simply grown mentally attachd to. Call it what you may.
And yet it seemed despite the suprisingly random downpour that was flooding the complex compound dubbed Durus Creek luck and fortune decided to shine her a smile, nah? As attentive ears flicked and turned to hear any wisp of opposition by nature or living creature she had not completely abandoned her other senses. Her sense of smell, most defiantly. Yet, she was not truly assured, that this oh so tantalizing smell of lion was ‘left over’ or fresh. Moving in towards the heart of Durus Creek, she was beginining to get soaked to the core of which she realized it was this time and place that she would allow herself access to said pride.
The feline who observed the sunrise felt a bit of sorrow at each sunrise, mourning the veil of darkness that night brought with it. The night was dark enough to veil him, even in spite of the off-white, light-colored coat that the savannah cat claimed. She missed the stars, and the moon, and the rich scent of the evening. She could only imagine their woe, having been flourishing so beautifully before that wrathful sun god had beaten them down into their homes, leaving them to cower until the next night. The night was a true performer, living to entertain its people, for no matter how many times she had been beaten and cast aside she always pulled through to sing a melody of the twilight the sleeping world. To the lioness, there was nothing more perfect than the devoted actress of night.
Which is exactly why she dreaded the begining of the day. The reason why a frown was so pitifully against her face. Though with this being true, morning also brought new oppertunities for someone of her liking - a simple rogue. It opened up the will to join a pride unlike any other and because of that it was beside her to move away from her damned home. The reason why now she was elegantly moving herself along the unseen pathway to the heart of Durus Creek; the home of the pride she'd been searching for. It'd been spoken of a newly acquired king - Jonah - of which she'd simply grown mentally attachd to. Call it what you may.
And yet it seemed despite the suprisingly random downpour that was flooding the complex compound dubbed Durus Creek luck and fortune decided to shine her a smile, nah? As attentive ears flicked and turned to hear any wisp of opposition by nature or living creature she had not completely abandoned her other senses. Her sense of smell, most defiantly. Yet, she was not truly assured, that this oh so tantalizing smell of lion was ‘left over’ or fresh. Moving in towards the heart of Durus Creek, she was beginining to get soaked to the core of which she realized it was this time and place that she would allow herself access to said pride.
