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Description
***Edit: Name is now Victor, sorry about that***

Name | Victor

Age | Three years of age | Young Adult

Gender | Tom

Breed | Mix | Abyssinian | Singapura

Chaw | Dabble

Magic | Does not posses magic, but high intelligence.

Job | Artist

Faction | None

Home | Southern Quarter | Homeless

Talents | {ARTIST} {PICKPOCKET} {COOKING}
{ARTIST} As his job suggests, this tom finds his happiness from canvas to canvas. Before he found his talent, he had lived a different life. He had to steal and pickpocket just to keep food on the table. He didn't take any sort of joy in these activities, though somewhat depressed. Taking from others, others with mates and kits to fend for, was not a good lifestyle. He needed to find a job, a talent that he'd fit into. Oh and my friend, he tried many jobs. No job really had a place for a crippled tom when they all revolved around strength.
Then he found his calling. Artist. He would doodle when he was stressed, but nothing like this. He could live and love this job as an artist without having to worry if he was falling behind because of his leg.
He pleasingly displays any painting in turn for coin. Although it is not a job that piles in coin by the bucket and he cannot yet afford a house, he loves it nonetheless.
{PICKPOCKET} A skill that Victor is not proud of. He acquired this talent earlier in his life before he had found his job as an artist.
{COOKING} Victor can rarely afford all the right ingredients, but when he can, he enjoys boiling pots of soup and dishing out dinners for hungry palettes.

Personality | {CREATIVE} {ROMANTIC} {CONSTRICTED} {QUIRKY}

{CREATIVE} Along with being a Dabble and an artist, Victor has his head in the clouds. Calculations, sketches, and mending self images are constantly flying through the tom's head.
{ROMANTIC} This is one side of Victor. He may be shy around some, but he loves to flirt around with the she-cats. He's not really even looking for a relationship--he just likes to add a little...spice. A little fun.
{CONSTRICTED} Nobody's perfect. The tom may seem open when he flirts, though he won't go much further into his personality--Mainly to avoid the possible subject of his passed sister.
{QUIRKY} As funny as it seems, Victor is a dork and proud. One you get to know him and break past his shell, he'll chatter about what's on his mind and tell jokes he thinks are funny...but really they aren't.

History | "When will you ever learn? You are a cripple, Vincent. A cripple!"

Victor had been born with a defect. As soon as he had learned to toddle around on his bony paws, his kin had noticed the signs that something was obviously wrong with one of his legs. His left hind leg dragged awkwardly on the ground behind him. It stuck out at an angle when he sat. You could see the gnarled, twisted muscles just underneath his skin.
His leg was lame. He had a limp, but it didn't seem to bother him. He hopped around like a hare, and avoided the scorch of slitted eyes on his pelt like their attention was nothing more than the breeze on his face. He was himself! They couldn't change him, so it didn't matter. It made him...distinguished. He was proud of who he was. His mother and father loved him. His sister, too. Who cared for appearances?
-----------
It wasn't his fault.
It wasn't his fault.
His sister had already began coughing up blood.
The panic in his father's voice singed his ears, "Victor, run to the market and purchase her medicine. Now, Go!" Was it the drizzling rain running down his father's face...or tears? They had already lost their mother a few months ago. He wasn't sure if his father could keep it together.
Victor ripped the bag of coin out oh his father's belt and flew out onto the dirt road.
Strike one.
The droplets of rain had reduced the path to a swamp of slippery mud. He felt his unsteady paws lose the feel of ground and suddenly he was facedown in the thick mud. No air, no air, no air! The thought skimmed his mind as he struggled and finally whipped his head out of the muck. Every. Second. Counts.
He started once again on the path, slipping and trying to regain his balance every so often. It was difficult to sprint across mud, especially when you're disabled. A light fog rolled in. His nose was cold and wet. His pelt dripped and stuck to him, revealing his scrawny, weak frame.
His leg. His leg burned. He had never tried to push it, fearing it would become even more mangled. Blood throbbed through it, as if it had a hard time circulating, and his muscles felt like they were twisting even further.
He glanced back behind him...and dread filled his heart. His father's house was merely just a few yards behind him. But he had covered to much ground. He had worked so hard only to realize he had made no impact.
Strike two.
He lowered his head and willed the hot, sticky tears to stop oozing from his eyes. With his handicap it would take days to reach the market. Why couldn't he have been born normal? Healthy? He used to see his lameness as something that defined him. No. It was a curse. Maybe it did define him. Maybe he was a curse. A curse on his family. He was a burden. There would be hope for his sister if he had no disability. She would have her medicine.
Tail dragging in the mud, he slid back to the house and peeked into the door.
His sister lay there, frozen in time on the ground. Her beautiful eyes that once sparkled with warmth and love for her brother were now glazed over and as lively as stones. The flow of blood running out the corner of her mouth had now slowed. A drop of scarlet hit the stone floor with a sickening plop in the deafness.
Strike three.
You're out.
The two toms sat there in silence for what seemed like a lifetime. It was hard to take this all in.
After the silence, Vincent's father ripped his gaze away from his daughter and reared his head at his son. Vince's eyes widened. He had never seen his father cry. His face was matted and sticky.
"When will you learn?" He mewed in a small, defeated voice.
"What?"
"When will you ever learn?", He repeated, "You are a cripple, Vincent. A cripple! You can't do the things that normal cats can. Your sister was perfectly healthy. She was an angel. My little angel!" The larger tom's eyes were squinted and his mouth hanging open with disbelief.
Vincent could not look his father in the eye. "I...It's not my fault...,"
Before his father could say another word, he dashed out of the house. Pain. Pain coursed through him like his own blood. He wished it would be sucked out of him as easily as his sister's blood had drained out of her mouth.
Vince hid behind his house, drowning in his own grief. Grief was black water swirling into his lungs and there was no way to cough it out.
To his surprise, his father padded out of his house. "Victor...?" His face had a more heartbroken look on it than when he had been staring at his daughter's lifeless body. "Victor...I didn't mean....," His father stared at the ground.
Maybe Vincent could shed a little light. Just a finger of light in the darkness of the moment.
He came out from behind the house. Behind his father, he came up and rubbed his nose in his shoulder.
The older tom looked at him with eyes he couldn't read, but in that single gaze they silently decided. They would not be a broken family.
-------------------
When Victor's father passed peacefully of old age, he decided he would leave to find his calling.
He was homeless on the streets, pickpocketing and starving for a long time. {This is continued in the personality}

Additional Info |
--Victor is a bit more feminine than most toms, and cares for smaller things like tending to art, cooking, and just setting the right mood.
--His left hind leg is lame.
--According to the history, you can see how he might feel about his lame leg.

Relationships |
Neutral
Curious
Friend
Close friend
Crush
Love
Dislike/Hate

Brenson
((Coming soon))

/ Ana
((Coming soon))

Roleplay Sample |
Sample from #City-Of-Sundown .
Andrew's rough, spiny fur graced the corners of his nest. He often found his prickly pelt getting tangled with things around camp, and was quite accustomed to the soft tinkling sound his chain-necklace when it was shaken out. Hey, at least it doesn't shed everywhere, he thought to himself.
Today was dreadfully dull. The sky outside was gray and dreary, the soft light that filtered in was stale and metallic. What a drag. I simply must find something to do.
...But what?
Surely there must be something in this dusty camp to keep him occupied. Maybe he should gather the rubble that gathered at the corners of camp...Argh, seriously Andrew, stop thinking about cleaning. No one if here to watch you right now.
The camp truly was deserted. A few lone cats were strewn across the floor, to busy prodding their nests or taking an early meal to notice a shadow like him.
Maybe I-- His thoughts were broken as his eyes flew to a gleaming black feather that flitted around in the air. 'Must have been stirred up by some cat, left over from a rare feast of bird. Coming to ground, it rested ever so lightly on his bony paws.
Something pulled at him, something he hadn't felt since he was very, very young. His pulse raced. He couldn't help it. An urge, an invisible force coursed through his paw and he struck it with the force he would use to kill a mouse. It rocketed into the air. Unable to stop, Andrew crouched down and batted it again as it floated down. The next time it swooped down he reared his head and grabbed it between his teeth.
Before he could bat it again, his eyes widened and he dropped the feather, letting it flutter down to the floor. W-What? Did anyone see me? Nervous, he glanced at the two cats nearest him, and breathed a sigh of relief. Nope, they were still stuck in their work.
He scoffed at the feather that lay crumpled in front of him.
'Must be possessed or something.

Description
***Edit: Name is now Victor, sorry about that***

Name | Victor

Age | Three years of age | Young Adult

Gender | Tom

Breed | Mix | Abyssinian | Singapura

Chaw | Dabble

Magic | Does not posses magic, but high intelligence.

Job | Artist

Faction | None

Home | Southern Quarter | Homeless

Talents | {ARTIST} {PICKPOCKET} {COOKING}
{ARTIST} As his job suggests, this tom finds his happiness from canvas to canvas. Before he found his talent, he had lived a different life. He had to steal and pickpocket just to keep food on the table. He didn't take any sort of joy in these activities, though somewhat depressed. Taking from others, others with mates and kits to fend for, was not a good lifestyle. He needed to find a job, a talent that he'd fit into. Oh and my friend, he tried many jobs. No job really had a place for a crippled tom when they all revolved around strength.
Then he found his calling. Artist. He would doodle when he was stressed, but nothing like this. He could live and love this job as an artist without having to worry if he was falling behind because of his leg.
He pleasingly displays any painting in turn for coin. Although it is not a job that piles in coin by the bucket and he cannot yet afford a house, he loves it nonetheless.
{PICKPOCKET} A skill that Victor is not proud of. He acquired this talent earlier in his life before he had found his job as an artist.
{COOKING} Victor can rarely afford all the right ingredients, but when he can, he enjoys boiling pots of soup and dishing out dinners for hungry palettes.

Personality | {CREATIVE} {ROMANTIC} {CONSTRICTED} {QUIRKY}

{CREATIVE} Along with being a Dabble and an artist, Victor has his head in the clouds. Calculations, sketches, and mending self images are constantly flying through the tom's head.
{ROMANTIC} This is one side of Victor. He may be shy around some, but he loves to flirt around with the she-cats. He's not really even looking for a relationship--he just likes to add a little...spice. A little fun.
{CONSTRICTED} Nobody's perfect. The tom may seem open when he flirts, though he won't go much further into his personality--Mainly to avoid the possible subject of his passed sister.
{QUIRKY} As funny as it seems, Victor is a dork and proud. One you get to know him and break past his shell, he'll chatter about what's on his mind and tell jokes he thinks are funny...but really they aren't.

History | "When will you ever learn? You are a cripple, Vincent. A cripple!"

Victor had been born with a defect. As soon as he had learned to toddle around on his bony paws, his kin had noticed the signs that something was obviously wrong with one of his legs. His left hind leg dragged awkwardly on the ground behind him. It stuck out at an angle when he sat. You could see the gnarled, twisted muscles just underneath his skin.
His leg was lame. He had a limp, but it didn't seem to bother him. He hopped around like a hare, and avoided the scorch of slitted eyes on his pelt like their attention was nothing more than the breeze on his face. He was himself! They couldn't change him, so it didn't matter. It made him...distinguished. He was proud of who he was. His mother and father loved him. His sister, too. Who cared for appearances?
-----------
It wasn't his fault.
It wasn't his fault.
His sister had already began coughing up blood.
The panic in his father's voice singed his ears, "Victor, run to the market and purchase her medicine. Now, Go!" Was it the drizzling rain running down his father's face...or tears? They had already lost their mother a few months ago. He wasn't sure if his father could keep it together.
Victor ripped the bag of coin out oh his father's belt and flew out onto the dirt road.
Strike one.
The droplets of rain had reduced the path to a swamp of slippery mud. He felt his unsteady paws lose the feel of ground and suddenly he was facedown in the thick mud. No air, no air, no air! The thought skimmed his mind as he struggled and finally whipped his head out of the muck. Every. Second. Counts.
He started once again on the path, slipping and trying to regain his balance every so often. It was difficult to sprint across mud, especially when you're disabled. A light fog rolled in. His nose was cold and wet. His pelt dripped and stuck to him, revealing his scrawny, weak frame.
His leg. His leg burned. He had never tried to push it, fearing it would become even more mangled. Blood throbbed through it, as if it had a hard time circulating, and his muscles felt like they were twisting even further.
He glanced back behind him...and dread filled his heart. His father's house was merely just a few yards behind him. But he had covered to much ground. He had worked so hard only to realize he had made no impact.
Strike two.
He lowered his head and willed the hot, sticky tears to stop oozing from his eyes. With his handicap it would take days to reach the market. Why couldn't he have been born normal? Healthy? He used to see his lameness as something that defined him. No. It was a curse. Maybe it did define him. Maybe he was a curse. A curse on his family. He was a burden. There would be hope for his sister if he had no disability. She would have her medicine.
Tail dragging in the mud, he slid back to the house and peeked into the door.
His sister lay there, frozen in time on the ground. Her beautiful eyes that once sparkled with warmth and love for her brother were now glazed over and as lively as stones. The flow of blood running out the corner of her mouth had now slowed. A drop of scarlet hit the stone floor with a sickening plop in the deafness.
Strike three.
You're out.
The two toms sat there in silence for what seemed like a lifetime. It was hard to take this all in.
After the silence, Vincent's father ripped his gaze away from his daughter and reared his head at his son. Vince's eyes widened. He had never seen his father cry. His face was matted and sticky.
"When will you learn?" He mewed in a small, defeated voice.
"What?"
"When will you ever learn?", He repeated, "You are a cripple, Vincent. A cripple! You can't do the things that normal cats can. Your sister was perfectly healthy. She was an angel. My little angel!" The larger tom's eyes were squinted and his mouth hanging open with disbelief.
Vincent could not look his father in the eye. "I...It's not my fault...,"
Before his father could say another word, he dashed out of the house. Pain. Pain coursed through him like his own blood. He wished it would be sucked out of him as easily as his sister's blood had drained out of her mouth.
Vince hid behind his house, drowning in his own grief. Grief was black water swirling into his lungs and there was no way to cough it out.
To his surprise, his father padded out of his house. "Victor...?" His face had a more heartbroken look on it than when he had been staring at his daughter's lifeless body. "Victor...I didn't mean....," His father stared at the ground.
Maybe Vincent could shed a little light. Just a finger of light in the darkness of the moment.
He came out from behind the house. Behind his father, he came up and rubbed his nose in his shoulder.
The older tom looked at him with eyes he couldn't read, but in that single gaze they silently decided. They would not be a broken family.
-------------------
When Victor's father passed peacefully of old age, he decided he would leave to find his calling.
He was homeless on the streets, pickpocketing and starving for a long time. {This is continued in the personality}

Additional Info |
--Victor is a bit more feminine than most toms, and cares for smaller things like tending to art, cooking, and just setting the right mood.
--His left hind leg is lame.
--According to the history, you can see how he might feel about his lame leg.

Relationships |
Neutral
Curious
Friend
Close friend
Crush
Love
Dislike/Hate

Brenson
((Coming soon))

/ Ana
((Coming soon))

Roleplay Sample |
Sample from #City-Of-Sundown .
Andrew's rough, spiny fur graced the corners of his nest. He often found his prickly pelt getting tangled with things around camp, and was quite accustomed to the soft tinkling sound his chain-necklace when it was shaken out. Hey, at least it doesn't shed everywhere, he thought to himself.
Today was dreadfully dull. The sky outside was gray and dreary, the soft light that filtered in was stale and metallic. What a drag. I simply must find something to do.
...But what?
Surely there must be something in this dusty camp to keep him occupied. Maybe he should gather the rubble that gathered at the corners of camp...Argh, seriously Andrew, stop thinking about cleaning. No one if here to watch you right now.
The camp truly was deserted. A few lone cats were strewn across the floor, to busy prodding their nests or taking an early meal to notice a shadow like him.
Maybe I-- His thoughts were broken as his eyes flew to a gleaming black feather that flitted around in the air. 'Must have been stirred up by some cat, left over from a rare feast of bird. Coming to ground, it rested ever so lightly on his bony paws.
Something pulled at him, something he hadn't felt since he was very, very young. His pulse raced. He couldn't help it. An urge, an invisible force coursed through his paw and he struck it with the force he would use to kill a mouse. It rocketed into the air. Unable to stop, Andrew crouched down and batted it again as it floated down. The next time it swooped down he reared his head and grabbed it between his teeth.
Before he could bat it again, his eyes widened and he dropped the feather, letting it flutter down to the floor. W-What? Did anyone see me? Nervous, he glanced at the two cats nearest him, and breathed a sigh of relief. Nope, they were still stuck in their work.
He scoffed at the feather that lay crumpled in front of him.
'Must be possessed or something.