SOCKS . done

[ASHES.]

NAME. socks.
GENDER. male.
AGE. six.
CLASS. vagrant.
MONARCHY. neither.

APPEARANCE. image.

from the head down ;

the tip of his ears to his brow and all the way around his skull is a dark brown, almost black hue with faint tabby markings that are almost unnoticeable. his ears are small to medium in size and pointed. moving down, his eyes are large orbs of dark amber, slightly slanted with dark slits of black through the center, giving him an almost permanent look of malice. they are surrounding by thick black lines, making them more pronounced. just below that is his nose, resting on the end of an average length muzzle and sitting bright and pink. whiskers sprout from his cheeks just under, long, white, and wispy. his cheeks obscure one of his favorite things in the world, his pearly whites. though not too white now they are still deadly weapons. his fangs had dulled and yellowed with age and lack of good dental hygiene.

shoulders, knees, and toes ;

just about the rest of his body is a snowy white with long, thick fur that hides most of his blemishes a.k.a his scars. they're scattered across his hide, reminders of six years of fighting his way through life. he's had his fair share of the world. broad shoulders make his figure daunting and his size doesn't lessen it any. socks is a huge cat. think muscle is also hidden by that pelt, though he can hardly say he's in his prime anymore. he's stocky and was never one to do much running. fighting was always his preferred choice to fleeing and his slightly dulled claws have the wear and tear to prove it. his joints aren't as slick as they used to be and he can't pull off the big stunts that he did two or three years ago. he still moves well enough, but a bit of cold weather can put him in a foul mood.

the big finale ;

last but not least comes his tail, and frankly it's almost twice his size. one might think he was carrying another cat around back there. the thick, fluffy tail acts like a blanket on those chilly nights. it's a deep. dark brown and laced with faint tabby markings that almost get lost in the fluff. if his size didn't impress this will.

the summary ;

all in all, socks is a huge, menacing looking cat who has grown wise with age. he's not a bad looking tom and quite burly as well. he has a thick white and tabby pelt and dark yellow eyes and that tail of his; wow.

[ 413 ]

PERSONALITY.

cold ;

socks doesn't care about any cat other than himself and makes it well known. the only thing he might be interested in is a game to pass the time, but other than that your existence means nothing to him. he's always been this way, unfeeling for everyone and everything. his family couldn't have been more than strangers despite their affection towards him. socialization isn't something he leans towards and relationships aren't any goals of his.

homicidal ;

he believes that from day one he's known the the meaning of life; nothing. to him, there is no meaning. it starts, it ends, the world goes on. by killing off the odd cat he's just speeding up the process. there is nothing better than the sight of warm lifeblood. the cries of helpless cats. the shocked faces of his victims. he may even be doing them a mercy, ending it all before something really bad happens. he's not some angel of death, just a cat trying to make the most of his meaningless life.

actor ;

socks can't help but play with his victims. he turns his process into a game. maybe he "coincidentally" runs into a nice cat. he'll put on a nice smile, talk in a smooth voice, make them trust him. he might drag this on for days. they'll talk and he'll make up some completely false story about his family to get a couple pity points, and when that cat's completely sucked in to the act the makes comes off and blood flows. he loves the face. the disbelief in their eyes, the unimaginable fear. it sends shivers down his spine. it's not just the nice guy act he can do. anything to make the situation any more enjoyable. he loves putting on a show for his audience of one. despite the smile on his looks, the look in his eyes, or the feel of his voice, he isn't a cat to be trusted.

calculating ;

despite his whole life philosophy, socks isn't careless. six years of life isn't just luck. he isn't reckless. he doesn't just choose a cat to slaughter, he'll scout an area to see what can be found and then choose the best candidate out of these. usually a serf, a cat with no family who won't be missed. if they have some traumatic past he can play off of that's just a bonus. his plays are carefully planned out each step of the way. he's careful to stay away from the monarchies, knowing that if he slipped up just one time he could be in big trouble. multiple counts of murder probably wouldn't go over well with them.

kid hater ;

though he can spend months setting the stage for his final act, there are some things that just tick him off. he can usually stand the company of another with the thought of tearing through their jugular in mind, but younger cats are just one thing he cannot stand. he was once young, but he was never hyper. curious maybe, but never excited. he didn't ask questions, he figured things out for himself. seeing the life of young cats, the energy in their eyes, he can't help but want to end it in the worst way possible.

[ 536 ]

HISTORY.

family ;

meredith - pretty tabby and white she-cat. small, muscular build. bright green eyes. mother. western monarchy. current whereabouts unknown.
clay - large, stocky white tom. amber eyes. father. western monarchy. current whereabouts unknown.
lizbeth - small and fragile black and white she-cat. green eyes. sister. western monarchy. deceased.

birth to nine months ;

one chilly spring morning a pair of mates were awaiting the arrival of their first litter of kits. the labor lasted about an hour or so (seemed like a couple of years to the father) and then there were two little kits snuggled up in the nest, squealing their little tongues out. a tom and she-cat. the two new parents had already planned out names. lizbeth for the little tuxedo girl and socks for the tabby and white tom. both kittens were healthy. the mother and father couldn't be prouder.

socks was a large kit, that was obvious. even at birth when his fur was short and fuzzy he towered over his younger sister. when the long fur grew in he seemed to double in size. he started exploring the world far before his sister who was still content with snuggling in the nest with their mother and eating all day. he would leave in the morning and come back at night, twigs and leaf bits tangled in his fur and his father trailing behind, absolutely exhausted. his energy was bottomless and curiosity even deeper. over the next few months his body just kept getting bigger and bigger whereas lizbeth barely seemed to change.

eventually his sister joined him in his explorations, but she couldn't keep up most of the time. she's always try to stick close to him, but eventually fell behind with their father who was charged with watching them all day. though socks didn't notice it, she idolized him. to him she was nothing but a third cat in the nest. a kitten that seemed determined to follow him around all day. she did listen to him, and he liked that. she'd listen for hours as he told her about his adventures (most of them made up) and she grew to love him even more.

at six months his fascination with life and the living sprouted. he inspected everything from bugs to plants to small rodents and birds he caught himself. from this his fascination with death sprung. things that moved one second because lifeless husks the next. a squirrel busy hopping around, whiskers twitching, would be carried to him nothing more than fur and meat. he wondered how such a radical change could happen in a matter of seconds. he wondered what happened after. was it like sleep that never ended? did the world just go black? or did it go on somewhere else? socks didn't have the means of the discovering this quite yet so he waited patiently for when the time came when he had the resources.

nine months came quickly. lizebth was attached to her big brother more than ever and socks barely noticed her. he'd tried to know her before, but despite the interest she showed in his ideas at first her attention was eventually torn away to something else. she found his activities boring and this angered him. she used to listen so intently to his stories of suspense and action. did she not find him worth her time anymore? on the contrary, lizbeth thought nothing of the sort. she just did not have the patience to sit and stare at bugs and dead things scared her. socks continued to push her away while she kept trying to pull closer. her idolization of her brother kept her blind to the reality. his disinterest in her, the constant cold shoulder. his sister was nothing but a fly on the wall to him while to her he was almost like a god.

it was around that time that he realized the uselessness of life. his maturing brain caught onto it quickly. what was the point of living if everything ended the same no matter what one did or the paths of life chosen? everyone just died. there was no point. his sister was the most useless of all. lizbeth thought his ideas silly and pointless. she didn't understand anything. a dark hatred for the stupidity of the she-cat grew inside him. how she frolicked around chasing a butterfly, so carefree when death would reach her eventually. a small idea started to form in socks' head. a little thing that he pushed off at first, but as he watched his stupid sister more and more the idea eventually took hold of him.

he found the idea rational, he just did know how to set it in motion. it almost seemed to happen for him one day, like the wheels of fate turning in his favor. while out exploring, lizbeth innocently tagging along. the siblings were alone, their father no longer seeing it necessary to watch them like kittens. the tuxedo she-cat stepped on a sharp rock and crimson blood leaked from the slice in her pad. socks watched it with twisted curiosity while his sister squealed and whimpered. she bled like prey, his own sister. would her death be the same as prey? was it different? would it look different? he had never seen the death of a cat before and the need to know what it looked like tore at him. his sister was useless in this world, she would not be missed. would it be like she never existed? socks was eager to find out.

maybe she saw the hungry look in his eyes or noticed his unsheathed claws because lizbeth started to back away from her brother. she was so small, so fragile. it looked like the big tom would be able to break her like a twig. his claws sliced through her skin and flesh easily, maybe a bit tougher than prey but it still held up little resistance to his strength. her bones snapped like those of a bird's and her blood flowed like a river. there was certainly more blood than in a squirrel or bird.

the deed done, socks stepped back to survey his work. the mutilated body of what had once been his sister lay in a pile at his paws. the sight filled him with cold pleasure, a feeling that sent chills down his spine. the horror of what he'd done flickered through his mind, but it wasn't able to grab hold of anything or take root. there was no guilt, only satisfaction. he wondered, just for a moment, if her blood tasted like that of prey. he bent over a small puddle to taste, but ended up spitting it out with disgust. even in death lizbeth just made him hate her more. he kicked some dirt over the body and quickly abandoned the site, his bloodied paws leaving a trail of crimson prints. socks didn't bother returning home that day. his parents meant no more to him than his sister, though he did not hate them like he had her. he left the couple to wonder about their missing kits for the rest of their lives, turning away from the western monarchy where he had grown up and choosing to live without a monarchy, moving between both the western and eastern.

nine months to three years ;

over the next year socks continued to fill his curiosity. he couldn't help but wonder if his sister was some kind of exception, if the death of other cats were different, or if every death was different. three more cats fell to him, all mutilated the same as his sister. at first his tactics were crude. multiple scars were obtained through struggles with victims. it was not a very efficient method of obtaining the information he desired and he began searching for alternate methods.

socialization was never one of his strong points but his sister had adored him so much, why couldn't he get the same from strangers. socks discovered that if he acted the right way and waited long enough he could eventually get cats to trust him. after suspicion disappeared reaching his goal became easy. though some cats took longer than others the relationship ended the same way every time. socks found a pleasure in his patience as well. his acting skills were perfected with time and he enjoy watching their last emotions fizzle out of their eyes. it gave him pleasure knowing his face was the last thing they ever say and his claws the last thing they ever felt.

at four years of age, seven cats had fallen victim to socks. each time his act became more and more complicated. he treated the killings almost like a game. his next victim ended up being in the east. he stumbled upon an older cat while wandering about the eastern monarchy. the cat was maybe a year older than him, but he treated socks like an equal. it didn't take long to earn this cat's trust and the old tom was dead within two weeks of the first encounter. as it turned out that old cat was a council member of the eastern monarchy and his fellow member did not like the fact that the cat had disappeared all together. when his body was found socks' scent was of course found with it. socks had already managed to leave the territory and disappear, though the fact that the old cat had never once bothered to mention his ranking did irk him a bit. he's supposedly wanted by the eastern monarchy to murdering a valued member of their council, but that was two years ago.

four years to six years ;

after the incident in the eastern monarchy socks kept his killing range mostly in the western monarchy where he had originally grown up and areas between. two years was plenty of time to change his killing style and perfect it. instead of mutilating his victims, socks now gives them a clean slice to the throat when they're not looking. sometimes, though, he isn't completely spot on and the cat is let to gurgle for a few seconds before death finally takes them. this method leaves his paws relatively unbloodied and leaves little trace of himself. he still takes his time to enjoy his games and his travels have also allowed him to learn about the thought processes of other cats. he's categorized the different personalities he's met and figured out the best ways to quickly and efficiently earn their trust.

the council member of the eastern monarchy counted eight on his kill list. since then four more have lost their lives, leaving his total at twelve. socks claims no monarchy, no family, no friends. he leaves little to no trace in the areas he visits. since his parents no cat has heard his name that has lived. he does come across stranger every now and then that he doesn't intend to kill, only hear about the latest news. council member changes, relationship status between the monarchies, that sort of stuff. he just doesn't exchange names with the cat.

[ 1780 ]

OTHER. hope you don't mind the all lowercase thing i do. it's just a style i've adopted over my years of roleplaying <3

[/justify]

[abri[elle]]

approved.