soPRIMARY • harle!! ♥
Jan 8, 2014 19:26:22 GMT -8
Jan 8, 2014 19:26:22 GMT -8
The strange tomcat that had so smoothly slithered into the populace of the Twoleg Place -- that morning, at least -- was still something of an enigma to the inhabitants of the mass coup. Their whispers reached his ears, and he could feel the stares of kittypets -- he referred to them as domashniy kot -- and rouges ("golovorez") and other loners ("parazitnyy") -- burning into his pelt. Well, he couldn't really blame them, even though he stayed far from them . . . well, somewhat.
Not really. But more of that later.
Eyes like the sun, they murmured, and fur like starlight. As modest as he was, no matter how much he tried to deny it, he knew their words -- to the heart -- were true. His eyes blazed amber, like the rising sun -- like the sun that was rising, painting the sky in soft pinks, golds, and blues -- his fur, an impeccably glossy (quite unusual for a wandering loner such as himself, but who could argue?) and deep silver-blue. Innumerable tiny specks of dew -- since it had, of course, rained last night -- shimmered upon his thick, feathery coat, so that, as he strode -- limped, rather -- he glittered like a million shifting stars. There was a faint glow about him from the glimmering sun, as if his very body leaked energy.
However, as long and thick his fur will ever grow, it was sorrowful, true fact that it would never be able to hide the livid, white scar that started at the bottom of his muscled neck and clear to the base of his spine. Upon first introduction, one might notice that his legs are willowy as they are sturdy; his paws dainty as they are set with terrifying, curved claws. He held a sort of fairness not quite seen among most toms, Clanborn or unClanborn. And, although he is moreso rugged, the only real word that can describe him was... beautiful, his self one of being more fairer than the face of any tom -- as far as he knew. Wide, high cheekbones; those slanted, sun-shaming eyes with long, thick winglike eyelashes; milky, long whiskers curling away from his brow and velvety muzzle; of tall height and large, solid build, a mix of leanness and stocky, sterner stuff.
Yet... it was not completely perfect, either, for there was yet another ghastly scar; one that began upon the left side of his face, starting from the peak of his temple, stretching over his eye, only to finally conclude at the base of his heavy jaw, just near his pointed, small chin. Neither was his left paw, for there were two toes missing; where his second and third would have been was instead a clean, white cut.
The dull ache that throbbed behind Ruslan's eyes had faded some. His fur was already thick, but this could not hide a fresh series of cuts and wounds on his flanks and haunches, marks of an intense scuffle with a wily band of strays last night, in the cold, pouring rain. He could still hear the thunder crashing and bellowing in his ears, and suddenly, the dull ache increased, more and more, until . . .
He swayed uneasily, having mangaged to stumble into a quaint little area -- a warm-smelling, cozy little yard, actually -- and, feeling the feel of soft grass underneath his tuffed, thick paws, he toppled over onto his side, his gargantuan body meeting the ground with a heavy, muted thud, his mind slipping into a heady void, his eyelids drifting to an almost-close as he teetered on the brink of exhaustion and blacking-out.
Not really. But more of that later.
Eyes like the sun, they murmured, and fur like starlight. As modest as he was, no matter how much he tried to deny it, he knew their words -- to the heart -- were true. His eyes blazed amber, like the rising sun -- like the sun that was rising, painting the sky in soft pinks, golds, and blues -- his fur, an impeccably glossy (quite unusual for a wandering loner such as himself, but who could argue?) and deep silver-blue. Innumerable tiny specks of dew -- since it had, of course, rained last night -- shimmered upon his thick, feathery coat, so that, as he strode -- limped, rather -- he glittered like a million shifting stars. There was a faint glow about him from the glimmering sun, as if his very body leaked energy.
However, as long and thick his fur will ever grow, it was sorrowful, true fact that it would never be able to hide the livid, white scar that started at the bottom of his muscled neck and clear to the base of his spine. Upon first introduction, one might notice that his legs are willowy as they are sturdy; his paws dainty as they are set with terrifying, curved claws. He held a sort of fairness not quite seen among most toms, Clanborn or unClanborn. And, although he is moreso rugged, the only real word that can describe him was... beautiful, his self one of being more fairer than the face of any tom -- as far as he knew. Wide, high cheekbones; those slanted, sun-shaming eyes with long, thick winglike eyelashes; milky, long whiskers curling away from his brow and velvety muzzle; of tall height and large, solid build, a mix of leanness and stocky, sterner stuff.
Yet... it was not completely perfect, either, for there was yet another ghastly scar; one that began upon the left side of his face, starting from the peak of his temple, stretching over his eye, only to finally conclude at the base of his heavy jaw, just near his pointed, small chin. Neither was his left paw, for there were two toes missing; where his second and third would have been was instead a clean, white cut.
The dull ache that throbbed behind Ruslan's eyes had faded some. His fur was already thick, but this could not hide a fresh series of cuts and wounds on his flanks and haunches, marks of an intense scuffle with a wily band of strays last night, in the cold, pouring rain. He could still hear the thunder crashing and bellowing in his ears, and suddenly, the dull ache increased, more and more, until . . .
He swayed uneasily, having mangaged to stumble into a quaint little area -- a warm-smelling, cozy little yard, actually -- and, feeling the feel of soft grass underneath his tuffed, thick paws, he toppled over onto his side, his gargantuan body meeting the ground with a heavy, muted thud, his mind slipping into a heady void, his eyelids drifting to an almost-close as he teetered on the brink of exhaustion and blacking-out.
And I'll be, crawling back to you