Post by MOURGLES! on Oct 25, 2010 0:31:05 GMT -5
[/b] Advanced, I suppose?HANNIBAL, the lab rat.
Coming soon.Basics
|Name| Hannibal
|Aliases| Hanni
|Age| Three Years
|Gender| Female
|Affiliation| Rat Rebellion, hard core.Physical
|Coloration| A soft, pale pink with a grey hooded face.
|Oddities| She was a result of genetic material experimentation, and thus her DNA has been entwined with that of a finches. Due to this she has a dorsal line of small, multicolored feathers lining down to her tail, where they become slightly longer. When she is threatened or flustered, her feathers tend to stand and fluff up as a gauge of her emotions. Her eyes are also two different colors as she as acquired heterochromia, with one eye a vivid blue and the other the standard black.
|Extras| As Hannibal is a Hairless Rat, she is often prone to the cold winters and contracting illnesses easier in the cold months. So she has crafted herself a suit of sorts – basically long johns for a rat, with bright red material, with holes for her paws and tail. It hugs her thin body tightly and is made of warm material, so it protects her from the cold, and also from surface scratches and injuries.
She also has a little red overcoat that she wears during the summer and spring. Though a lab rat, she is quite a vicious one – and she has crafted herself a spear from a strong oak branch, tipped with a spear made from the bones of a fish, beads and other odd shiny ornaments tethered to its tip. The spear tip is removable and she often uses it as a knife in close combat.
|General Appearance| Hannibal- small and thin and rather unimpressive, is often a target of mockery. She’s mocked mostly due to the fact that she’s furless, her long thin body tinged a soft, pale pink, the only presence of color is the soft grey hood that covers from her forehead to the tip of her muzzle. Her skin is very soft with a layer of peach-fuzz, thicker around her muzzle.
She’s got small raised bumps on either side of her cheeks that look like little dimples, but are actually pimples of sorts – she also has one on her chin. Due to her lack of fur she is prone to more cuts and injuries. Which is why various scars, all small, dot along her flanks and back, obtained from roughhousing and such with her friends, though they aren’t noticeable and are a soft white color and barely distinguishable.
Her tail is longer than most, and when she moves she curls it in a soft arc so that it doesn’t drag on the floor or get mussed up. Her whiskers are curl inward, and very brittle, prone to breaking off easily. The feathers that trail down her back in the manner of the dorsal stripe are a soft, downy consistency and vary in hues of red, green and blue.Mental
|Likes| Carrots, Fighting, Swimming, Food, Hunting and Foraging, Missions and Raids
|Dislike| Grapes, Strawberries (they give her indigestion), Pansies, Complaining
|Strengths| Determined, Stealthy, Strategic and extremely passionate
|Weaknesses| Temperamental and short fused, prone to violence, extremely stubborn, obsessed with cleaning of dirt (blood doesn’t bother if it’s her own).
|Complete Personality| Hannibal has a very rough and abrasive personality - she's brash, bold and loud, and to most comes off as crude and unrefined, though in reality she can actually be quite dignified when the occasion calls for it. She is selfish only in her means of survival and will kill if necessary, especially those who threaten or oppose her. Not to say she takes joy in killing, she's no sadist - but she hasn't any qualms with eliminating an enemy. With a short, fiery temper that easily leads to violence, she tends to get in plenty of tussles to prove that she's worth more than her weight and a strong asset to her alliance.
She's the type of female that you either instantly like or instantly hate, though she does have a tendency to grow on people. When she's impassioned about something there is no stopping her, especially when one of her friends or family members are threatened. Those that know her, well or not, her loyalty could never be called into question, and to do so would quickly get you a swift kick on the rump. Hannibal does not often take things seriously and is most of the time a jovial and hearty soul, but as stated she can quickly go from joking to serious in two seconds flat. Flirtatious as hell and sometimes inapproprately so, Hannibal is a cocky sonnovagun she's unabashed in her often conceited ways. She's hard to love, but once you do Hannibal will never let you down.History
|Parents| Jack and Leonie
|Siblings| Fish (or Fishy)
|Complete History|
Hannibal was born to Jack and Leonie, bred specifically for the hairless gene, though there was an odd side effect and she was the only hairless born of the bunch, and though the runt of the litter turned out to be perhaps the strongest. Though the breed was common enough, she was chosen to be host to DNA strain addition, manipulation and mutation. She was separated from her mother and father and only surviving sister at birth and raised in a small, dank cage made only of glass - there was nothing for her to snuggle against or in, as they deprived her of necessary vittles and warmth to see if she would be strong enough to survive the stress of such a hostile living environment. Turns out she was, which made her a prime component to begin the injections. She spent weeks in intense pain as feathers burst their way through her soft skin in painful bloody spikes.
The entirety of her life was spent in complete solitude, and she was was freed only due to the kindness of one of the escaping Lab Rats who took pity on her poor bruised, bloodied frame. Despite her life spent alone, she honed her skills even through the agony of the battle of nature and science within her small body. As she owes her life to the lab rats, she decided to join them in their trek to freedom and pledge her allegiance to those that freed her.
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Mourge
|Where You Found Us| You advertised on my site, The Menagerie~
|Sample Post|[/ul]
It had been another close call - this Caseyboy, he seemed to be a beacon for trouble. After swooping in for a heroic looking but rather tiring rescue, Sascha found himself trudging tiredly along side his newfound friend. They hadn’t seen each other for weeks on end, but the Fulsi had been on his mind almost constantly - his life was a lonely one, for the most part he kept to himself, avoiding getting close to people to avoid rejection. He’d already found that in the arms of Eris - or, rather, against the tip of her blade. A soft sigh escaped his lips, and he ran a hand across his scruffy jaw, contemplating. “Why you attacking Carna like dat? Hey?” He said at last, touching Casey’s shoulder briefly. “Where is...ah...Damian?” His pale green eyes were wide with concern, as he bit his lip, one long fang protruding on the soft, pink flesh.
“I think he saw...” Sascha glanced away, clearing his throat, but he pressed his finger tips gently to his own lips, a soft blush rising to his cheeks at the thought of the kiss. It had been so strange - kissing a man he hardly knew. But between them, he had felt something - a connection, something he had felt rarely before with another. He got to thinking on how it would’ve been if he hadn’t have found Casey fighting that Carna woman with the nice bobs, however crazy she looked with the axe poised to hurt his friend. Sascha imagined Casey could’ve made it out okay, he just needed a little help. It happened to Sascha a lot, actually - he was no fighter, and often found himself in situations in which death seemed a stones throw away. Is luck, he supposed, but the image of Casey’s body sprawled on the Carna docks, blood pooling beneath him...
Sascha gasped and pulled to a stop, drawing Casey into a fierce, almost smothering hug. “I am glad you are safe. With me. Yes, yes, safee we are together.” He murmured into his friend's dark auburn hair, before pulling away and cheerfully kissing him on both cheeks, a hearty laugh rumbling in his chest. Sascha held Casey’s face in between his hands, eyes trailing to his lips again - he was sorely tempted.
But he just smiled and patted his friend’s cheek, turning promptly on heel and straight into an iron clad fist. Sascha saw nothing but stars, and the next thing he knew he was on the ground - a familiar place - and was staring into the dull sheen of a scuffed pair of boots. He grunted, eyes squinting past the blood that trickled down from his temple, into the fierce, black eyes of...Oh, God. God.
“Misha...” Sascha managed a hoarse whisper, limp fingers balling into a feeble fist, and as he tried to rise a savage kick to the chest sent him down with a pained gasp, a sick crack ringing through the air. “Casey, go...” Sascha cried out desperately as his brother planted his boot firmly on his broken rib and pressed. The pain ripped through his body and his back arched as he bucked in attempts to rid himself of the pressure, but his brother’s press was firm and strong, a cold laugh grumbling from his chest - a slick, wet laugh that seemed diseased.
“Te rog, nu. Misha...de ce...de ce faci asta?” Please, no. Misha...why...why do you do this? His voice crack, his voice a feeble whisper he squinted into the dark face of his brother, the edges of his vision blurring to the familiar black. “No...”
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