Post by Candle on Sept 15, 2011 4:11:51 GMT -5
Name: Wandering Whisperer
Alias: 246o1, Whisper
Gender: Vagina, kthx.
Age: 10 months
Birthdate: January, 2130 [unsure if timing is still right]
Species: Dog.
Breed: Grey Wolf/Czechoslovakian Wolfdog
Purebred: No.
Height: 18''
Weight: 30 lbs
Build: Compact, boxy shape with pupish proportions- big paws, huge ears, rolly-polly belly, the works.
Coat: Coarse and thick with a thick, durable topcoat. A mix between a wolf and a GSD's perhaps.
Head: Angular and pointed, Very wolf-like
Eyes: Heterochromatic- left one is golden yellow, right is dark blue
Injuries/Scars: A deep, oozing open wound winding all the way around her neck where the ingrown chain-choke collar once was. Infection has set in.
Speed: Semi-slow.
Agility: Very high.
Stamina: Very, very high (when adult).
Strength: Very low.
Fighting: Above-average.
Strengths: Despite her pale shading, the mottled quality of her coat, along with her size and nimble movements, allow her to lay in concealment for as long as she wishes. She is even able to fake an enemy out and basically hide in plain sight.
Weaknesses: This means, of course, that she runs away from most fights. When she is forced to fight she uses "cheap tactics" to evade, parry, and striking from the direction her enemy least expects. Another one of her weaknesses is her kind heart. She will never kill anything besides fish on purpose. Even when her own life is in danger, taking the life of another dog is practically physically impossible for her. Being a juvenile, her reaction-time and balance are a bit off as she adjusts to her growing body.
Personality: Silent observer known to take in as much about another being as she can before moving on. A wall flower until provoked. However, she is brave and stubborn, sometimes to a fault. She is very kind and gentle, always choosing a less violent path if one is available. She has a weakness for adventuring, and is most likely to brave a dark tunnel just to say she did. Once angered or aroused, Whisper will stubbornly defend her position and loved ones against even the most frightening of foes. She cannot stand thrill-killers, speciesism against wolves, dogs, or half-breeds and will stand up to bullies even if those bully is a one ton bull bison. Either valiantly brave, or stupidly foolhardy, Whispy will throw her neck out on the line without thinking of cost or benefits to herself.
Fears: Being unable to help someone. her biggest fear is actually of herself- she is afraid that one day her strong heart will falter, even for a moment, and in that moment someone will suffer for her apprehension.
She is very uncomfortable around humans and guns, and anything that still smells like them (humans and gun-powder that is). Whether this is fear or aggression (or most likely a combination of both) it keeps her from taking hand-outs from well-wishers.
Family: Siblings:Lyrical Phantom (sister), Pariah ( fraternal twin brother)
Parents: Jimmy and Dancing Willow
History:
Puppy Hell
[/b][/u]She was born somewhere in the North-western parts of the US, on a mist-ridden twilight in January. Her littermates were her fraternal twin brother and sister, and another stillborn brother. Moments after taking her first breath of the rank, chilled air inside a decades old ‘moving house’ (which of course was too rusted by then to move anyways), she felt a sharp pain in one of her ear lobes; she’d been tagged with a bright yellow plastic ring, her identification code being 246o1.
At 17 days old, she opened her eyes not to the kind, depthless blue of her mother’s, but to the vaguely yellow, bloodshot eyes of Daisy Hill, a less-than legit fighting dog peddler. Porcine, blubbery lips scowled petulantly as she gripped her just beneath where her forelimbs met her scrawny body.
“Finally,” sneered the sewage-eyed beast, a lock of her greasy blond hair falling into her equally oily face. “Wuz beginning’ ter think you were never gonna open ‘up.”
Just over two weeks of age, and she already knew the terrible, chronic pain of starvation and cold. Her ears had opened already, and so the harsh vocals of this creature grated on their sensitive drums like the shrieks of a dying crow. She did not understand her at the time, but steadily learned bits and pieces of her broken language as she grew, and looked upon this instance later on in life… she didn’t like her, but nor did she like any other of her ‘produce’, as the young ones were sometimes called. Not even their money-making dams were relished… which made her wonder why a human would seek to profit from beasts they do not understand, or even like.
As she grew, she witnessed unspeakable horrors, including the forced coupling of her dearest mother and her sister, her aunt, the derelict conditions in which she lived her entire young life, and the neglect and abuse placed upon her fellow canine. She played, ate, sparred, and slept in the filth that only built upon the hardened crust already present on the grimy tile. Beyond mother’s milk, they were fed twice a week, and only those who were healthy enough to fight for it were able to continue in existence. She struggled for every atom of food she could, but some days she could not force herself to lift her head, let alone take a tooth to a friend or family member. In many cases, the older ones turned cannibalistic, feasting on the corpses of those who could hold out no longer. She took no notice, as she could not understand death, even though it flourished around her.
Her first taste of mortality came around the age of four months. Daisy and her corpulent son found her aunt to be infertile, and therefore useless to them, unprofitable. A shotgun was poised to her head just as she looked up from her final meal. She tilted her head, one tattered ear flopping over, and from her milk crate a deafening crackling boom was heard. The inside of her aunt’s skull-case splattered in every direction, and the others were quick to gobble them up, her brother even lapping a bit of brains from her forehead.
When she learned the canid language, her words came out in feathery whispers, and so her dame gave me the first part of her name. She only saw her father through the chicken wire separating the two sides of the trailer, though he fondly called her his little wanderer from her tendency for avid exploration away from mother, Pariah, and Phantom. And so, she came to be dubbed the Wandering Whisper.
The Outside World - Not Much Better
[/b][/u]When she was five months of age and sufficiently lean, the three of them were taken from the moving house for the first time. She and her siblings were ripped from their cages and plopped in a pen made of old chicken wire. They stayed there for several days amongst several other “prime fighting dogs”, but soon they were the last ones and it didn't look like they were ever going to get to go home (wherever that was). They were unremarkable, bland, mild-mannered pups. If they just used their teeth when they play-fought, if they growled louder and fiercer…. Perhaps they would have been taken. Perhaps that would have made things worse.
However, there came a time when they could no longer be showcased as it was bad for business, and so they were squeezed into one of the smaller cages in the back of the broken-windowed building. Another few days passed and finally a thick juvenile two-legger wearing all black covering with shiny, dangerous looking chains around his neck and wrists came right to us. Pariah huddled in the back with his fur standing on end, lips twitching with a fearful snarl. Whisper and Phantom took the initiative to press their noses against his fingertips. His pale, thin lips stretched into a most sinister smile and he had called the shop owner over. Daisy raised her brows dubiously as she saw which cage the boy point to, but shrugged and shoved the key in anyways. Phantom and Whisper leapt back, joining their brother with stiff tails and bristling fur, but the boy laughed and wrapped his meaty fists around the largest of us, being Pariah. The menacing teenager brought our brother to his face to inspect him, which was a severe lack of judgment. Terrified, Pariah chomped down on the juvenile’s nose, eliciting a nice crunch and a girlish shriek the likes of which they’d never known.
“Get ‘im offa me! Get ‘im off you stupid git!” bellowed the boy, swinging his head and further ripping his nose from his face. She snarled as she watched her brother flung into a crumbling wall with a pained yelp. The store was in an uproar, everyone was barking and screaming, but all she saw was that twerp, now clambering at his ravaged face.
Yipping at Phantom, they nodded and leapt at the boy, aiming for whatever they could grab on to. She missed, and skidded to the floor behind him, knocking over several empty cages. Her feet caught in the wire and she viciously tried to free herself as her sister swung from the child’s ear, but before she could, the shop owner swung a crowbar he had picked up and yet another of her siblings slumped, unconscious, to the floor. Threatening to ‘sue’ (despite the fact that the courts were either dealing with more important things or simply dissolved), the boy and his red-faced father streaked from the store. Daisy, nearly in tears, gathered her siblings and her in a single cage, she being the only one still conscious, and drove them all to an old impound lot. There, the furious woman chained the young mutts to the fence and left them to die.
But these pups were not the average dogs, and using their combined weights, pulled their chains free from the fence. Unfortunately the old metal poles that had been holding the fence up collapsed in made a great noise, startling the siblings so that they fled in random directions.
She wandered without a destination, never stopping for fear of being recaptured and sent back to prison. Her belly felt as if it were eating itself, her paws pulse with every aching step, and her limbs burned like fire, yet she continued. Along the way, she managed to hook her collar on a low tree branch, successfully ripping the chain from her neck to leave a deep, oozing wound all round her neck.
