Post by Noodle! on Aug 28, 2008 21:59:14 GMT -5
There is poetry in despair, and we sang with unrivaled beauty, bitter elegies of savagery and eloquence.
Name: Ophelia
Gender: Intact Female
Age: Six Months
Breed: Shar-pei and Doberman Pinscher Hybrid.
History:
The past and history is always the last thing that is discussed in regards of a dog, if it is even brought about at all. However, in the case of Ophelia, you cannot understand her without hearing of where and what she came from. Dilute genes stream through her mentally, physically, and emotionally. Nothing she has is of purity, nothing she exhibits is mundane, and nothing she says lacks tact. Harlow, back when humans had no disappeared, was the home to some strange characters. Hawthorne Road was the city’s most prestigious area, and home to some of the finest in well-behaved specimens; but it did not lack its villains. A Doberman was the guard dog on one end of the road, killing and maiming and trespassers. He was sadistic, sharp, and violent; perfection in a manipulative killer. And on the other end there lived a spoiled, quiet, and vicious shar-pei. Composed, stoic, defiant.
Enter Ophelia’s parents. out of chaos, God made a world, and in such: a cosmos. In disorder: a secret order.
Somewhere in the twisted tragedy they wove a litter of pups came into existence. Upon the turn of three weeks, the weakest of the pups was beheaded, the shar-pei’s clean teeth quickly decapitating the sickliest male’s head from his shoulders. Survival of the fittest, from day one, Ophelia was the smallest of the puppies but also the most determined by that sin fell the angels. and eager to please her parents. Humans disappeared, and somewhere in that turmoil so did the rest of the puppies, and then it was only herself and her parents. Those days are hazy in her mind, and she can only recall certain moments, some more vividly than others. One unparticular lives on: the death of her parents. It could be called a suicide, it could be called a murder; what is for sure is this: it sculpted that final layer of the mental character of the young Ophelia. Her father, bloodied and wounded from a battle of unfair proportions, stood dripping with liquid in the center of an abandoned human court. The cracked and burning asphalt was hot on the paws, and the clouds overhead threatened rain. What little life had once flared in those dead eyes was now gone, and the corpse stared back at her. Gently rain fell. Her mother then appeared; eyes completely emotionless although the strange pang of involuntary emotional tension and sorrow was resonating from her. She moved forward to him, stance regal and seemingly uncaring, and they spoke. Ophelia strained to hear their words, but she could not. It was in the next moment that the shar-pei leaned forward, grabbing his neck in her teeth he may know that he is going to die, but he can never know that he is dead. and then twisted her head painfully slowly to the side. The Doberman grabbed the exposed side of her neck, almost lovingly pulling the loose skin as blood poured from both of their mouths. In a strange sort of turmoil they began thrashing, violently throwing their own gore around the area in the rain. The silence was almost painful, only the sounds of their ripping flesh being heard as decorated in rose red, that became rust black… you could nearly hear the sound of the sinew that held their bodies together straining. It was not long before the two gently slid together, colliding as if in slow motion, and gradually fell into the hot pavement. Steam rose from the cool rain’s touch, and already birds had gathered even in the storm. Their daughter peered on, mismatched eyes gleaming up at those raptors You're to solid to be angels, or bringers of death. Do your lutes sing justice? as she slowly wandered towards the ghastly scene.
And thus the ‘star-crossed’ lovers Romeo and Juliet never had it so bad... and the beginning of the tragedy of their offspring. The two lay in each other’s jaws and she let out a short, sharp whimper before turning away to exit into the streets. She was small, alone, and cold. The rain poured down on her, staining her pure coat a dingy yellow-grey. She slipped beneath a garbage bin, huddling to gather warmth as she shook. She looked down the street they have their exits and their entrances. and decided her course of departure when the rain would relent to allow her to do so. Their spawn should never have lived the world cannot handle the both of us. for what a disaster they’d created.
She peered back at the final act she’d left behind, and black birds were sweeping down upon them. A murder of crows made their claim to the tender areas of body still pulsing with oxygen-deprived blood.
A murder, how fitting.
Personality:
Two monsters could create a creature no less than this, something only two heads short of Cerberus. She acquires an equal amount of traits from both of her parents, and a disastrous amount of a little something new. She is bold, defiant, brash, and calm. An unmovable rock that is defined by a regal and stubborn nature of superiority. Her threshold for pain is nonexistent, she has endurance like her sire. Self-preservation holds no importance to her, but unlike the Doberman father she backs it up with a regard for sacrifice in order to fulfill her ambitions. Not as anti-social as either of her parents, Ophelia makes peers for foot props. This was the one thing her parents lacked on their road of desire and power: minions and ‘followers’ of sorts. Manipulative, conniving, and dignified, she’s a cunning sociopath. of all these colors that you shine, this is surely not your best. She does not engage in fripperies or love, and she finds no place for true emotions such as that unless they prove fruitful. Sarcasm, she does not lack.
Perhaps a bit more sane than her predecessors, from time to time she exhibits that strange, nearly rabid madness not so unlike a particular caged beast in her bloodline.
((kept short as to not give too much away :]…))
Appearance:
Her face is that of a Doberman, her snout somewhat more wide, giving way to a Chelsea smile grin of teeth, a black and pink tongue, and the toxic words of exploitation. Her eyes are dead and glazed; that shark-like gaze of her father: the right being an exact replica of his own. The right however, perhaps coming with the package of her mother’s dilute genes, is a dull, icy blue. Her coat is pale, rose like her mothers, leading to pinkish pigments on her extremities. Her tail is long and curled slightly, and her coat wrinkles in some places as did the shar-pei’s. Her paws are large, even so for her body, and she stands as tall as her father with a strange slight bulk of muscle from the other.
Sleek, and agile, powerful and steadfast. Daddy’s little girl; mommy’s little project.
((kept short as to not give too much away :]…))
Other: Would have been a pet, I suppose, but is a stray of the city... So that makes her in the... "urban" pack, I suppose? Or just a rogue?
...Of blue and grey. Strange, we ran down desparate streets and carved our names in the flesh of the city.
