Post by cheshire on Jan 7, 2013 19:59:43 GMT
Cheshire "Chester" Cat
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You're a stranger, so what do I care? Vanish today, not the first time I hear...[/b][/size][/font]
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Age: Twenty two, though he honestly isn't sure.
Species: Legend
Kingdom: Fifth Kingdom
Occupation: He doesn't quite remember.
Playby: Matthew Gray Gubler.
Father: A stray tabby named Mister Finklesworth.
Mother: A fairy named Gwendolyn - it's complicated.
Siblings: None, thankfully.
Other: He has a daughter named Kitten. For an extraordinarily brief time, he was with a woman named Stella.
Likes: Confusion, the unpredictable, natural environments, people and freedom.
Dislikes: Novels, lectures, restrictions, confined spaces and rice.
Strengths:[/size] The Cheshire Cat is remarkably knowledgeable. He's also rather cunning and finds it relatively easy to manipulate people.
Weaknesses:[/size] He's flighty, overestimates his abilities and has a rather crippling fear of enclosed spaces.
Personality:[/size][/font]
For the most part, the Cheshire Cat is a wandering trickster. He seldom sets down roots and has been known to abandon the few that exist. It's very rare to see him commit to anything, whether it's an endeavor or another being. He may well become bored and disappear at a moment's notice, just as he tends to appear. Needless to say, Chesh is particularly whimsical, often forming allegiances and participating in events as the mood strikes him. He is not reliable nor trustworthy, which most certainly isn't a reputation he has any interest in changing. After all, he finds it much more fun to see how people react when they don't quite know what to expect from him.
He trends toward cheerful. It's very rare to find Cat in a petty or dour mood. When somebody does upset him, it's far more likely that he will only wander away, as his interest lies in adversity - not conflict. He plays the part of a smiling jester, often leading people through needless obstacles and refusing to provide any straight answers to even the simplest questions. He'll often adopt the guise of madness, though it's quite likely that he is mad himself. So far as he's concerned, everybody around him is quite insane. And he isn't all there either.
Beneath that, Cheshire is a staunch rebel. It mightn't be easy to see, beneath the veneer of insanity and humor, but he firmly resists any sort of attempt to control him. He favors his own freedom above most other things. He would count any sort of tyrant among his enemies, though benevolent authority figures tend to incur lighthearted pranks nonetheless. This isn't to say that Chesh can't be enamored or manipulated - no, that happens easily enough. But more overt and blatant means of taking away his liberty aren't met positively.
Eyes:[/size] Blue.
Hair:[/size] Brown.
Physique:[/size]
Cheshire has two forms. The first is a cat, of course, though the body of it can be difficult to see in certain lights. He is easily distinguished from most other animals by a broad, most unfeline grin or smirk. The color of his fur is a light tan, but brown about the face. There are patches in places that don't quite seem to match the rest of him in shade, but their appearance is eerily intermittent.
The human body that he seldom adopts carries a few similar traits. As the cat's body is brown about the face, the human's hair is brown. Both forms have deep blue eyes and wear very broad, toothy smiles. His human body stands at a perhaps meager five feet and six inches, and would be considered wiry as opposed to muscular. He puts this body on very rarely, as he finds it tiresome to be human.
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History: [/font]
Cheshire isn't quite sure how he came to be. Although he wouldn't know it, he is actually the consequence of a drunken night spent between an intelligent stray and a particularly magical fairy - a dynamic which would amuse him, if he should ever learn of it. These two likely still exist somewhere between the worlds, but he certainly isn't interested in finding them. There are plenty enough people for him to preoccupy himself with as it is.
Cheshire was brought up in the home of the fifth kingdom's Duchess, with her perpetually crying child and her attendants. The furthest he had been from this home was a consequence of mousing missions and other amusements to pass the time. He ventured far further when Alice came to visit, as he found himself quite interested in her. She didn't belong, so far as he could determine. The notion of something foreign to his humble home certainly intrigued him. He stalked her and did as he could to lead her this way and that, pretending to know what he was doing all the while.
He followed Alice to the home of the Red Queen. He saw the oppression with which she reigned and decided that such tyranny would simply not do. He decided he would do as he could to humiliate and infuriate the Queen, using his natural abilities to do so. While he was able to escape any real consequence, Alice was put through a trial (which he interrupted, consequentially angering the Queen even further.) Naturally, both he and Alice survived, and they each went their own ways.
After Alice's adventure, Cheshire devoted time to collecting as much knowledge of the fifth kingdom and its neighbors as he could. This is was not a scholarly pursuit, at least not in his eyes. This was an act born of curiosity and boredom. This endeavor allowed Cheshire to create his reputation as a wandering trickster, as he did indeed spend most of his time playing tricks on the people he learned about.
Some time or another, he came across a young woman named Stella. She was one of the innumerable people that interested him, though there was certainly something particular about her. Cheshire doesn't understand it just yet, but he felt compelled to approach her without playing any sort of trick or ruining her day. They developed a relationship that eventually prompted him to approach the benevolent witches and ask for a body that Stella would perhaps be more interested in. And, well, she certainly wasn't disappointed.
As a consequence, Cheshire had a daughter. He finds his daughter an odd curiosity, though he isn't certain if he thinks of her as anything more. He has watched her over the years, primarily from curiosity, though he would be lying if he said he didn't feel something beyond that for her. Of course, most of what Cheshire says is a lie. Summarily, he's been checking in on her every couple months, always keeping his distance (primarily because her mother won't let him get close.)
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Role-play Example:
(( This is from a Greek mythology roleplaying forum! For context, Pan (yes, that Pan) had passed out on somebody's nature strip. This somebody poured water on him to wake him up, so...))
The tatterdemalion sat bolt upright, his eyes wide and wild. It would seem his body woke before his mind, as he was tense and snarling at the air, quite like a feral thing caught by surprise. He certainly did appear feral, too. What he wore was ragged and, surely in some eyes, quite insufficient. The aroma of alcohol did indeed hang thick about him, as did quite a few other unsavory scents. It may have been difficult for Euphemios to discern, at least by smell, whether the transient were a wayward drunk or a some quaint foreigner. The lingering odor was reminiscent of copious amounts of strong, cheap wine poured over mud and left to saturate overnight. Maybe that was precisely what Pan had been doing; saturating wine after rolling in mud. Those who passed by in the street could certainly see that he was filthy enough for such to be plausible. Or perhaps that was dirt from the road, which would indeed support the notion of this likely crazed drunk being of faraway origin.
Pan's mind caught up with the instinctual motions of his wiry frame. As suddenly as he had become vigilant and defensive, the disguised deity relaxed. A focus came about his eyes and a broad, lopsided smile spread over his features. He spent an instant peering about his surrounds - evidently one to ignore Euphemios at times as well. That ignorance was short-lived, as once he surveyed the old man's lawn sufficiently, he set his attention up toward him. That smile cracked into laughter. It was deep and vibrant, and much as he had been a moment before, strong and wild. He almost bordered on hysterics, possessed by some mad comedy he found within the situation. It would be difficult to mistake him for anything but jovial, at least with this sort of behavior establishing who he was. But, well, maybe his sense of comedy wasn't so misguided.
Yes, the faun-god had passed out on an old man's lawn and now he was laughing at him - surely an eloquent introduction to be remembered in song. But ah, what would Pan be if he weren't dismissive of the perhaps caustic opinions others held of him? An insecure drunk who hid his earnest guise, that's what. He continued to laugh through his jumbled thoughts as his consciousness settled back through the residual ache of his boozing. There was something comical about Euphemios' face, supposedly. Or perhaps the predicament was what this destitute drunk found so amusing. He found that liquor hadn't quite affected him so potently whilst he could still call himself, without any ire or sense of dishonesty, an Olympian. It wasn't that he had ever honestly been an Olympian, but so far as Pan was concerned, through his misapprehensive perspective of the protocol ascribed to by Zeus' pantheon, it was what he was. And now he couldn't claim to be that.
Perhaps he had lost his mind altogether, an affliction common among those without a home. Whether sane or not, he would certainly seem jovial. And sure-footed, too. He shifted about where he sat until his feet were beneath him in an odd squat. Then he pressed himself up to stand. There was a drunken sway to his motions, indicating alongside the abrupt laughter that he may well have some amount of the alcohol within his system. Whether steady in his stance or not (he trended toward steadiness), he reached a dirt-smeared hand out to Euphemios with the honest intent of assistance. He laughed in the old man's face, after passing out on his lawn, yet thought to help him up? Pan wasn't one for consistencies either, especially not those that would pertain to the acts of a man's character. His decisions were impulses and inexplicable compulsions, one of which was to help this old man to his feet. A courtesy before the oncoming infliction.
"Company?" His voice was rather deep, though it had a particular melody to it. No doubt the inflection of tone, as it wouldn't seem his baritone was one that ought to carry much in the way of song. Flutes were more to his liking regardless. "At your seasoned age? One might suspect, dear elder, that you've woken to your share of unfamiliar gardens as well. Nevertheless, this most curious meeting is a pleasure. You may call me Sotirios."
His features contorted to resemble a wry grin, a likely mischievous gleam to his eyes. This crazed drunkard, this disguised deity, had every desire to forcibly become a part of that company. He couldn't honestly claim to know why. It simply felt to be the thing to do for the afternoon. Or was it morning? Whatever. If he was going to wake on a lawn in some uncomfortable, closed-off city, he was going to at least wander out drunk on somebody else's wine. "Perhaps you would permit another to join you and, by the kindness of your heart, spare some food?"
. . . . .
Name: Taf
Location: Melbourne, Australia
RP Experience: Not much on forums to be honest!
How You Found Us Adam/Best/Dreamer.
Fun Fact About You: I love burritos.
Credit for template goes to remedysweet of Caution 2.0. and belle of LAR. Made for LEGENDS ARE REAL RPG. All rights reserved. 2010. [/size][/center]