Post by ::briarthorn:: on Oct 26, 2011 11:07:40 GMT -5
names:
gender: she-cat
age: 21 moons
clan: RiverClan
rank: warrior, decoy
personality: Briarthorn, if not poisoned, would still be a strange she-cat because of one trait that has been part of her since kithood: her ability to detach herself, almost clinically, from the world. This comes firstly in the form of introspection. She can look at herself and her actions and judge them like a third party, picking out her exact motives and how they're coloring her judgment. She knows when she's being a brat or a hypocrite, when she's being stupid; sometimes this affects her actions, sometimes not.
Secondly, she uses this to help her in a fight. Although she isn't a particularly skilled fighter, this detachment keeps her from panicking and helps her read an opponent's body language. She can still be fooled, but against less skilled foes, Briarthorn has a distinct advantage.
Thirdly, during the one time she has killed another cat, this detachment kept her from throwing up.
That's another thing about Briarthorn: although she is a decoy, she does care about her fellow cats. Because of this, she avoids befriending others who aren't decoys. Casual friendships and one-night flings are alright, but she doesn't want to hurt too much when eventually everything comes to light (as she strongly believes it will). She avoids speaking about her emotions and listening to others' problems because at heart she is compassionate, knows this about herself, and knows that too much listening and bonding leads to caring.
She can't afford to care. She has her job. And she will not give it up or jeopardize it. Briarthorn is very stubborn, clinging with ferocious tenacity to whatever she has dedicated herself to, for good or for ill. Peer pressure has little effect on her--the only opinions that matter, when she is stubborn enough, are those opinions that match hers. Very occasionally she might be persuaded by those she cares about, but Briarthorn is always careful to avoid caring about anyone, and so that is unlikely to sway her.
Lastly, Briarthorn is a pragmatist. She will not hesitate to be dirty or underhanded, and will take every advantage she can to do what needs to be done. In a fight, she will go for sensitive areas first won't hesitate to surprise attack, and will be only too happy to pit two enemies against each other. The thing that is difficult for her is emotional manipulation, simply because it makes her feel horrible to do that to others--physical pain can be recovered from eventually. Emotional pain, less so, and Briarthorn knows it. She also has trouble lying to innocent cats, though not with those who she knows are basically bad.
appearance: Briarthorn is a pretty calico she-cat, black and ginger with generous splashes of white, with fur long enough to warm her but not too long as to catch on everything that she passes. She's about average size, with long limbs and tail and ears a bit too large for her head. Her eyes are faded green and constantly shifting around, taking in her surroundings.
As far as physical abilities go, she's somewhere in the middle of everything; not outstanding but not too shabby either. In a fight, she tends to rely on her claws--they aren't extremely long, but are a bit larger than average, and Briarthorn puts them to good use. Her ears are very sensitive and nearly always twitching after random sounds, whether they have any significance or not.
history: Briarthorn had a fairly normal kithood, but she attracted the decoys' notice by one thing. Somehow, a mouse got into the nursery, and Briarkit was the first to hear it squeaking. It took her a few tries, but egged on by the other kits, she finally caught it.
At first, she was just going to kill the thing. But watching the mouse between her paws, its frantic squeaks as it tried futilely to escape, was unexpectedly fascinating. Briarkit watched it for a little while, ignoring the other kits, then leaned over and quickly bit off one leg. Then another. It was only a few minutes before the mouse bled out, and then she shared her kill; but she was caught off-guard by how much she enjoyed watching the thing squirm in pain.
That was how Briarpaw ended up an apprentice to Coldwind, a decoy. He was the one who truly poisoned her, and it didn't take long for her to agree with him, to see how the Clans should all be united under Crimsonleaf's leadership. Still, she had suspicions that she wasn't poisoned quite as well as others who had been so from kithood. For one thing, she could still doubt her ability to kill, and whether it was right to kill even cats--mice were one thing, but cats--who had done nothing wrong but disagree. Briarpaw wasn't an idiot, though, and kept her mouth shut.
Her real test came a few moons before most apprentices became warriors. Coldwind was speaking to a ShadowClan cat at the border, another decoy whose name Briarpaw didn't know. After they had their conversation, the other decoy asked to speak to Briarpaw privately.
"Here's what you need to do," the she-cat told her once Coldwind was out of sight. "Kill him."
"What? W-why?" Briarpaw's eyes widened; she didn't particularly like her mentor, but this, out of the blue...
"He's too stupid to keep his mousebrained mouth shut. It's an order from our leader--and if it isn't, tell Crimsonleaf to take it up with me." The she-cat glared at Briarpaw. "Surely killing doesn't present an issue for you."
Briarpaw shook her head. The she-cat nodded. "He needs to be dead by the next Clan meeting." Four days, Briarpaw counted mentally.
The next day, Coldsong disappeared on patrol. His body was never found. The next week, Briarpaw became Briarthorn.
As a warrior, Briarthorn has done little of importance; she hasn't mentored or poisoned any younger cats, nor made any particular friends or killed again. She simply waits patiently, pushing down her misgivings, until it is time for the decoys to strike.
sample rp: This was disgusting.
Not the taste of blood in her mouth, or even Coldwind's dead body, lying on the damp sand and in water that barely covered her paws; she didn't mind those. What bothered her was how he felt, now dead but still warm, as she cut a small opening in his belly.
The fight had not been a problem. He was ferocious but predictable; she knew his moves, and besides that, she had taken him off-guard. Coldwind would never expect quiet Briarpaw to kill him. All she had done was quickly taken out the muscle on one hind leg, then the other leg on the same side; between the two, he only managed to rake her across her muzzle, and with two legs completely incapacitated it was almost pitifully easy to take out his throat. The warrior was dead in less than a minute.
She took little pleasure in it, but it had to be done. That was what she kept telling herself. Briarpaw had never liked the old warrior anyway.
But it was easy to kill. Less easy to finish the job, hide the body, and deal with what you had just done.
Briarpaw found a few good-sized pebbles lying near the shore and nudged them deep into the opening, taking small breaths through her mouth. StarClan, that smell. Disgusting. But she had to do it. After the messy job was over, she rolled the body to the shore and deep into the lake. This wasn't a fishing spot; she only needed him a few foxlengths in. After that, the lake's bottom dropped sharply away.
It was done. She had just killed a cat. She hid the evidence. Just following orders.
Briarpaw walked away to another section of the lake and began to clean the blood from her fur, tried to keep last night's freshkill down. She ducked under the water and came back up, took a few deep breaths. It was nothing. Just took a few minutes. And now, it was like nothing had ever happened.
characters: Mothpaw
c-box name: Moth
