REDRUM; cape hunting dog [Female]

[.acez!]

RE D R U M
"honest to god i'll break your heart
tear you to pieces and rip you apart"

NAME • Redrum
SPECIES • Canine
BREED • African Wild Dog
AGE • 4 Y
GENDER • Female
SEXUALITY • heterosexual

one night of the hunter
ONE DAY I'LL GET MY REVENGE
one day i'll make it all end

PERSONALITY •

Red is not lazy, she merely 'lacks motivation' and hates to be even thought of lazy. She enjoys sleep and hates effort, work and often will slack off her duty for an extra moments of sleep. In fact, Red is known to slack off and disappear for hours on end. Some have tried to follow her, but she either disappears, or they find that she does nothing but sleep. Lenient when it comes to punishment and responsibilities, and laid back to the rest of the clans and the dangers of the world, Red is run-by-the-mill, wherever the flow of the world takes her. Floating down the river and over the waterfall with the rest of the driftwood. Get past her 'lack of motivation', and you find a strictly loyal, if not pessimistic person. Her loyalty comes straight from the heart, and though it takes some time, she will fight for anything she believes in, and has proven her loyalty by the scars she bears.

Her pessimism comes from a past filled with hurt and bitterness. In fact, her sarcastic tongue and rebellious nature comes from rebelling against her father. With a sharp wit, and even sharper tongue, Red is brutal with her insults and is known to lose her temper in the worse of ways, driving people to the point where they want to attack. The bitterness that she can show to an enemy can make people stop and stare, so similar to her father that she will turn on any cat that say she's her father's daughter.

However, Red is a joker, a laugher and has a habit of nick-naming anyone and everyone she sees. She has a habit of laughing in the face of danger, and giggling while she bleeds, her habit of coping with pain. Her current favorite prank is preying on the other clan cats, using opposite clan scents so she won't get caught. She's sees the clan cats as nothing more than a lovey-dovey, touchy-feely group and so far wants nothing of it, despite being somewhat jealous.

Her father taught her the hard way how to fight and properly defend herself, the cause of most of the scars on her body, half of the stuff she knows comes from her father's secret training. Not only that, she can make hell freeze over with the words that pour from her mouth when she gets angry. So, just watch where you step.

Another trait of Red, that could be confused for being sadistic, is her bluntness. Red never dodges the truth. She tells it as she sees, and her words can shock people, anger them. Although she lies frequently to skip out on duties, she never holds back in fright that she might hurt someone or scare them. Not known for being the wisest or fastest or even the oldest, Red has strength, an inability to be consumed by lies or perish by a cruel hand. Known for her strength in battle, and her strength in words, Red, in the most troubling of times, has contagious charisma, that truly makes people strong when she opens her mouth to speak and to defend her clan.

LIKES • sleeping . eating . star-gazing . story-telling .
DISLIKES • night-terrors . disrespect . rumours . pretty females . vanity
WEAKNESSES • quick temper . lower intelligence
STRENGTHS • exetremely sturdy . brave . charismatic
FEARS • her father . the dark

so sing your sad excuses
YOU GOT THE SCARS TO PROVE IT
and i'm sure they'll sing along

APPEARANCE •

She is a predator, and bares herself as such. Scars decorate her skin as much a fur, and her entire appearence is far more suited for a male than a female. Scruffy, shabby and downright, what could be ugly, Redrum rather fight than spend her time cleaning herself for a mate she knows will never come. And that shows. Her fur is messily arranged to show deep, large scars that cut through skin and sometimes protrude in dark red shades. Her face is cut up, and an eye has swollen shut where as the other seems to be some form of mixture between blue and green.

PELT COLOR • Painted is a brilliant word to use when it comes to describing Redrum. Some amazing painter (probably Bob Ross) took a palette of deep browns, tanned bronze and rich reds. Her back represents the sun setting on an african savannah.
EYE COLOR • Dark brown, sometimes black, depending on where you stand.
HEIGHT • 30 in. (at the shoulder)
WEIGHT • 69 lbs.
BUILD • Lean, tall, Redrum has the ability to tower over most, and yet she slouches. Eveything says 'hey, look at me! i'm weak!' More like 'hey, i'm only pretending to be weak so that if you come near me, i'll bite your face off.' Indeed, her pelt is maimed and shaggy, making it easy to see the muscules move around her body, rippling with power and years of doing nothing but hardening, growing in strength and power.
SCARS? • Many. They highlight her body. They are her body so to speak. Cutting through her pelt in zig-zagged patterns. Like someone ran over her with a weed whacker. Her spine is highlighted with pale crescent moons, bites. Of haphazardly drawn lines, scratches. She bears her scars proudly, and will eat the face off of anyone that dares her mark her down because of it. Her back is the worse, espicially around her hindquarters, where the scars line down to her non-existant tail, showing hse put up a fight before they took it.
MARKINGS • One eye has ugly discoloration, a permanent bruise that killed the skin cells around and on her eyelid and surrounding area, inabling it from actually opening. Her eyebrows can scrunch and wiggle it, but other that that, she is blind in that eye.

my legs are dangling off the edge
A STOMACH FULL OF PILLS DIDN'T WORK AGAIN
put a bullet through my head and i'm gone, gone, gone

HISTORY •

There is but one line to represent Redrum's story. Her life. Every mistake and blemish that she has made, she blames on one simple solution.

'History has a tendency to repeat itself.'

The history started with her father. The match, as she sometimes calls him. It burned when the match, her father, lit the wick, her mother. And she, she was the dynamite that happened to be the byproduct.

Redrum had one brother, an equally handsome hunting dog named Riot. And to be simple and blunt, Redrum's past was simple. For the first five months were a rush of night-time skies with her mother's lullabies whispered in her ears and her father's charismatic voice that told her every star in the sky in which she soon mesmorized. Every name, position, story. Stars fascinated her, their brightness, the distance. They were like dreams, she woud find. She could see them, right in front of her nose, but she would never reach them.

Her brother was her parent's favourite. That she knew. Redrum was sure they didn't mean it, but it played out that way. He was polite, a perfect citizen in the pack. He didn't rough-house, break the rules in such a way as Redrum. Of course, she loved her brother with blind obedience. She didn't know enough not to.

But you see, as you grow older, you gain in knowledge. And knowledge is power and a poison.

Her mother died on her seventh month. Some turned to her father, who went slightly over the edge over the loss of his mate. Some thought it was romantic. How he dug her a trench-like grave in the dirt. How Redrum remembers this day. The sullen expression, the emotionless face of her older brother, and the mad scrambling tears on her father's face. Until the bodies showed up.

Her father had a battle-lust and that was growing, a need for blood and war. A temper that would soon destroy everything. Redrum mentions the match, and he was indeed. Lighting forest-fire after forest-fire as bodies started to appear. At first prey, small. Then larger. Than other animals, until he started to kill his own. While he went on in this mad rampage, other things started to unravel. The harsh training that was the cause of many scars on her hide, and the eventual betrayal of her brother. Cast from their pack, Redrum endured her father's cruel words, and claws. When her brother never returned, her father cursed his name and continued to train, and beat her. It was his final blow that took her eye, staining it purple like wine. And it was his final words that would forever echo in her mind, forever altering her.

you aren't worth the dirt you stand on. you aren't worth the life you were given. wherever you go, let these words haunt you, murder.

With her face raw, and a large head-ache, Redrum stumbled through praries and savannahs, at first running from the other predators. As time went on, Redrum resolved a rather lackadaisical attitude to the predators, turning up her nose, insulting them and ultimately fighting back. Not nesscarily winning, but not losing either. She was found, scarred and her painted pelt bruised, littered with bites and claws and completely without a care, the legend of her father's continuing hunting murders still on her tail.

She was taken in, and she cautiously watched. Having lived on her own, in solitude for years she had no idea of traditions or even what to do. She was spat on for her hideous hide 'that not even a human would want'. She did not know how to hunt properly with a pack, and she easily nipped and bit furiously at any male that would dare come near her, and any female for that. She wanted to have a family, the idea of a pack both intrigued and disgusted her. She had survived for years on her own. Why the hell would she want to have some bunch of morons on her tail like that?

Until one male dared to suggest that all she did was survive. And that he could offer something no-one else had. The ability to live. Rylin was his name. He approached while she star0gazed, while she ate. When she ran. Slept. She couldn't understand it, but finally, she learned to accept it. With him, came his friends, and with that a family. Ah, la amore! Love, she had finally found it.

So it would make sense that she would follow family tradition and loose the one she loved so dearly.

It was during a run. Just a run when she ran into them. Lions. Prissy bastards. At a point of neutral peace, they moved on, only to have their hides insulted and laughed at. Redrum, who had little left but her pride and ability to find turned on them, and was rewarded with a battle. Witty she may be, but intelligent she was not. The one lion went down, but for that one kill, Redrum was rewarded with the kill of three others. Two of his friends, and Rylin himself. Her tail had been ripped clean off, and she was left in the dust, broken hearted and nearly on death herself.

She should have died, and to be honest, Redrum truly believe she did die. Back there next Rylin. That she wasn't the same, never would be without him by her side. She was a hollow form of herself and left the pack as soon as the last pat of dirt fell on his grave.

She wandered for another year, sore and well, Redrum can hardly remember. Amnesia she blames, a hit on the head. But each day and night passed without so much as a second thought. Until she woke up and found, there was little to no-one left. And no matter which trail she took, she wound up at the shore. On an island. Alone.

Like it was any change.

ROLEPLAY SAMPLE •

bahahaha! DON'T NEED TO.

[GREYtheFLAILER]

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