Post by » a e r o ! <3 on Jul 6, 2010 9:14:51 GMT -5
{NAME'S} moby.
{PRONOUNCED} mow-bee.
{CALL ME} moby.
{YEARS I'VE SURVIVED} three.
{CHROMOSOMES} xy.
{HERITAGE} great pyrenees.
Though my facial structure is not of classic handsomeness, my looks seem to suit him. I have a thick, slightly wavy coat that is nearly all white; the exception is the charcoal grey on my ears. My pelt is rather shaggy, and almost always unkempt. My long tail is feathered with extended hairs, and the tail also curls a little at the end. My orbs are a dark shade of coffee brown, appearing almost black sometimes. The cream undertones of my fur sometimes show through in the sunlight, giving me an ash blond tinge to my white coat.
My first impression is never a likable one. I'm rather cold and very quiet. I don't like to speak until I feel there is something meaningful to say. My carefully chosen words can either be the best compliment you've ever had, or it could be a caustic remark that would make the confidence of a Pitbull crumple. I keep myself composed and hardly ever shows thoughts through expression. Enigmatic to the extreme, others often feel the need to uncover my secrets and get to know this guarded beast. I deny the fact that I have secrets, feeling that it is nobody's business what goes on in my head. I'm not easy to trust, and it would take a lot for me to even consider you a friend, let alone care for your well-being. A good point about me, is that if you do ever get to be a friend of mine, I will protect you until my last breath. I'm a dog that was built to protect and I do so with ease.
I was born with a singular sister, Lyssa. My mother passed in childbirth, leading my father to always resent us. Torn between hate and guilt, the brute raised us in a desolate pack far away from any other dogs. The pack was located in the mountains to the north, and that is where I grew up. My father was a mean-tempered brute to begin with, after the death of his mate he became this violent wreck of a dog. He would often fight with me, as I grew fast and strong. I would take the abuse head-on, often fighting back. What I never allowed was my father to attack Lyssa, she was strictly off limits.
Around the time after I became one, I found my father attacking Lyssa. Though she was strong for her gender, she was no match for a male Pyrenees. I watched in shock for a good few minutes, before something came over me. I started to viciously attack my father, giving Lyssa the ability to crawl away from the brawl. I savagely killed my father that night, a crime of passion most would call it. Although I lacked the remorse, my sister fretfully worried for my well-being. Knowing full well that if I stayed the pack would kill me, I simply left. I told my sister to be honest with them, convincing her that they wouldn't ever find me and that they would give up in a month or so. They did and I traveled alone for a good year.
{PRONOUNCED} mow-bee.
{CALL ME} moby.
{YEARS I'VE SURVIVED} three.
{CHROMOSOMES} xy.
{HERITAGE} great pyrenees.
{THE LOOKS}
The first thing to notice about me is my considerable size. I'm a fully grown male Great Pyrenees, which in context means I'm flipping huge. I have long sturdy legs that hold up a broad set of shoulders and hips. My wide chest is heavily covered with muscle that stretches over my back and to the tips of my toes. My body is slightly longer than it is height wise, though this is actually in proportion for a Great Pyrenees. My large, hulk-like mass is both powerful and intimidating, though I'm not a dog of agility. I can not run fast for lengthy periods of time, and probably won't attempt such a thing. I can, however, endure long trips through difficult circumstances. I was built perfectly to endure a hike through the mountains, and do so quite easily. Though my facial structure is not of classic handsomeness, my looks seem to suit him. I have a thick, slightly wavy coat that is nearly all white; the exception is the charcoal grey on my ears. My pelt is rather shaggy, and almost always unkempt. My long tail is feathered with extended hairs, and the tail also curls a little at the end. My orbs are a dark shade of coffee brown, appearing almost black sometimes. The cream undertones of my fur sometimes show through in the sunlight, giving me an ash blond tinge to my white coat.
{THE PERSONA}
My first impression is never a likable one. I'm rather cold and very quiet. I don't like to speak until I feel there is something meaningful to say. My carefully chosen words can either be the best compliment you've ever had, or it could be a caustic remark that would make the confidence of a Pitbull crumple. I keep myself composed and hardly ever shows thoughts through expression. Enigmatic to the extreme, others often feel the need to uncover my secrets and get to know this guarded beast. I deny the fact that I have secrets, feeling that it is nobody's business what goes on in my head. I'm not easy to trust, and it would take a lot for me to even consider you a friend, let alone care for your well-being. A good point about me, is that if you do ever get to be a friend of mine, I will protect you until my last breath. I'm a dog that was built to protect and I do so with ease.
{THE PAST}
I was born with a singular sister, Lyssa. My mother passed in childbirth, leading my father to always resent us. Torn between hate and guilt, the brute raised us in a desolate pack far away from any other dogs. The pack was located in the mountains to the north, and that is where I grew up. My father was a mean-tempered brute to begin with, after the death of his mate he became this violent wreck of a dog. He would often fight with me, as I grew fast and strong. I would take the abuse head-on, often fighting back. What I never allowed was my father to attack Lyssa, she was strictly off limits.
Around the time after I became one, I found my father attacking Lyssa. Though she was strong for her gender, she was no match for a male Pyrenees. I watched in shock for a good few minutes, before something came over me. I started to viciously attack my father, giving Lyssa the ability to crawl away from the brawl. I savagely killed my father that night, a crime of passion most would call it. Although I lacked the remorse, my sister fretfully worried for my well-being. Knowing full well that if I stayed the pack would kill me, I simply left. I told my sister to be honest with them, convincing her that they wouldn't ever find me and that they would give up in a month or so. They did and I traveled alone for a good year.
