Post by Constantine on Aug 1, 2006 19:45:48 GMT -5
Why do you want to play a leader? I have an utterly pathetic reason, actually. I want to play a pack wolf alongside my loner, and since I have nothing better do I thought I could just as well audition for Plato as I don’t usually play characters who lead.
Which Leader- why? Plato, because he’s a wolf rather than a deer. *shrug*
Sample post with said Leader please!
Plato was sinfully bored. Sitting with his tail wrapped around his feet and his ears flat against his dew-damp slate fur, he barely looked it – actually, he could almost be mistaken for someone serene, which was almost laughable, all things considered. He sniffed, wisps of mist clinging to his fur. The tree over his head provided hardly enough shade to keep the sun from dissipating the fog, but that unnatural mist usually hung here well into the brightness of the day. It was barely morning now, the sun just starting to tint the shredded grey clouds with a deep red and orange color.
The Alpha had considered hunting, but he was out on his own and he could barley hope to pull down a deer or a horse. He’d need more of the pack with him for that to work, and he couldn’t be bothered calling them. Lifting his muzzle to glance at the sky, the slate grey wolf rose elegantly to all fours, his sleek form seeming to float in the pea-soup fog that wafted around his paws. A trace of amusement flickered over his features as he scented the air, the musky scent of a tomcat mixing with the funk of forest loam and damp earth and the morning flowers. Chances were the cat had already smelt the wolf, but Plato didn’t seem overly bothered by this, and he peered into the fog, amber eyes glowing like burnished gold.
“Bored, Plato?” The cat asked, looking down on the wolf from the boughs of the mist tree. Plato grinned wolfishly as he sat down again, tilting his head upwards and showing his teeth, his tongue lolling over his gums.
“Bored, Sickle?” It was the tom’s turn to grin, his black fur also catching shreds of mist.
“There’s a young buck down the slope, if you’re interested,” Sickle offered. His fur was so dark that the theory had been circulated he was not a cat – he was, in fact, a inter-dimensional rift. Plato was ready to believe it as he plastered a fake smile on his muzzle.
“Ladies first,” the young wolf said with a whisk of his tail. Sickle hissed, but there was amusement in the sound. Neither of the creatures knew it at the time, but they were playing on each other – Sickle thought he had a ‘friend’ in power who he could use to further his own ambitions, and the wolf thought that perhaps he had a spy in the cat cabal. But right then, they were going to have some fun. A cat was hardly enough backup to take down a deer – even a young one – but he would be a companion in the chase.
Which Leader- why? Plato, because he’s a wolf rather than a deer. *shrug*
Sample post with said Leader please!
Plato was sinfully bored. Sitting with his tail wrapped around his feet and his ears flat against his dew-damp slate fur, he barely looked it – actually, he could almost be mistaken for someone serene, which was almost laughable, all things considered. He sniffed, wisps of mist clinging to his fur. The tree over his head provided hardly enough shade to keep the sun from dissipating the fog, but that unnatural mist usually hung here well into the brightness of the day. It was barely morning now, the sun just starting to tint the shredded grey clouds with a deep red and orange color.
The Alpha had considered hunting, but he was out on his own and he could barley hope to pull down a deer or a horse. He’d need more of the pack with him for that to work, and he couldn’t be bothered calling them. Lifting his muzzle to glance at the sky, the slate grey wolf rose elegantly to all fours, his sleek form seeming to float in the pea-soup fog that wafted around his paws. A trace of amusement flickered over his features as he scented the air, the musky scent of a tomcat mixing with the funk of forest loam and damp earth and the morning flowers. Chances were the cat had already smelt the wolf, but Plato didn’t seem overly bothered by this, and he peered into the fog, amber eyes glowing like burnished gold.
“Bored, Plato?” The cat asked, looking down on the wolf from the boughs of the mist tree. Plato grinned wolfishly as he sat down again, tilting his head upwards and showing his teeth, his tongue lolling over his gums.
“Bored, Sickle?” It was the tom’s turn to grin, his black fur also catching shreds of mist.
“There’s a young buck down the slope, if you’re interested,” Sickle offered. His fur was so dark that the theory had been circulated he was not a cat – he was, in fact, a inter-dimensional rift. Plato was ready to believe it as he plastered a fake smile on his muzzle.
“Ladies first,” the young wolf said with a whisk of his tail. Sickle hissed, but there was amusement in the sound. Neither of the creatures knew it at the time, but they were playing on each other – Sickle thought he had a ‘friend’ in power who he could use to further his own ambitions, and the wolf thought that perhaps he had a spy in the cat cabal. But right then, they were going to have some fun. A cat was hardly enough backup to take down a deer – even a young one – but he would be a companion in the chase.
