Post by Sorin on Jan 31, 2011 14:01:34 GMT -5
SILAS MONROE
[/b][/font][/center]THE 4-1-1[/size]
Full Name: Silas Anthony Monroe
Nickname(s): Silas
Age: 2 years
Gender: Male
Species: Dog
Breed: Labrador Retriever
Other: No mate, but has swooned a few females
BODY,[/size][/font]
Silas is a pure black Labrador with almond-shaped, hazel-colored eyes. His coat was bred to be slick and shiny like the breed standard, though being outside and minimal grooming have made it shaggy and somewhat dull. His paw pads are rough from days of walking.
Silas is on the smaller side, weighing 34 pounds and 23 inches tall at the withers. He is mostly slim, though his legs are well-muscled from much exercise.
For the most of it Silas carries himself with a calm, assertive gait, though a small part of his right ear is missing from the fight that sent him here. He tries to hide it, but it's easily noticeable.
MIND,
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Silas defines himself with one word: suave. Though he was born and raised as a show-dog, he liked to sneak away and live a life on the streets. His tail wags slowly as he walks, thinking himself to be a "cool dog".
Silas tends to get a bit cocky around others, though it's most obvious in females. He's always gone after any female who seems to be around his age, though he's only really liked a female once. He doesn't often have a crush on the female but likes to toy with them anyhow; most of this is just his way of protesting against the "only mate with other Labradors" rule that his former owner set down.
Silas is not a thinker. He'll jump into anything with his paws, with his mind trailing far behind. This often leads him into a lot of trouble, but as long as he can weasel his way out of it like he often does he never looks back on it to say "Hm, maybe I shouldn't have done that".
That sentence describes his whole outlook on life: he wants to live it up and do whatever he pleases, and after he dies he can wonder why on earth he did the things he did.
SOUL.
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Silas was born under the name Anthony Monroe to a Labrador Retriever breeder in New Hampshire. He was raised to be a show-dog, but he was the least cooperative of his litter of three. He virtually ignored his mother, as he found her too 'prissy'. He had a sister who he also found prissy and forgot the name of, and he had a brother named Johnathan who always let Silas take control. Silas took up the name he now has early on, when he and "Johnny" were playing a game in their backyard and Silas came up with his name.
Throughout his life his sister was the real show-dog, always winning prizes and traveling the country. Silas and Johnathan just came along for the ride; their owner was reluctant to send them away.
When Silas was a year old, he got sneaky and jumped out of the mini-van one night when his owner left the door open at a rest stop. He had a night full of flirtatious fun, often taking females who went with him to the back alley of the city they were in and scaring away cats. On that first night one of the females he was toying with, a stray Border Collie much like him. They fought when they first met and she cut off the lower part of his right ear, and while they never really made up Silas was sure that she was made for him. Unfortunately, she was dragged away by a mysterious man; Silas ran away before he could find out who the man was.
As Silas and his siblings traveled, he kept up his nighttime routine, though he never really liked any of the females as much as he did that Border Collie; oddly enough, he never managed to remember her name, though he thinks it began with an 'S' like his.
Silas always wore a collar, so he was never taken away by the mysterious men who he noticed snatching or knocking out stray dogs. That changed on the night his collar got snagged on a bush, temporarily choking him though he simply pushed it off after a bit of wrestling. He went about town searching for females when he felt a prick in his rear and he completely blacked out.
The next thing he knew, he woke up on the island of Gershom.
(DO THIS PART ONCE)
Your Name: Sorin
Joining Password: nylassi
Where did you find us? Advertisement on 'Souls
RP Example: (From 'Souls.)
In the silence of a dim evening, Slade was relishing his favorite sound: nothing. He had been restless that night, unable to close his eyes because of the thoughts buzzing around in his mind. He could hear them best in the dead of night, which didn't help. So he had decided to take a little walk, to familiarize himself with his surroundings a little further from Cercatori d'Arte's territory. He hoped that there was no problem with passing over the borders; he was certain that others did the same thing all the time and that it was fine to be outside his homeland as long as he didn't trespass.
Slade really had no intention in mind; he just wanted to have a calm walk through the forest. He didn't care how dark it was getting; as long as the only sound he heard were his paws crunching on snow, he was satisfied. While thoughts whirred around in his mind most when there was silence, straightening them out was also easy. He resorted to doing this as he padded through the unclaimed woods of Ethereal Eclipse.
As of late, Slade had been telling himself to do quite a bit. He wanted to find someone who could teach him the basics of writing; this could easily be accomplished by talking to a pack member whom Shawchert, his pack's male leader, had mentioned, Orin Takekuro. He had been trying to be more outgoing; he was going out of his comfort zone by traveling outside his pack's land, correct?
His thoughts were interrupted by a sharp screech. Slade winced at the noise, stopping his walk. He craned his neck up and saw a small black blur perched in a tree directly above his head, which to his annoyance he couldn't make out due to myopia. He could quickly figure out that the shadow was a crow, however, after it let out another caw. He could have sworn that he was looking down at him, and his imagination went to work.
"Slade, what are you doing awake at this time?"
Slade replied aloud, which may not have been the best option considering it broke his treasured silence, and likely made him look quite strange to a passer-by. "I could ask the same of you. Aren't crows supposed to be diurnal?"
"Same of you," the crow replied, in a parrot like fashion. Slade frowned and snapped at it, which made the bird jump up and flap its wings, hitting a branch and sending a flurry of snow down on his face. Shaking his head, Slade glared up at the crow, which was crying at him wildly, as if laughing.
Slade spat a mouthful of snow out of his jaws, which had turned mostly to water. "Very funny," he growled flatly.
