You would think it'd be more common to use they/them now, but instead it's a shock when people do.Itâs 2020
once upon a time using they/them was grammatically incorrect, it shows how time and language change
Very true.
House of Wolves RP CHAT THREAD
- Thread starter Flufferes
- Start date
Very true.
OH MY LORD I WOULD DIE FOR HERTHE properly edited SINNER
Name: Asio
Age: 66 moons
Rank: Paragon's left-hand woman
Gender: Female
Personality:
Morality is meaningless.
Immorality is everything.
As a rule, she doesnât give two claws about anyone elseâs feelings, wellbeing, or even life. If sheâs going to spend her time looking after a tail that isnât her own, they have to earn her respect. And, since she knows her fellow coyotes for the rabble of classic opportunists they are, thatâs not the easiest feat to achieve.
Scathingly sarcastic and lets it be thoroughly known when sheâs displeased.
Does not suffer fools the least bit gladly. Bitterly, dangerously resentful toward anyone who commits any trespasses against her.
Obsessively secretive; takes every precaution to keep her next move traceable by absolutely none. Conversely, she seems to know where everyone is at any given time to a disturbing extent. Delights in sowing frightful discord among both the packs and the committee. If something goes awry and all evidence points to the least likely culprit, itâs bound to be the handiwork of Asio- not that sheâll ever be caught. She never commits a crime unless itâs perfect.
Though she swore on her life that she wouldnât become her monotonous father, she has indeed collected and stored enough information and experience to develop a brilliant head that could easily surpass his.
Sheâs an insanely talented mimic, especially when it comes to bird calls.
And, yes, sheâs a total Brit- melodious accent included.
All of this makes her an invaluable agent of espionage.
Sheâs entirely her own mistress, yet willingly subjects herself to Iscariot for reasons unknown to even her. Since sheâs faithfully remained at his side for this long despite literally having the means to travel the world, she feels a certain amount of entitlement.
And Petrel is there, always there, to interfere with her rightful recompense.
To say that she hates him would be a severe understatement.
Oh, while he's living it up as Mr. Public Relations, the real -the devious and the iniquitous- work that keeps this all together is orchestrated by her paws.
No one ever sees that.
Oh, and the dogs.
There are so many perfect skeletons yearning to be rearranged, so much untapped blood just dying to be spilled, but for the sake of everything theyâve built, she keeps herself in check.
For now.
Species:
Description: 18â tall. Elongated torso and nimble legs. Coarse, short fur thatâs golden with a darker saddle of brown guard hairs and solid, neatly edged black unders. Narrow, pointed head, hardly prominent forehead. Large, bat-like ears. Weird little knobby bone protrusion off the back of her skull thatâs only noticeable if you just so happen to collide with her head. And sheâs gotta keep those sketchy black eyes despite the improbability. (Typhoon phases in and out of reality in the background)
View attachment 2212530
History:
Once, in a specific span of space and time, there existed a coyote. This particular coyote, who just happened to be an escaped convict from the mammal lab three buildings over, lived in the tunnel den heâd dug beneath an ornithology lab somewhere in the great wide UK. Being that this coyoteâs studies had been inadvertently translating the excessive language of man back to his own, his vocabulary was much, much larger than the average coyoteâs. And, thus, his self-given name- Strigidae.
It should be noted that this coyote was an ornithologist in his own right.
He, whoâd even gone so far to accommodate his educational pursuits as to become unnaturally diurnal, was roused one night by a scratching at his cobweb door. His tired eyes were greeted by not only one, but four other canines that shared far more of his foreign characteristics than heâd ever thought possible.
Quite the eye-catching female and three mewling pups.
Now, if weâre being honest here, it should be said that poor shut-in Strig wouldâve been just as attentive if it were four foxes at his door.
But they werenât, they were his kind, and he was in a state of rapture.
âHey there, handsome,â the fine-looking dame cooed. âIâm Roxanne and this here is Yappy, Snappy, and Crappy. Would you by any chance be willing to loan a room to four weary travelers, hotstuff?â
Strig snapped out of his starstruck daze when those names had him look those pups over for the first time. Significantly less than a moon old, they shouldâve been perky little balls of lard. Not only were these little more than bags of bones, there was so little life left in them that five heartbeats of crying knocked them out cold. They shouldâve been talking by now, too, but not a single legible peep ever came out of the trembling snouts.
Once he got them set up in his auditory observatory, he posted himself in the hallway to his bedroom and waited to hurt.
And hurt he did.
She never once offered herself to them for nursing. Whenever one woke enough to make a pathetic utterance, sheâd smack it to silence with the sharply-clawed underside of her paw. The constant stream of muttered profanity that flowed from her curled muzzle was heavily laced with the word âmistakes.â
It was then Strig vowed those were his pups to save.
Every chance he got -and Roxanne quickly proved to be a careless wanderer, so there were a lot of chances- he was curled around those scraps and forcing paw-pulverized mouse down their throats. Whenever she managed to show up, she didnât seem to notice that her kids were no longer frequenters of Deathâs door.
As we all expected, Roxanne stuck it out for hardly more than a week.
She took off long before dawn, thinking sheâd escape unseen, but Strig knew. The moment the sun set that day, he roused the three deprived sucklings and sat them down.
âYou are now Nyctea, Asio, and Aegolius. These are your given names. You have no others. You are my children, and you will bear these names with the dignity that both they command and I expect. There will be no contention over this. Do you understand?â
It was the closest he ever came to threatening. And, despite not yet having mastered their own tongues, they all understood.
Fatherhood had never even been the vaguest of possibilities in Strigâs mind, but he gave it his all. From tireless hunting of only the highest-quality meat to compensate for the vital milk theyâd never gotten to giving them regimented daily lessons on everything they needed to know about life (((obviously, primarily birds))) to -oh, OWLS FORBID- weaving extravagant tales of fantasy to keep them amused, he made sure that they never had an opportunity to even recall the wretched mother whoâd thoughtlessly brought them into the world. Aegolius quickly became his stepfatherâs mental clone; while Nyctea also shared their love of science, he preferred to keep even more so to the sheltering shadows.
And, right from the start, Asio proved to be the untamable rebel. She just never could understand how the males of her family could be so complacent with their sedentary underground lives. To satisfy the burning unrest within her, she ran with the wrong crowds, picked up nasty habits with no remorse, and never came home on time.
Her risquĂŠ shenanigans reached their pinnacle she announced one overdue return with âHey, Dae, look what I did!â and the mangled head of some unfortunate pet dangling from her jaws.
Strig just about fainted dead away.
All through the night, Aegolius pecked at her, trying to get inside her head to see what made her tick -oh, how she DETESTED it when he did that- while Nyctea holed himself up in an earthen cubby as far away from Asio as he could get.
And, then, it came from his corner, so very soft, but cutting through Aegolius's ardent psychological interrogation like a two-edged claw.
"Please, As, just stop. For us."
That hit something within Asio and she did not like it.
She immediately cemented over that raw spot with a flood of infuriated reasoning.
This was her family. A family wanted you to be happy and supported you when you did what made you happy.
And Asio happened to quite enjoy killing.
Man, the last things she ever told her brothers were rough indeed.
The very next morning, Strig was ushering her out of the den. âWe love you, sweet, we really do,â he fervently promised amidst his muttered fretting. âBut itâs definitely best if you goâŚelsewhere until thisâŚcalms down.â
No matter how he blood-coated it, Asio knew she was being given the boot.
And that fear in his eyes. Was it of the vengeance her acts might bring down onto their household or of her herself?
Regardless, Asio felt no pain in admitting she liked it.
Now that sheâd severed all ties, she continued to delight in playing the canine mobâs hitwoman. They gave her targets, each an increasingly challenging case. It went from mere pets, to unimportant ferals, and then even to full-fledged members of the mob thatâd ruffled the wrong fur. And as she continued, she developed quite the method of elimination. It was a beautifully immaculate system she had going.
And then they told her to kill him.
Of course it went down in a dark alley. She was told to scale the barbed wire pen and fell what waited at the end of the chain.
It was a beast bigger than sheâd ever downed.
He woke and fought. Hard.
But Asio had the surpassing element of surprise.
As always.
Strangely, she felt no delight in taking this life.
She never did understand why, but she knew she had to go after that.
Subsequently, her being a mateless female was starting to be taken notice of.
And, so, moonhigh of the next night, telling not a soul of her departure, she stole away into the unknown. She was instantly drawn to the sea and what it coaxed to its banks.
The days Asio spent at the dock morphed into moons, until she came to prove her own hypothesis: humans that went onto the floating vessel did indeed journey to lands too distant to return from.
She boarded the heartbeat she understood.
It was on that voyage that she developed her taste for human flesh.
Human child flesh, to be precise.
It was so sweet. None of that disappointing, tough lean always infallibly found on animals. Just rolls and rolls and rolls of honeyed, buttery fat. And donât even get her started on the perfect, scrumptious blood---
Every three nights, another precious little one would be missing from its quarters. The frantic mothers always riled up a mob to scour the boat for the psychotic thief, but they never found so much as a scrap of the kidâs clothing.
Three hefty babies in ten days. They were such easy kills -no fuss, no muss, just a single vertebra removed from the back of their grotesquely fleshy necks- and yet the wonderfully unrefined fear they radiated was beyond that of any of her victims. And after sampling quite a few of her kills, she could say that with the utmost certainty.
Oh, she certainly gorged herself, and it wasnât just the hunger of her stomach that she satiated.
And as for those newly childless mothers? Oh, they should've soon found their babies' immaculate bones neatly arranged in their luggage.
Asio never liked to leave things messy.
After touring the States and making quite a few different names for herself along the way, she came to a screeching halt here and launched her undetectable reign of terror.
But why on earth did she stop here of all places?
She tells herself sheâs here for the kicks- and the opportunities to amuse her sick self are definitely bountiful.
But maybe itâs more than that.
Pack: The Committee
Crush: haha
Offspring: Oh, she canât STAND children.
Parents: Strigidae (stepfather) and Roxanne (blood mother)
Siblings: Nyctea (formerly Yappy) and Aegolius (formerly Crappy)
Song associated: Who We Are (Imagine Dragons) {Cover by Freya Niamh}
Other: Birds are her exploitable weakness. Just wait and see. ,;3
Username: HeavensHens8
ANNNNNNNNND
THE SAINT
Name: Peep
Age: 14 moons
Rank: Hunter Novitiate
Gender: Female
Personality: Little. Miss. Sunshine.
The most hugely optimistic extrovert. Blind to the bad in the world and thinks every inhabitant of it is her friend. Feels nothing but patriotic pride for her pack: to her, the Canis as a whole can do no wrong. If her leaders told her to jump, sheâd be sure to grow wings.
When it comes to the religion, she has the same blind faith; even though she was dragged through a world of hurt to get here, she believes with all of her heart that the wolves always intended for her to live in these sacrosanct lands, and sheâs nothing but grateful. Even prays to them before bedding down every night. Naturally, she regards the Paragon and his coyotes with enough awed -and slightly cowed- respect for three dogs.
Talkative about everything to everyone. Pretty clingy and doesnât take hints to leave easily. But if sheâs reprimanded for that or anything else, she freezes up, and isnât the same for the entire day.
Wholesomely gullible; if sheâs told assorted paws grow on trees, sheâll venture out to find them -with the intent of putting some on replace her own- the first chance she gets. Crazy adventurous to a default and is always getting herself into predicaments- itâs hard to take a stroll without being bothered by a sheepish âHey, any chance youâre good with heights?â from her where sheâs stuck high in a towering tree or a muffled âYo, got your digging claws handy?â when her back endâs sticking out of an impossibly small burrow.
Despite that itâs a thing most dogs only share with those extremely close to them, Peep gives everyonelicks. Constantly. And has no idea when sheâs making it awkward for the other dog.
Eats and eats and eats and eats everything- but never seems to gain any weight. Must be that rocketing metabolism. Her biggest guilty pleasure is slurping bird eggs- something she, having more definite chicken roots than dog, wholeheartedly detests herself for doing, but canât help herself in the least.
If someoneâs going through a rough patch, sheâll bring them food -and THAT is the ULTIMATE sacrifice from her- and listen to what they need to say without passing a single judgment. Her advice might seem shallow- âGo sit under the cedars and talk to the owls for a while! <3â- but her heart is completely in it. Also a one-dog spontaneous cheering squad for hire.
Virtually cannot tell an untruth. Adults can and have exploited this innocent honesty to make her into the perfect rat for exposing any unsavory teenage knavery. Yes, sheâs that angelic tattletale little sister that obviously no one wants around.
Whoever has to say no to her has a tough task indeed.
But sheâll be okay with it. All of it. She promises.
She just doesnât want to be forgotten.
Breed: Terrier. A whole lot of them.
Description: 12â tall. She might be small, but one who possesses the unsullied might of terriers is not to be underestimated. Sheâs pretty well-built; sturdy legs support a narrow body of compact lean that would make an admirable small game hunterâŚif it werenât for her inadequate paws. Theyâre all deformed to some extent; all four are missing pads, and so much scar tissue has built up due to their vulnerability that theyâre largely pink. Additionally, all of her toes are pathetically clawless except for the middle one on her back left paw and the two left toes on her back right paw.
Lightly silvered slate pelt base that abruptly edges off into heavily blue-grayed legs. The close-hanging ruff around her neck leads into progressively darker, neatly layered coloring that blackens the most at her ears, eyes, and muzzle. Adorably fluffy muff that furls right up to her eyes, which are the vibrant orange of a tanagerâs summer plumage and never anything less than wide. Heart-shaped nose. Two red ears that never hold the same position two days in a row. Today one will be half-crinkled, the other meticulously straight, and tomorrow theyâll both be completely flopped to the right. Her left one has a scar-looking birthmark -almost appears to be the footprint of a three-clawed bird- and no fur grows there. Her tightly-feathered brush tail is constantly held at an uncomfortable-looking 75Âş angle or higher.
View attachment 2212526
History: Life started her out as the butt of an impractical joke.
Ag kids at a certain school in a certain state checked their incubator one morning to find a newborn puppy among the drying masses of fresh chicks. It had to be some thoughtless prank -can you really expect any less from a high school- and, of course, no miscreant had the gall to come get the helpless pup theyâd left motherless. Since the poor pup was hardly responsive, and none of these wannabe poultry aficionados had any clue about baby dogs (what they actually have a clue about, I have no idea), putting her down was heavily debated.
Then a certain girl strolled onto the scene and put an end to all that. She popped open the invaded âbator, sister SNATCHED that puppy, stuffed it in the nearest tissue box, and ascended her bus just as it was evacuating the premises.
This diehard girl gave that struggling pup her all. Wrapping her motherâs beloved heating pad around the pup in its tissue box, she kept her listless charge alive and breathing by getting up at all hours of the night to force-feed her through a syringe. Those were some rough weeks of constant touch-and-go.
But that girl has decided that pup was hers and Death had no say in the matter.
And the pup did indeed survive against all odds.
After using a laughable temporary nickname (((Berb))) during the uncertain months of the pupâs existence, the girl decided she must have a real name and what other name for the chicken dog than Peep? She was also named to honor a particular late, but ever great, Buff Orpington who first, and best, wore the title.
As soon as Peep could stand on her own four paws, these two were the ultimate dynamic duo. Wherever the girl went, Peep was attached to her like a Lyme tick on me. When Peep outgrew the, uh, certain receptacle she first traveled in, she taught herself to cling to the girlâs shoulder and sway in time with the girlâs steps. What the girl ate, she ate. What the girl did, she did. When the girl slept, she slept. She really was a girlâs best friend.
But, then, one fateful day, the MINDLESS TERD had to up and leave Peep UNSUPERVISED while she took a shower.Those eternal fifteen minutes were all it took for the eagle to scout the area, sight its prey, and bullet down for the kill.
Well, if Peep had met her demise then and there, this chronicle would be a whole lot shorter.
So, the eagle, for some unbeknownst reason, decided against immediate elimination and took off with its prey.
Only thing is, its prey was a dog, regardless of just how small of a dog she was, and so it didnât get far. When it banked abruptly to avoid an aggressive wind current, Peep was loosed from its grip and plummeted down to hit the ground. Which just so happened to be the roof of a vehicle on a jam-packed freeway, which likely saved her life, but promptly ricocheted her onto the pavement. Bruised, bleeding, and broken, she had no chance to evade the impassioned humans who leapt from their cars to help the poor puppy in its hour of need.
Next thing she knew, she was a single shivering occupant of an entire harrowing hall of cramped kennels.
Just one more addend to the astronomical statistics of discarded dogs.
But Peep never complained. No, she just sat in her cage and waited patiently for her girl. Because she knew sheâd come.
She had to.
But she didnât.
Peepâs neighbors in the shelter came and went- some to normal civilians, other to somber-faced workers. She celebrated each of her new friendâs victorious leave, even though she wasnât sure of what awaited them. Every time she inquired about everyoneâs next destination, the subject was noticeably changed. The uncertainty of it all plagued her, but she didnât press it.
And still she sat.
Finally, she was led out and paraded around a young family. The children greeted her with enamored squeals and Peep felt obliged to put on quite the show for them.
She didnât realize she was selling herself.
The shiny new collar was clasped around her neck, the stiff leash was attached to it, and she was on her way out the door.
The three kids were nice enough, and she really did try to love them.
But the poor thing still kept on awaiting her girlâs belated arrival. As soon as the new dayâs most ambitious rays began winding their way through the windows, she was hurrying downstairs and stationing herself at the front door. She only ever left her post to eat and relieve herself in the backyard.
Because front doors always brought her girl home.
No one ever seemed to notice how their new dog pined for something her one-track mind just couldnât comprehend not having.
Their forgetting started slowly. Took them almost a month.
First, it was the occasional missed meal. Sometimes thereâd be no dinner in Peepâs bowls. She ate grass instead and paid it no further mind.
Then, her water dish started drying up for days on end. This was a bit of a bigger issue, but still she remediated it herself by frequenting the porcelain thrones and hoping the last user had left the lid ajar.
Finally, she became invisible. Whenever she took the initiative to approach one of the people for the natural canine-human exchange of attention, she was either stared through or sent away with a halfhearted pat. More often than not, she was forced to do her business in a remote corner of the house when they neglected to open the doggy door. Her three nails grew so long that her back paws started splaying to avoid being impaled on them.
One day, she was tied out back, given two meager bowls of food and water, and told to be good.
And, so, she did what she was best at: she waited.
She was finished the food by Day 2, but automatically switched over to grass consumption.
On Day 4, she woke up to find that sheâd accidentally spilled what little was left of her water while tossing in her sleep. She started waking up at the wee hours of the morning in order to beat the sun in absorption of dew.
Day 7 was when the gradually intensifying weakness started to set in. To keep her fuzzy mind elsewhere, she fixated on counting clouds during the daytime and organizing stars at night.
Day 11 brought the numbing paralysis that switched her devoted mind to survival. She channeled everything she had left to painstakingly gnaw through her collar and all but rolled into the fishpond that had been so cruelly just out of reach this whole time.
She just let herself absorb the water for the entire day.
And then she snapped back to functional consciousness to find herself gnawing fish bones.
She was swamped with a guilt that nearly drove her over the fence then and there.
Yet still she waited, living off of pondwater and -what else- grass in the meanwhile.
It was probably Day 15 when she decided that waiting wasnât working. Over the flimsy picket fence she vaulted.
And, just like that, the most defenseless dog in the world was on her own again.
She kept to the roads and was soon picked up by a well-meaning passerby.
It was the first shelter all over again, but not. New walls. New kennels. New sights, smells, sounds. New dogs to make friends out of. And new uncertainty.
This time, she left even quicker. Her takers were an elderly couple; though their long lives were clearly etched across their faces, that didnât stop their love for each other from shining through with a magnificent radiance.
Life with Dave and Patty was good- really good, in fact. For the few weeks she was there, Peep got the very best of treatment and was involved in everything they did.
Sometimes she even missed her vigil at the door.
The forgetting didnât start until Dave disappeared. Heâd smelled really bad one day, so wrong that Peep spent every second of that day whining on his lap, and the next, he was being wheeled out of the house beneath a sheet.
When he went, Pattyâs body all but lost Patty herself. Peep whimpered and nuzzled and licked, but to no avail. Patty was hurting, and needed to be fixed, but Peep was pretty sure that only Dave could fix her.
Dave never came back.
It was even worse than the first time sheâd become invisible. There was not a scrap of food, not a drop of water, not a wisp of outdoor air- and worst of all, Patty didnât get those things for herself, either.
A young woman finally came and started packing up Pattyâs things.
Once Dave and Pattyâs home turned into an empty house, she took Peep back to the shelter.
It happened again and again and again.
There was only one person at the end of her leash the next time, an anxious young man not quite old enough to be on his own. He took her home to an even fuller house than her first adoptersâ, and so began the RattĂŠ tribulations.
Peep was Tobyâs dog for about a week.
Next she was all Ashleyâs.
Then she kind of migrated to Colleen and Charlotteâs room.
Little Van had enough of that, and managed to squirrel her away in her superdimensional closet for two days.
When Ashley found out that Peep had betrayed her for her preternatural little sister, she threw the mother of all tantrums and attacked Peep in a fit of jealous rage.
Mr. and Mrs. RattĂŠ walked in on this scene, and, instead of addressing their daughterâs longstanding unstable mentality, immediately condemned Peep as a corruptive influence.
Next thing Peep knew, she was back in the shelter lobby and the entire lot of RattĂŠs were gone without a trace.
She was passed along in similar fashion by two more lackadaisical families -one that intentionally surrendered her after a deranged child broke a myriad of valuables and pinned it all on the innocent dog, and another one that up and lost her during a wild and highly illegal pool party. She lasted two days at the first, a significantly longer month at the second, but, regardless, they were all just fast-running water under Peepâs stalwart little bridge.
Then she was adopted by a struggling celebrity to be the face of her animal adoption campaign. Peep underwent so many camera flashes that sheâs probably going to develop cataracts early.
As soon as the campaign proved useless to the celebrityâs publicity, Peep was tossed to her second cousin twice-removed.
This second cousin twice-removed happened to be headed to Canada when a dog was added to her list of gear.
When they got there, the extreme hiker took one look at the little hand-me-down dog that was hardly more than a lost puppy with deformed paws and unhooked her leash.
âGo have fun, kid,â she coaxed, waving Peep in the direction of the last human settlement she planned on seeing for many weeks. âGo.â
Peep was confused. You needed to have someone with you to have fun.
Fun wasnât something you did by yourself.
But, as always, she wanted to please, and so she went.
Except she mustâve taken a few crucial missteps, because where she ended up was certainly not a human civilization.
She was smack in the middle of Canadian wilderness.
But wait.
What was that on the incoming breeze?
Dogs.
And though she had never really formed a bond with another dog, she knew in her ever-hoping heart that she could go and be found.
She flat-out ran -no stumbling, no skipping, no tripping- toward those dogs.
Thankfully, it was a Canis patrol she collided with.
âIâm lost,â she sobbed miserably, finally allowing herself to be completely and utterly without hope for the first time ever.
They looked at her with a special, selfless kindness that sheâd only ever found in one human. âWell, what do you need to find?â
It was then Peep realized she didnât know, and hadnât known for a long, long time.
So, she stayed here, where, she quickly found, one is not so easily forgotten.
She was made a hunter novitiate just because no one knew what else to do with her. This child canât hunt for the life of her- not to mention that she couldnât bear to take the lives of frolicking forest critters, even if she had the means to get them. And sheâd be no better off as a clawless guardian, either.
So, her real productivity happens in the healerâs den. She always skirts on in there the moment sheâs let off duty. All three of the healers are her favorite adults by far, but she particularly loves Fuchsia like the canine mother she never was allowed a chance to have. She especially loves working with pups, but keeps to the menial and disagreeable tasks to make sure she doesnât step on Eskilâs toes. Her best friends have to be Eskil and Larkspur, butâŚtheyâre normal kids with normally mischievous friends, so itâs probably all one-sided relationships.âŽ
But, to this very day, sheâs still waiting for the one human who could never forget her.
...could she?
Pack: Canis
Crush: Open
Offspring: N/A
Parents: Quite possibly chickens
Siblings: Also quite possibly chickens
Song associated: Miracles (Colton Dixon)
Other: yes. i did this.
Username: HeavensHens88
That's IT.
Fuchsia is taking her IN. She's Fuchsia's kid NOW and no one is gonna change Fuchsia's mind. Eskil's her stupid older brother/friend. No one is changing their minds.
...Let's also just accept the fact that Fuchsia is the new River in the way that she'll practically adopt every kid, stray or parented, she comes across without a second thought.
HRGKFVHDJBG I LOVE HERTHE properly edited SINNER
Name: Asio
Age: 66 moons
Rank: Paragon's left-hand woman
Gender: Female
Personality:
Morality is meaningless.
Immorality is everything.
As a rule, she doesnât give two claws about anyone elseâs feelings, wellbeing, or even life. If sheâs going to spend her time looking after a tail that isnât her own, they have to earn her respect. And, since she knows her fellow coyotes for the rabble of classic opportunists they are, thatâs not the easiest feat to achieve.
Scathingly sarcastic and lets it be thoroughly known when sheâs displeased.
Does not suffer fools the least bit gladly. Bitterly, dangerously resentful toward anyone who commits any trespasses against her.
Obsessively secretive; takes every precaution to keep her next move traceable by absolutely none. Conversely, she seems to know where everyone is at any given time to a disturbing extent. Delights in sowing frightful discord among both the packs and the committee. If something goes awry and all evidence points to the least likely culprit, itâs bound to be the handiwork of Asio- not that sheâll ever be caught. She never commits a crime unless itâs perfect.
Though she swore on her life that she wouldnât become her monotonous father, she has indeed collected and stored enough information and experience to develop a brilliant head that could easily surpass his.
Sheâs an insanely talented mimic, especially when it comes to bird calls.
And, yes, sheâs a total Brit- melodious accent included.
All of this makes her an invaluable agent of espionage.
Sheâs entirely her own mistress, yet willingly subjects herself to Iscariot for reasons unknown to even her. Since sheâs faithfully remained at his side for this long despite literally having the means to travel the world, she feels a certain amount of entitlement.
And Petrel is there, always there, to interfere with her rightful recompense.
To say that she hates him would be a severe understatement.
Oh, while he's living it up as Mr. Public Relations, the real -the devious and the iniquitous- work that keeps this all together is orchestrated by her paws.
No one ever sees that.
Oh, and the dogs.
There are so many perfect skeletons yearning to be rearranged, so much untapped blood just dying to be spilled, but for the sake of everything theyâve built, she keeps herself in check.
For now.
Species:
Description: 18â tall. Elongated torso and nimble legs. Coarse, short fur thatâs golden with a darker saddle of brown guard hairs and solid, neatly edged black unders. Narrow, pointed head, hardly prominent forehead. Large, bat-like ears. Weird little knobby bone protrusion off the back of her skull thatâs only noticeable if you just so happen to collide with her head. And sheâs gotta keep those sketchy black eyes despite the improbability. (Typhoon phases in and out of reality in the background)
View attachment 2212530
History:
Once, in a specific span of space and time, there existed a coyote. This particular coyote, who just happened to be an escaped convict from the mammal lab three buildings over, lived in the tunnel den heâd dug beneath an ornithology lab somewhere in the great wide UK. Being that this coyoteâs studies had been inadvertently translating the excessive language of man back to his own, his vocabulary was much, much larger than the average coyoteâs. And, thus, his self-given name- Strigidae.
It should be noted that this coyote was an ornithologist in his own right.
He, whoâd even gone so far to accommodate his educational pursuits as to become unnaturally diurnal, was roused one night by a scratching at his cobweb door. His tired eyes were greeted by not only one, but four other canines that shared far more of his foreign characteristics than heâd ever thought possible.
Quite the eye-catching female and three mewling pups.
Now, if weâre being honest here, it should be said that poor shut-in Strig wouldâve been just as attentive if it were four foxes at his door.
But they werenât, they were his kind, and he was in a state of rapture.
âHey there, handsome,â the fine-looking dame cooed. âIâm Roxanne and this here is Yappy, Snappy, and Crappy. Would you by any chance be willing to loan a room to four weary travelers, hotstuff?â
Strig snapped out of his starstruck daze when those names had him look those pups over for the first time. Significantly less than a moon old, they shouldâve been perky little balls of lard. Not only were these little more than bags of bones, there was so little life left in them that five heartbeats of crying knocked them out cold. They shouldâve been talking by now, too, but not a single legible peep ever came out of the trembling snouts.
Once he got them set up in his auditory observatory, he posted himself in the hallway to his bedroom and waited to hurt.
And hurt he did.
She never once offered herself to them for nursing. Whenever one woke enough to make a pathetic utterance, sheâd smack it to silence with the sharply-clawed underside of her paw. The constant stream of muttered profanity that flowed from her curled muzzle was heavily laced with the word âmistakes.â
It was then Strig vowed those were his pups to save.
Every chance he got -and Roxanne quickly proved to be a careless wanderer, so there were a lot of chances- he was curled around those scraps and forcing paw-pulverized mouse down their throats. Whenever she managed to show up, she didnât seem to notice that her kids were no longer frequenters of Deathâs door.
As we all expected, Roxanne stuck it out for hardly more than a week.
She took off long before dawn, thinking sheâd escape unseen, but Strig knew. The moment the sun set that day, he roused the three deprived sucklings and sat them down.
âYou are now Nyctea, Asio, and Aegolius. These are your given names. You have no others. You are my children, and you will bear these names with the dignity that both they command and I expect. There will be no contention over this. Do you understand?â
It was the closest he ever came to threatening. And, despite not yet having mastered their own tongues, they all understood.
Fatherhood had never even been the vaguest of possibilities in Strigâs mind, but he gave it his all. From tireless hunting of only the highest-quality meat to compensate for the vital milk theyâd never gotten to giving them regimented daily lessons on everything they needed to know about life (((obviously, primarily birds))) to -oh, OWLS FORBID- weaving extravagant tales of fantasy to keep them amused, he made sure that they never had an opportunity to even recall the wretched mother whoâd thoughtlessly brought them into the world. Aegolius quickly became his stepfatherâs mental clone; while Nyctea also shared their love of science, he preferred to keep even more so to the sheltering shadows.
And, right from the start, Asio proved to be the untamable rebel. She just never could understand how the males of her family could be so complacent with their sedentary underground lives. To satisfy the burning unrest within her, she ran with the wrong crowds, picked up nasty habits with no remorse, and never came home on time.
Her risquĂŠ shenanigans reached their pinnacle she announced one overdue return with âHey, Dae, look what I did!â and the mangled head of some unfortunate pet dangling from her jaws.
Strig just about fainted dead away.
All through the night, Aegolius pecked at her, trying to get inside her head to see what made her tick -oh, how she DETESTED it when he did that- while Nyctea holed himself up in an earthen cubby as far away from Asio as he could get.
And, then, it came from his corner, so very soft, but cutting through Aegolius's ardent psychological interrogation like a two-edged claw.
"Please, As, just stop. For us."
That hit something within Asio and she did not like it.
She immediately cemented over that raw spot with a flood of infuriated reasoning.
This was her family. A family wanted you to be happy and supported you when you did what made you happy.
And Asio happened to quite enjoy killing.
Man, the last things she ever told her brothers were rough indeed.
The very next morning, Strig was ushering her out of the den. âWe love you, sweet, we really do,â he fervently promised amidst his muttered fretting. âBut itâs definitely best if you goâŚelsewhere until thisâŚcalms down.â
No matter how he blood-coated it, Asio knew she was being given the boot.
And that fear in his eyes. Was it of the vengeance her acts might bring down onto their household or of her herself?
Regardless, Asio felt no pain in admitting she liked it.
Now that sheâd severed all ties, she continued to delight in playing the canine mobâs hitwoman. They gave her targets, each an increasingly challenging case. It went from mere pets, to unimportant ferals, and then even to full-fledged members of the mob thatâd ruffled the wrong fur. And as she continued, she developed quite the method of elimination. It was a beautifully immaculate system she had going.
And then they told her to kill him.
Of course it went down in a dark alley. She was told to scale the barbed wire pen and fell what waited at the end of the chain.
It was a beast bigger than sheâd ever downed.
He woke and fought. Hard.
But Asio had the surpassing element of surprise.
As always.
Strangely, she felt no delight in taking this life.
She never did understand why, but she knew she had to go after that.
Subsequently, her being a mateless female was starting to be taken notice of.
And, so, moonhigh of the next night, telling not a soul of her departure, she stole away into the unknown. She was instantly drawn to the sea and what it coaxed to its banks.
The days Asio spent at the dock morphed into moons, until she came to prove her own hypothesis: humans that went onto the floating vessel did indeed journey to lands too distant to return from.
She boarded the heartbeat she understood.
It was on that voyage that she developed her taste for human flesh.
Human child flesh, to be precise.
It was so sweet. None of that disappointing, tough lean always infallibly found on animals. Just rolls and rolls and rolls of honeyed, buttery fat. And donât even get her started on the perfect, scrumptious blood---
Every three nights, another precious little one would be missing from its quarters. The frantic mothers always riled up a mob to scour the boat for the psychotic thief, but they never found so much as a scrap of the kidâs clothing.
Three hefty babies in ten days. They were such easy kills -no fuss, no muss, just a single vertebra removed from the back of their grotesquely fleshy necks- and yet the wonderfully unrefined fear they radiated was beyond that of any of her victims. And after sampling quite a few of her kills, she could say that with the utmost certainty.
Oh, she certainly gorged herself, and it wasnât just the hunger of her stomach that she satiated.
And as for those newly childless mothers? Oh, they should've soon found their babies' immaculate bones neatly arranged in their luggage.
Asio never liked to leave things messy.
After touring the States and making quite a few different names for herself along the way, she came to a screeching halt here and launched her undetectable reign of terror.
But why on earth did she stop here of all places?
She tells herself sheâs here for the kicks- and the opportunities to amuse her sick self are definitely bountiful.
But maybe itâs more than that.
Pack: The Committee
Crush: haha
Offspring: Oh, she canât STAND children.
Parents: Strigidae (stepfather) and Roxanne (blood mother)
Siblings: Nyctea (formerly Yappy) and Aegolius (formerly Crappy)
Song associated: Who We Are (Imagine Dragons) {Cover by Freya Niamh}
Other: Birds are her exploitable weakness. Just wait and see. ,;3
Username: HeavensHens8
ANNNNNNNNND
THE SAINT
Name: Peep
Age: 14 moons
Rank: Hunter Novitiate
Gender: Female
Personality: Little. Miss. Sunshine.
The most hugely optimistic extrovert. Blind to the bad in the world and thinks every inhabitant of it is her friend. Feels nothing but patriotic pride for her pack: to her, the Canis as a whole can do no wrong. If her leaders told her to jump, sheâd be sure to grow wings.
When it comes to the religion, she has the same blind faith; even though she was dragged through a world of hurt to get here, she believes with all of her heart that the wolves always intended for her to live in these sacrosanct lands, and sheâs nothing but grateful. Even prays to them before bedding down every night. Naturally, she regards the Paragon and his coyotes with enough awed -and slightly cowed- respect for three dogs.
Talkative about everything to everyone. Pretty clingy and doesnât take hints to leave easily. But if sheâs reprimanded for that or anything else, she freezes up, and isnât the same for the entire day.
Wholesomely gullible; if sheâs told assorted paws grow on trees, sheâll venture out to find them -with the intent of putting some on replace her own- the first chance she gets. Crazy adventurous to a default and is always getting herself into predicaments- itâs hard to take a stroll without being bothered by a sheepish âHey, any chance youâre good with heights?â from her where sheâs stuck high in a towering tree or a muffled âYo, got your digging claws handy?â when her back endâs sticking out of an impossibly small burrow.
Despite that itâs a thing most dogs only share with those extremely close to them, Peep gives everyonelicks. Constantly. And has no idea when sheâs making it awkward for the other dog.
Eats and eats and eats and eats everything- but never seems to gain any weight. Must be that rocketing metabolism. Her biggest guilty pleasure is slurping bird eggs- something she, having more definite chicken roots than dog, wholeheartedly detests herself for doing, but canât help herself in the least.
If someoneâs going through a rough patch, sheâll bring them food -and THAT is the ULTIMATE sacrifice from her- and listen to what they need to say without passing a single judgment. Her advice might seem shallow- âGo sit under the cedars and talk to the owls for a while! <3â- but her heart is completely in it. Also a one-dog spontaneous cheering squad for hire.
Virtually cannot tell an untruth. Adults can and have exploited this innocent honesty to make her into the perfect rat for exposing any unsavory teenage knavery. Yes, sheâs that angelic tattletale little sister that obviously no one wants around.
Whoever has to say no to her has a tough task indeed.
But sheâll be okay with it. All of it. She promises.
She just doesnât want to be forgotten.
Breed: Terrier. A whole lot of them.
Description: 12â tall. She might be small, but one who possesses the unsullied might of terriers is not to be underestimated. Sheâs pretty well-built; sturdy legs support a narrow body of compact lean that would make an admirable small game hunterâŚif it werenât for her inadequate paws. Theyâre all deformed to some extent; all four are missing pads, and so much scar tissue has built up due to their vulnerability that theyâre largely pink. Additionally, all of her toes are pathetically clawless except for the middle one on her back left paw and the two left toes on her back right paw.
Lightly silvered slate pelt base that abruptly edges off into heavily blue-grayed legs. The close-hanging ruff around her neck leads into progressively darker, neatly layered coloring that blackens the most at her ears, eyes, and muzzle. Adorably fluffy muff that furls right up to her eyes, which are the vibrant orange of a tanagerâs summer plumage and never anything less than wide. Heart-shaped nose. Two red ears that never hold the same position two days in a row. Today one will be half-crinkled, the other meticulously straight, and tomorrow theyâll both be completely flopped to the right. Her left one has a scar-looking birthmark -almost appears to be the footprint of a three-clawed bird- and no fur grows there. Her tightly-feathered brush tail is constantly held at an uncomfortable-looking 75Âş angle or higher.
View attachment 2212526
History: Life started her out as the butt of an impractical joke.
Ag kids at a certain school in a certain state checked their incubator one morning to find a newborn puppy among the drying masses of fresh chicks. It had to be some thoughtless prank -can you really expect any less from a high school- and, of course, no miscreant had the gall to come get the helpless pup theyâd left motherless. Since the poor pup was hardly responsive, and none of these wannabe poultry aficionados had any clue about baby dogs (what they actually have a clue about, I have no idea), putting her down was heavily debated.
Then a certain girl strolled onto the scene and put an end to all that. She popped open the invaded âbator, sister SNATCHED that puppy, stuffed it in the nearest tissue box, and ascended her bus just as it was evacuating the premises.
This diehard girl gave that struggling pup her all. Wrapping her motherâs beloved heating pad around the pup in its tissue box, she kept her listless charge alive and breathing by getting up at all hours of the night to force-feed her through a syringe. Those were some rough weeks of constant touch-and-go.
But that girl has decided that pup was hers and Death had no say in the matter.
And the pup did indeed survive against all odds.
After using a laughable temporary nickname (((Berb))) during the uncertain months of the pupâs existence, the girl decided she must have a real name and what other name for the chicken dog than Peep? She was also named to honor a particular late, but ever great, Buff Orpington who first, and best, wore the title.
As soon as Peep could stand on her own four paws, these two were the ultimate dynamic duo. Wherever the girl went, Peep was attached to her like a Lyme tick on me. When Peep outgrew the, uh, certain receptacle she first traveled in, she taught herself to cling to the girlâs shoulder and sway in time with the girlâs steps. What the girl ate, she ate. What the girl did, she did. When the girl slept, she slept. She really was a girlâs best friend.
But, then, one fateful day, the MINDLESS TERD had to up and leave Peep UNSUPERVISED while she took a shower.
Well, if Peep had met her demise then and there, this chronicle would be a whole lot shorter.
So, the eagle, for some unbeknownst reason, decided against immediate elimination and took off with its prey.
Only thing is, its prey was a dog, regardless of just how small of a dog she was, and so it didnât get far. When it banked abruptly to avoid an aggressive wind current, Peep was loosed from its grip and plummeted down to hit the ground. Which just so happened to be the roof of a vehicle on a jam-packed freeway, which likely saved her life, but promptly ricocheted her onto the pavement. Bruised, bleeding, and broken, she had no chance to evade the impassioned humans who leapt from their cars to help the poor puppy in its hour of need.
Next thing she knew, she was a single shivering occupant of an entire harrowing hall of cramped kennels.
Just one more addend to the astronomical statistics of discarded dogs.
But Peep never complained. No, she just sat in her cage and waited patiently for her girl. Because she knew sheâd come.
She had to.
But she didnât.
Peepâs neighbors in the shelter came and went- some to normal civilians, other to somber-faced workers. She celebrated each of her new friendâs victorious leave, even though she wasnât sure of what awaited them. Every time she inquired about everyoneâs next destination, the subject was noticeably changed. The uncertainty of it all plagued her, but she didnât press it.
And still she sat.
Finally, she was led out and paraded around a young family. The children greeted her with enamored squeals and Peep felt obliged to put on quite the show for them.
She didnât realize she was selling herself.
The shiny new collar was clasped around her neck, the stiff leash was attached to it, and she was on her way out the door.
The three kids were nice enough, and she really did try to love them.
But the poor thing still kept on awaiting her girlâs belated arrival. As soon as the new dayâs most ambitious rays began winding their way through the windows, she was hurrying downstairs and stationing herself at the front door. She only ever left her post to eat and relieve herself in the backyard.
Because front doors always brought her girl home.
No one ever seemed to notice how their new dog pined for something her one-track mind just couldnât comprehend not having.
Their forgetting started slowly. Took them almost a month.
First, it was the occasional missed meal. Sometimes thereâd be no dinner in Peepâs bowls. She ate grass instead and paid it no further mind.
Then, her water dish started drying up for days on end. This was a bit of a bigger issue, but still she remediated it herself by frequenting the porcelain thrones and hoping the last user had left the lid ajar.
Finally, she became invisible. Whenever she took the initiative to approach one of the people for the natural canine-human exchange of attention, she was either stared through or sent away with a halfhearted pat. More often than not, she was forced to do her business in a remote corner of the house when they neglected to open the doggy door. Her three nails grew so long that her back paws started splaying to avoid being impaled on them.
One day, she was tied out back, given two meager bowls of food and water, and told to be good.
And, so, she did what she was best at: she waited.
She was finished the food by Day 2, but automatically switched over to grass consumption.
On Day 4, she woke up to find that sheâd accidentally spilled what little was left of her water while tossing in her sleep. She started waking up at the wee hours of the morning in order to beat the sun in absorption of dew.
Day 7 was when the gradually intensifying weakness started to set in. To keep her fuzzy mind elsewhere, she fixated on counting clouds during the daytime and organizing stars at night.
Day 11 brought the numbing paralysis that switched her devoted mind to survival. She channeled everything she had left to painstakingly gnaw through her collar and all but rolled into the fishpond that had been so cruelly just out of reach this whole time.
She just let herself absorb the water for the entire day.
And then she snapped back to functional consciousness to find herself gnawing fish bones.
She was swamped with a guilt that nearly drove her over the fence then and there.
Yet still she waited, living off of pondwater and -what else- grass in the meanwhile.
It was probably Day 15 when she decided that waiting wasnât working. Over the flimsy picket fence she vaulted.
And, just like that, the most defenseless dog in the world was on her own again.
She kept to the roads and was soon picked up by a well-meaning passerby.
It was the first shelter all over again, but not. New walls. New kennels. New sights, smells, sounds. New dogs to make friends out of. And new uncertainty.
This time, she left even quicker. Her takers were an elderly couple; though their long lives were clearly etched across their faces, that didnât stop their love for each other from shining through with a magnificent radiance.
Life with Dave and Patty was good- really good, in fact. For the few weeks she was there, Peep got the very best of treatment and was involved in everything they did.
Sometimes she even missed her vigil at the door.
The forgetting didnât start until Dave disappeared. Heâd smelled really bad one day, so wrong that Peep spent every second of that day whining on his lap, and the next, he was being wheeled out of the house beneath a sheet.
When he went, Pattyâs body all but lost Patty herself. Peep whimpered and nuzzled and licked, but to no avail. Patty was hurting, and needed to be fixed, but Peep was pretty sure that only Dave could fix her.
Dave never came back.
It was even worse than the first time sheâd become invisible. There was not a scrap of food, not a drop of water, not a wisp of outdoor air- and worst of all, Patty didnât get those things for herself, either.
A young woman finally came and started packing up Pattyâs things.
Once Dave and Pattyâs home turned into an empty house, she took Peep back to the shelter.
It happened again and again and again.
There was only one person at the end of her leash the next time, an anxious young man not quite old enough to be on his own. He took her home to an even fuller house than her first adoptersâ, and so began the RattĂŠ tribulations.
Peep was Tobyâs dog for about a week.
Next she was all Ashleyâs.
Then she kind of migrated to Colleen and Charlotteâs room.
Little Van had enough of that, and managed to squirrel her away in her superdimensional closet for two days.
When Ashley found out that Peep had betrayed her for her preternatural little sister, she threw the mother of all tantrums and attacked Peep in a fit of jealous rage.
Mr. and Mrs. RattĂŠ walked in on this scene, and, instead of addressing their daughterâs longstanding unstable mentality, immediately condemned Peep as a corruptive influence.
Next thing Peep knew, she was back in the shelter lobby and the entire lot of RattĂŠs were gone without a trace.
She was passed along in similar fashion by two more lackadaisical families -one that intentionally surrendered her after a deranged child broke a myriad of valuables and pinned it all on the innocent dog, and another one that up and lost her during a wild and highly illegal pool party. She lasted two days at the first, a significantly longer month at the second, but, regardless, they were all just fast-running water under Peepâs stalwart little bridge.
Then she was adopted by a struggling celebrity to be the face of her animal adoption campaign. Peep underwent so many camera flashes that sheâs probably going to develop cataracts early.
As soon as the campaign proved useless to the celebrityâs publicity, Peep was tossed to her second cousin twice-removed.
This second cousin twice-removed happened to be headed to Canada when a dog was added to her list of gear.
When they got there, the extreme hiker took one look at the little hand-me-down dog that was hardly more than a lost puppy with deformed paws and unhooked her leash.
âGo have fun, kid,â she coaxed, waving Peep in the direction of the last human settlement she planned on seeing for many weeks. âGo.â
Peep was confused. You needed to have someone with you to have fun.
Fun wasnât something you did by yourself.
But, as always, she wanted to please, and so she went.
Except she mustâve taken a few crucial missteps, because where she ended up was certainly not a human civilization.
She was smack in the middle of Canadian wilderness.
But wait.
What was that on the incoming breeze?
Dogs.
And though she had never really formed a bond with another dog, she knew in her ever-hoping heart that she could go and be found.
She flat-out ran -no stumbling, no skipping, no tripping- toward those dogs.
Thankfully, it was a Canis patrol she collided with.
âIâm lost,â she sobbed miserably, finally allowing herself to be completely and utterly without hope for the first time ever.
They looked at her with a special, selfless kindness that sheâd only ever found in one human. âWell, what do you need to find?â
It was then Peep realized she didnât know, and hadnât known for a long, long time.
So, she stayed here, where, she quickly found, one is not so easily forgotten.
She was made a hunter novitiate just because no one knew what else to do with her. This child canât hunt for the life of her- not to mention that she couldnât bear to take the lives of frolicking forest critters, even if she had the means to get them. And sheâd be no better off as a clawless guardian, either.
So, her real productivity happens in the healerâs den. She always skirts on in there the moment sheâs let off duty. All three of the healers are her favorite adults by far, but she particularly loves Fuchsia like the canine mother she never was allowed a chance to have. She especially loves working with pups, but keeps to the menial and disagreeable tasks to make sure she doesnât step on Eskilâs toes. Her best friends have to be Eskil and Larkspur, butâŚtheyâre normal kids with normally mischievous friends, so itâs probably all one-sided relationships.
But, to this very day, sheâs still waiting for the one human who could never forget her.
...could she?
Pack: Canis
Crush: Open
Offspring: N/A
Parents: Quite possibly chickens
Siblings: Also quite possibly chickens
Song associated: Miracles (Colton Dixon)
Other: yes. i did this.
Username: HeavensHens88
precious BEAN
- Thread starter
- #84
yooo theyre rad :0 youre so good at drawing dhhdskjgd
yes
bRo theyre PERFECT
XD
I feel so bad for her
poor thing
I think Clover might be friends with her too, not sure. Heâs attracted to the strange ones.
Thankyeeyooo theyre rad :0 youre so good at drawing dhhdskjgd
yes
bRo theyre PERFECT
- Thread starter
- #87
clucky can i draw lucifer and alev 
omw for real?clucky can i draw lucifer and alev
absolutely
I have reference pics if you need them too
also I'm so torn because I love them
and like alev could be either dead or alive
but I'm so invested in them and I don't know what to do about it
like
should I make him or not
eh, that's a questioning that'll be answered sometime in the middle of the night when I'm bored XD
hhh can i draw them too
itd be so cool.... if you.... made him
we need some wholesome gays yknow
Really? That would be amazing. I literally love them so much.hhh can i draw them too
itd be so cool.... if you.... made him
we need some wholesome gays yknow
wholesome gays are clearly the best
hmmm
i might just make him
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