WELCOME TO SOLARITE. Cats representing the four elements fight to survive and take all they can from the others. Pollution and mysterious events is what keeps everyone down, sometimes it proves to even be fatal. It's 'fend for yourself', everybody against everybody. Who will win? Who's side are you on?
There were many motivations in life to do things, there really were. Love, revenge, power, need, desire, impulse. You could use those as the motivator for almost any action you might take, from a kiss to a kill.
In George's world, his motivation was power. Control. It was so much fun to do whatever he did, and he could manipulate anything and anyone into surrendering.
So the gray tom stood on the Earthinite border, waiting to be accepted. Oh, he would be accepted, he would make sure of that. The question was whether the Boston Reaper would be accepted for his facade or as his true self. Did they like George Foyet or Peter Rhea?
Last Edit: Aug 2, 2014 10:10:30 GMT -5 by goldennnn
It's barbaric, having to live in a place so dank and dirty in stark comparison to Aquinite's rolling waters and Draftinite's clear skies and entirely unpolluted air. Had it occurred to none that Earthinite had gotten the shorter end of the stick? Was it truly safe, to be living in a place so twisted and snaking its labyrinth and choking its air supply?
Good to dissuade invaders, but not if Earthinites got lost themselves.
Gigi winds her way out of the mine through the tunnel with self-assured grace on light paws, eyes easily picking out the brightening end of the tunnel growing larger as she nears it to the point where she has to use scent and smell to guide her out rather than vision, having to duck her head in the dawning light.
The fact that she immediately relaxes once outside is glaringly clear.
A second fact is that someone's lingering just beyond the boundary.
Wary but not meek, the female pads over, steps measurably slow and amber eyes narrowed, both from sensitivity against sun and in distrust. "Who are you."
George looked up at the approaching female, his shoulders slightly slumped in a display of a creature of weakness. One without confidence. He had, after all, been a victim of himself, and thus was a victim to the world's eyes. The gray tabby watched the other one for a moment before deciding on a path of procedure. "George Foyet. May I join your ... Clan?" He did not know what else to call it, and would seem less capable if he incorrectly named the sort of group that he had arrived on the border of. Perfection for scheming.
"swear your loyalty and you're in." the gatherer dipped her head, looking at the joiner coldly. not as if she didn't do the same thing to everyone else, though. gaia yawned, waiting for the joiner to do what she had asked.
Gigi surveys him disgustedly with her tail whisking temperately behind her, shoulders slumped in submission as he is; it's obvious from his stance that the stranger lacks self-confidence. Honestly, it's an eyesore, how apparent his feelings are - doubtless the same mimicry of a thousand other cats' inability to hide what they're thinking. A hive mind. You'd need ten to accomplish a task she could do alone.
With that, any beginnings of worry previously housed dissipates.
The russet tabby allows herself to lift her head just enough in order to look down on him contemptuously one last time before turning and leaving without bothering to memorize his name, preferring sunbathing to dealing with subordinates. No doubt the evaluation would be no more than a quick look up-look down before greeting the gray-furred male in with open arms.
No better than children. Any of them.
ooc im so sORry yes gigi is very full of herself and thinks that shes Smarter THan Everyone. which is why she falls for the act so easily. unreliable narrator award goes tooOoo
ooc omg its ok geoRGE IS THE BIGGEST NARCISSIST EVER he just likes to pretend hes not he has at least 6 aliases and right now he's going for one of his victim ones
"I swear my loyalty." George meowed calmly, lifting his head to nod to the female. His rage had not yet kicked in, and thus the gray tom was quiet, perhaps even a bit fluttery. He was off-spree - it was fun, yes it was, to watch from afar the deterioration and confusion of others whenever he was around. This was satisfying enough for him at the moment. His mimicry of the silence of a traumatized creature, recovering from some horrible event was spot on, he decided of himself, and was worthy of applause in his mind.