Beige Canterra;;

[BEIGE'D]

I. general --

NAME: Beige Canterra [Goes by Beige].

AGE: 18

GENDER: Male

SPECIES: Human

ANIMAL: --

JOB: Writer & Nature Photographer

II. physique --

PHYSICAL APPEARANCE: He looks a bit younger than his age suggests. With paler skin that suggests he either doesn't go in the sun much, or he just doesn't tan too much. His hair is a sandy, pale blonde colour that may suggest his name, perhaps. Beige has startling blue eyes, very sudden and bright amongst his paler face. He is not very tall, perhaps 5'5", which would be considered short for someone of his age. Especially a boy. He isn't a body builder, but how could he ever be one? With a gentle looking face, not usually serious, but usually friendly and compassionate, he is obviously no fighter. With his disability, that proves to be a hassle on some days, he doesn't really have much to fight for.

CLOTHING STYLE: He prefers to wear red, black, or blue clothing. Usually it's very long jackets and pants. He wears waterproof boots most of the time, and never wears hats, even when it is raining.

EXTRA: Nothing important. He has a wheelchair but usually prefers to try and walk on his own.

SUMMERY: A small, blond haired and blue eyed guy.

III. persona --

LIKES:

• Cats
  
• All elements [Fire, water, earth, air]
  
• Writing
  
• Taking pictures
  
• Being outdoors
  

DISLIKES:

• People who think they're better than chimaeras or shapeshifters.
  
• Killing
  
• Violence
  
• Screaming and/or name calling
  

FLAWS:

• He does not hate or fear shapeshifters/chimaeras which can sometimes get him in trouble with the wrong crowd.
  
• He is very dreamy and distant, preferring to stare off into the distance and daydream instead of listen to whomever is speaking, causing arguments.
  
• When he is writing, he is completely oblivious to everything around him, except for physical touch.
  

PERSONALITY: Kind, caring, compassionate, and pensive on many occasions. He is the definition of a 'gentlemen' but his kindness doesn't just stop at the other gender. He is nice to everyone, or, tries to be. Beige can get sarcastic and angry with those who try to kill shapeshifters and chimaeras- what did they ever do wrong, he thinks. A lot of times he is angry with himself for being unable to help them. He hates the fact that he is so useless, and sometimes, on very rare occasions, he'll work himself into a fit. But normally, he is friendly and caring, and thoughtful, and tries to see things from everyone's point of view, and not just his own. He thoroughly enjoys the company of his cat, Noel. He loves his job, and making books and novels is what he spends most of his time doing. Sometimes, though, he'll put his crippled leg to work and stand up, hike, just to take pictures of the natural world. Some would think he is more of a defined female, on the inside, but that's just how he acts. Perhaps years of being confined to one good leg can mellow someone down.

IV. history --

PARENTS: Mary Canterra & Own Canterra. Both alive.

SIBLINGS: Kajin Canterra. Whereabouts unknown.

HISTORY: Beige was born at the edge of Lakyra, just before one of the suburban cities. His parents were both big time media producers, and were snobs. They hardly really paid much attention to their kids, other than to show them how to run a media art. Beige and his brother Kajin were very close from birth. They spent all their time together, except while at school. Beige was very popular among the class because he was nice, and was always accepting towards the new kids who were often bullied by the other kids. Then, everything started to change. At age 12, the news aired and showed them shocking, disgusting, and horrifying pictures. Shapeshifters and chimaeras? Beige, whom had always been the most compassionate one in the family, immediately pitied them for what people had done to them. Experimented on them, tortured them.

His brother, Kajin, who feared them, immediately wanted to rid them from the earth. His brother was five years older than Beige, and although he tried to soothe his older brother's anger, nothing he could do would work. Kajin grew bitter and distant, and they fought often. One day, his Beige and Kajin were walking home from school when they saw a squirrel shift into a human. Beige was both impressed and amazed by this, but Kajin was angered, and out of fear and hate, pulled the gun he had stolen from his father's closet. Horrified, Beige stepped in front of his brother and tried to stop him, but Kajin just shoved him out of the way. The shapeshifter looked terrified, and tried to run. Again Beige got in the way, and this time, blinded by his own hate, his older brother shot him in the knee.

Beige blacked out from pain and shock, and when he woke up, he was lying on the side of the road where his brother had left him. The shapeshifter had vanished, and so had Kajin. Beige lay for awhile, hollering for his brother, but then realized that his lower body was covered in blood. Looking down, he saw the wound, and remembered the last few moments before he blacked out. Started, the young boy began to crawl towards the closest place he could find. Blood loss soon sapped his consciousness again, and by then a jogger found his body and called the police. He was brought to the hospital, but because of the place of injury, his leg would never heal properly. For a few years he could feel nothing below the point of the shot on his leg, but soon, he began to gain some feeling back.

He got a job as a photographer, wanting to use his leg as much as possible in any hope of strengthening it. Then, to get more money to support himself, for he had moved away from his parents, he became a writer and began his novelist career. Around that time he got a cat and named her Noel.

V. other --

THINGS WE SHOULD KNOW: If you haven't realized, his leg is crippled. xD

ROLE PLAY SAMPLE: Fear, desperation. Terror, pain. Heartbreak.
Every feeling flooded the air with tension; it is said that feelings can flow off an animal through the silence and darkness, and those nearby can pick up those feelings. A dog can sense fear or doubt in its owner which can lead to it feeling dominant over the household. A horse will sense the fear in its master, and, in return, the tame creature will respond by becoming afraid itself. For horses and many tames species, the feelings picked up from the master are important in keeping them calm. However, now, the air was soured. A small tom was lying on his side in his movable, mossy nest. The white cat was splayed on his side, the dark grays specks of his pelt hardly visible in the moonlight as he twisted, tail lurching like a snake preparing to strike. His flattened ears, bristling fur, strange murmurings of pleadings and anger all proved to be his excuse for independence; for young Nero was enveloped by nightmares.

"Mother," his whisper was hardly audible in the fearful air. "Mother!" The pitch of his mew rose, but it was just as quiet and unheard by the restful world. "What's wrong? Why won't you get up?" His nightmares became his hell-ridden reality. A tiny kit crouched beside the unmoving body of a beautiful she-cat. Her legs were splayed across the stones, her tongue hanging faintly from her mouth, and her eyes were open, reflecting the sky. A trail of crimson led from beneath her and stained the kit's white paws red. He lay down beside her, pushing his nose into her blood-in-crested flank. "I'm sorry!" The kit whimpered, curled as tight a ball as possible beside her. "It's all my fault! I shouldn't have run away..." His wail trailed off into an exhausted mew. He closed his eyes, wishing to sleep away his agony, but something told him to get away. Nero raised his head, blue eyes pools of sorrow and blue, rising to his stubby paws; and with a fearful, loving glance at his mothers body, the kit recoiled into the body of a huge dark tom.

Nero squealed in terror, ready to run. A large paw buffeted him in place. "Why bother run?" The huge cat hissed, his muzzle close to Nero's. "I could catch you without a second thought. No matter how far you ran, how fast you moved, you can never outrun me. Remember that, kid." Nero stared up at his father, frightened of his dark, empty eyes, his cold, twisted ways. He faintly recalled crying out in anguish as the tom left him later that die by his mother's body. The memory's faulted. He was suddenly surrounded by darkness, suffocating, unforgiving darkness. It pressed into him; he could barely breathe. The tom twisted, spun, full grown now as he was as he is lying in his nest built in the abandoned barn. Words whispered in his ears; not harsh, cruel words like those from Coon. But these words were flowing like a stream, water over pebbles, gentle hearts.

"Why couldn't you save me Nero? Why did you run away? Coward!" A creature with red eyes in the shape of a cat sprang towards him, glowing jaws alight with blood of some animal. A pile of bodies littered the ground, lit up by a path of moonlight leading up to a starless sky. Bodies... They were all the same. His mother's body? Nero howled in terror as the creature reached him, body colliding with his own. "I'm sorry... I'm sorry!" Nero shot awake at the sound of his own voice, his own, desperate yowl echoing across the night sky. His eyes were as wide as an owls, the pupils like moons. The tom was in shock momentarily, his confidence faltered; his coldness burned away like frost under the sun. He lay trembling in his nest; the stink of the creature and the bodies was still strong in his nose and mouth, but he could feel the safety here.

The tom began to let his fur lie flat. The tom began to rise to his paws, licking delicately, fearfully along his bristling fur. He paused as though he could taste the blood of those bodies, the blood of his mother, covering him with sickly scarlet. He was deeply troubled by his dream, and he stared off into the darkness. I'm sorry mother, he thought, wanting to cry out. Coward! The words flashed through him, raking his muzzle like scorching claws through his flesh. He trembled, legs hardly capable of supporting him. I didn't... I don't know, he closed his eyes, smoky tail held out behind him, trembling in the still, twoleg tainted breeze. His claws dug into the dirty hay, gripping at it like it was his only way of survival. The image of his father flashed through him, and he felt a surge of hatred rising in his chest. For the moons in which he had spent with the tom, he had never grown a bond with his father's killer.

Where are you, Coon? Hiding, no doubt. You coward, one day, I'll find you. And when I do... He let his thoughts trail off, not sure what he would actually do until that day came. He wanted his father to suffer, however, like his mother did. Moons of fear, pain, heartbreak. It was all because of him, and he was going to make sure the tom regretted taking each breathe of air that sustained his life. For, young Nero, was still grieving. His anger led to his belief that killing his father was right. It was the only way to stop the nightmares, to make his mother forgive him for leaving her to fight the powerful tom on her own; and in a way, by doing so, he had left her to perish...