[~Rush Furry~]

username:
kalon name:
personality: [100 words max]
fall palette:
how do they feel about fall?: [500 words max]

Marking!

[kipin]

user : kipin

name : persephone

personality : extremely temperamental | can and will go completely feral when it comes to bagel bites and/or the last slice of key lime pie | very low amount of self control | believes in ghosts | genuinely likes pineapple on pizza | keeps at least one jug of apple juice in the fridge at all times | can't fall asleep without brushing his teeth | easily overwhelmed | will scream even if unnecessary | has only cried once in his adult life and it was only because he tripped over a crack on the sidewalk and dropped a slice of pizza face-down | had a 4.1 gpa in high school

fall palette : palette , image

how do they feel about fall? : persephone has a slightly twisted opinion of fall, but positive nonetheless. he thinks it's pretty, of course: the mix of vibrant scarlet and auburn leaves falling from their high perches to the ground and the chilled mornings always graced by the fog that rolls in from over the hills. but despite all the 'new beginnings' and regrowth that is always anticipated come spring, the way he sees it, all the bright greens and blues and pinks and yellows are always dependent on the crackling death and decay of fall.

aside from all the despair hidden in plain sight, he loves the concept of sitting at home, wrapped in a fuzzy blanket, the white noise of a show he's seen a million times filling his ears with familiarity as he sips from a mug of tea warmed in the microwave, peering out of his bedroom window up into the sky and holding eternal gratitude that the clouds are hanging low enough in the sky to block out the sun; not because he hates the sun for any particular reason, he just prefers the cold.

[sylveonsweetie987]

username: sylveonsweetie987
kalon name: Salaris Neirvern
personality: [100 words max]
fall palette:
how do they feel about fall?: wip! they don't have much emotions about fall since they don't have fall on Cherish, but they've heard about it on other worlds and think it's awful that all the plants would mass die

[✦ nemuri]

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[ username: .kaede ]
[ kalon name: akihiko 秋彦 - autumn prince ]


•


personality:

a lifetime of training and blade-crossing has taught akihiko to harden his
heart and to expect the unexpected. preparation takes dedication, but
he is one such person to have the energy and the time in the world to do
so. he is cold, but not by choice; akihiko would break if he spent time to
mourn for all the people he had known and lost. however, he is not with-
out patience and compassion - time has taught akihiko enough of that,
and for a swordsman-turned-barista, those were traits he needed to learn.
he's just scared of getting too close, really.

[ 100 / 100 words ]


•


fall palette:

█ #E59E5C || █ #FAC696 || █ #DD8174 || █ #9F5258 || █ #73818C
sugar, spice, and everything nice


•


how do they feel about fall?:

akihiko truly, truly believed autumn to be beautiful, despite everything.

the weather was pleasant, and he never got enough of the way the leaves
would morph colours and decorate the ground wherever he stepped. it was
comfortingly cool, and there was a peaceful serenity that he enjoyed.

it was a shame that many of his prominent memories centering around
autumn happened to be of a fight that could've been avoided, a battle with
needless bloodshed, a war that shouldn't have occurred to begin with.

it was bloody. it was a horrific scene, and akihiko could almost smell the
nauseating stench of smoke as heaps and heaps of bodies were set on fire.
blood dripped steadily from his gleaming sword, and if this were any other
time, akihiko might've been proud of his accomplishments in the fight. his
clothes were ripped, he had a gash in his right arm, and he was covered in
blood. it was uncomfortable.

even if the blood wasn't his, he now had to live with the fact that people
had died by his blade. although his blade had been polished once, twice,
thrice, ridden time and time again of the blood, akihiko never felt as
though his sword would ever be clean again.

it was for these actions that akihiko had been blessed ( cursed? ) with
immortality, and he had long since forgotten how to grieve properly for
the fallen.

when the age of the sword fell, he had to find another way to make a
living for himself. people in the modern days didn't go around, waving
their blades like a lunatic, and akihiko wasn't about to be the first person
to do that, nor the last. there weren't many options for him, but it was
on a chilly autumn day that he entered a coffee shop's doors to become
a barista.

although the work was difficult for a seasoned warrior at first, akihiko
soon fell into the peaceful, rhythmic quietude of the quaint coffee shop.
he ground coffee beans methodically, strained them all, and took pride
in all of the latte art that he had learned to create.

in the beginning, the cream on coffee had reminded him of how blood
would blossom across a person's clothes, but slowly and over time, he
grew to think less and less of those times. the smell of coffee calmed
him. whenever akihiko drifted off to past memories, the coffee shop
was able to bring him back and ground him in the present. it was like an
anchor of sorts, and it was exactly what akihiko needed in order to move
on.

yes, he detested his past ( how could've he been so stupid enough to
wage war on the country he was supposed to love? why did it take
thousands of lives for him to realize just what a huge mistake he was
making? ) and frequently saw bloodshed and fire within the glowing
leaves that changed with the seasons, but it was also the catalyst for
his healing.

[ 500 / 500 words ]
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[minifun990]

username:minifun990
kalon name:Anwara
personality: [100 words max] She may seem cold on first glance but she has a heart of gold, she is extremely loyal and friendly once you get to know her, but you must prove yourself worth knowing first. She loves the outdoors, and always doing something productive. With her friends she loves to have fun and always tries to get them smiling.
fall palette:

how do they feel about fall?: Anwara loves the fall, it reminds her of great memories from her childhood. The carefree days of playing in the leaves, finding the crunchiest ones to heap up and jump in, to crush under her paws, the longest to tickle others necks until they noticed. Then there was the hot chocolates and warmer jumpers as the nights started to get cold, the wind that drew kites high into the air sweeping the leaves out of piles and up into the air. They reminded Anwara of comfort and fun that, while summer may be over, that didnt mean the fun would end.

[qvril]

m

[Zephara]

username: Diamond pet
kalon name: Rhea
personality: ~ wip!
fall palette:

how do they feel about fall?: wip!

[cocoa]

username: colour54
kalon name: rehan
personality: soft spoken but critical, rehan has always been one to wait before answering - and his answers often came out to some as either a helpful, honest criticism, or a scathing deconstruction of the other's thoughts. he keeps his things impeccably organized, and even cleans up spaces that are messy, if no one is there to watch. he keeps neat charts of his day in his diary, and notes items of particular interest; else, he will often forget the details of life he loves. he values privacy. few recognize his deep love for beauty: of nature, art, or a long-standing crush.[100/100 words]
fall palette: xxxx
how do they feel about fall?: rehan's love for autumn began in his elementary school library, holding a book at recess. the book he held was a simple picture book the librarian had recommended. rehan was supposed to practice reading: but instead, he was drawn to the way the colors popped out of the smooth paper: orange, red, yellow, and small tints of green. It was a fall themed book about harvest, and rehan had found love for color and art in their pages, drawn by a children's book artist.

thus - when he saw small newspaper ads for things to visit this fall, he would beg his mom to take him to the local forest to see the fall colors. in his free time he wandered the library halls, and soon Google, for books of art. Famous art, he soon found; his favorites, always the autumn pieces. In fits of inspiration, young Rehan would bring crayons and a pad of paper to the forests and parks he and his mom visited in autumn. the warmest colors he had of his crayons were quickly worn to stubs as he colored, as a child would, blobs and blobs of color. his mother would give him a warm hug when he showed off his little "masterpieces", chuckling at the sight of color smudged onto her son's hands and the soft smile and aura that enveloped him.

his favorite somewhat-seasonal drink would be cranberry juice, for the vibrant color, and it "tasted good" unlike the one time he had stared too curiously at a glass of his mum's red wine to taste a sip and immediately be disgusted. once, his mom caught him carefully spilling cranberry juice over a white t-shirt, which he insisted, was a work of art. he had spilled the juice in a shape of a kalon. his mom had encouraged him afterwards to explore his art interests in a less stinky fashion.

in rehan's older years, his erratic and somewhat-seasonal (rehan also loved the bloom during spring, but not as much as the riot of color across the trees that came in autumn) developed into a more curated love for both old and modern art, and he spent much time in museums and on online art forums alike. rehan loved impressionism. One of his favorite pieces by Van Gogh is Haystacks in Provence. rehan could sit for some time and pick out every brush stroke and shade of orange, yellow, blue and green used.

beyond his love for art, rehan enjoys autumn because summer is too hot for his fur, and in spring and winter it is too wet. rehan also enjoys halloween, for the opportunity to hide himself behind a mask while showcasing his love for color - every different year, he made a new, horribly crafted frankenstein of red devil eyes, patchworks of red, green, yellow, and navy for where he ran out of felt. it is one of the few times he can share his love without losing his safety in privacy. [498/500]
written in color #5C7D89

[Wlyrout]

username:

wlyrout

kalon name:

张时敏 zhang shimin

personality:

shimin is an artist. his words are few but poetic, his tone measured. he seems to see the world with that special wisdom reserved for the most creative individuals, those who see the world as something more beautiful and sad than most could fathom. he has seen his fair share of tragedy, but has not allowed it to make him bitter. he tries to translate his hopelessness and fear into gentleness. he finds it difficult, however, to communicate his emotions with others; art is how he channels the loneliness that pricks at his skin. [94]

fall palette:

"lijiang river in autumn"

how do they feel about fall?:

after an airborne illness wiped out most life on the planet, shimin was forced to move into the city. the rural town where he had grown up was no longer habitable. no people meant no resources, and he wasn't much of a survivalist. he ended up taking refuge in the back room of an abandoned arcade. shimin's room would be nothing more than a concrete box if not for the landscape paintings that plaster the walls, introducing reds and blues into a monotonous sea of gray. he supposes that life is like that now; you have to add the color to it. otherwise it's all just gray.

he moved to the city during the height of autumn. it was a trek of several days through the most beautiful scenery he had ever seen. too bad it had taken the end of the world to bring him to see it. the reds and oranges that enveloped him seemed to mourn all the lives lost, the leaves falling from trees like tears. the landscape was oddly still, the river quiet and winds gentle, as if they too knew of the devastation.

before all of this, shimin had been awestruck by the city's glamor. this time, upon his arrival, it all seemed a bit drab. he longed for the warm tones of dying leaves, knowing that he may never see them again. he was unsure where to settle until, while scavenging through the arcade, he knocked over a can of red paint in the back room. for a moment he just watched it ooze across the floor. then, as if in a trance, he dipped his toes into the red paint and pressed them against the wall. the dappled dots of red against the gray wall were immediately reminiscent of the leaves that had guided his path to the city. he added more and more dots until he was staring at a sea of leaves. tears came to his eyes as he allowed himself to feel, for the first time, all that he was leaving behind.

for a few days he abandoned his efforts to prepare for the upcoming winter. instead, he painted. he painted autumn forests and rivers with gold reflected in them. he painted mountains tinted red, he painted the moon illuminating the yellow ground beneath it, he painted everything that he could remember from his journey. he turned the room into a place of mourning. it filled him with something like relief.

to shimin, autumn is the end of the world. autumn is the world sensing its death and putting on its last great show. in that way, it reminds him of himself. he knows that there is no hope for rebuilding. he is putting on his last great show, and if he's lucky, it might be beautiful. [468]

[astral.]

Mark ❤

Potentially this palette;



Elias absolutely adores the fact that he can leave the abandoned house he resides in over fall. The townsfolk seem so absorbed in the harvest festival that they don't seem to pay him much mind when he wanders into town...

He once lived in this quaint town and studied to become a herbologist. Wanting nothing more than to use natural cures to help the people that suddenly became ill around him. Even his dearest Rosa fell victim to the deathly cough that just seemed to come from nowhere.

The killer cough had only made its way into the town when a bunch of scurvy travellers appeared in town recently, demanding ale and women. They smelt awful. They were awful. The kalon form of the plague, like sewer rats desperately searching for food.

Elias researched fervently, serving the townspeople by keeping the sick quarantined in the church, and simply covering his face with a cloth to use as a mask. He gave each one of his patients some warm chamomile to put them at ease for a bit - the doctor had been lost only a week before and it was solely up to him to make sure the town would make it through this.

His cough started in the fall and so did his travels. He made hus way to the highest mountains, deepest rivers and most remote towns, only to find nothing.

On his way home, he collapsed with a fever that burned through him like a hellfire, only to awake in a strange cottage where there was no one there to greet him. It seemed to be abandoned and his neck stung as if he had been attacked by a swarm of wasps in only the one location.

His cough was gone.
And so was his pulse.

Aha, the cure was found, but at what cost? The cost of a life for immortality and bloodlust? Truly, this was a curse.

Returning home was the only option. He was forced to watch each of his loved ones pass, year after year. Lighting a candle for each one until the whole house was covered in various colours of wax. Watching the town from his house, waiting so patiently for the fall season to come so that he could be around the crowd that he adored so much for another year.

Pity his new friends are tomorrow nights candle, *ehem* supper ❤