Source: Pinterist
RIZ LA VIE | Tesla wrote:You dabbed a napkin on the condensation on the outside of the glass,
When I spilt that bit of drank on my lap and my hip;
You started pattinβ me clean,
I hope this stains as bad as can be;
You spilled drank on you too,
While you was too busy laughing at me;
Mean I knew you was cute, cute and mean,
I mean, still you mean the world to me.
Amethyst - she rest it on my head when the headache hits;
Lemon mint - she mix it in the tea with the turmeric;
Edison - showin' me the light I try to let it in;
She my Edison - for stayin' parked by my side,
I'ma let her let the Tesla whip, the Tesla whip;
Charged like moonlight,
I'ma let her let the Tesla whip, the Tesla whip.
N A M E
Prefix | Whiskey - named by her kittypet mother.
Suffix | ---
G E N D E R
[] β | [β―] β
A G E
15 moons
R A N K
Kit [] Apprentice [β―] Warrior [] Queen [] Elder [] Medicine Cat [] Deputy [] Leader []
C L A N
FeralClan
Pre-Clan Life
Whiskey didn't have a very eventful kithood. Her mother was a kittypet in a little apartment her Housefolk owned, right on the ground floor of the building. She was the only kit of the litter so had no littermates to play with, only her mother and the occasional toy the Twoleg brougth home for her. The young calico-Snowshoe mix spent her days lounging and playing in the apartment. It was when she was winding down at night that her mother, Lily, would tell her stories of her father. A strong cat named Bourbon, she would tell Whiskey tales of this tom prowling the streets, fighting hordes of rogues and packs of feral dogs. With wide eyes, Whiskey would listen intently until her little body couldn't keep itself awake any longer and she would fall asleep to dreams of charging through the streets fighting beside a blurry tom that she couldn't quite place.
When Whiskey was about six months old, the apartment building caught on fire. She and her mother clawed and yowled at windows and doors as smoke filled the apartment until finally, smoke filling her lungs, Whiskey passed out. Her mother and Twoleg died in the apartment building fire. Whiskey went through medical treatment that she doesn't remember much of - only the needles and the hard, shiny tables of the vet's office that she was placed on before she found herself losing consciousness and waking up with scars. Her hind leg was burned pretty badly, so she has a permanent limp, though it isn't very noticeable. After she began feeling better, Whiskey's life changed again which she was taken from the vet's office to the shelter. A young, pretty cat, Whiskey didn't stay in the shelter long, though she recalls the barking, snarling dog down the halls and the other cats, all yowling and angry or with dead, hopeless looks in their eyes.
At around eight moons old, Whiskey was adopted. She was scared of the two Twolegs at first, and spent the drive in the monster quietly anxious in the carrier they placed her in. When finally in their home, she spent a couple of days camping out under the sofa, avoiding them and only moving at night to eat or drink the bland food left down for her. Soon, she began to adjust, and spent the days on the windowsill watching the birds hop around on what little grass there was outside. Many, many monsters prowled down the thunderpath in front of the home, and lots of Twolegs were seen with their dogs tethered to them as they jogged down the sidewalk. Curious about it all, Whiskey's bed was moved to the windowsill, where she would spend her days. Her Twolegs doted on her, coming to the windowsill just to scratch behind her ears, but Whiskey longed for the outside world.
Whiskey was about a year old the first time the Twolegs left the window open. Smoke had begun pouring from an object one of her Housefolk was fooling with, and they had run to the window and thrown it open. Whiskey was too frightened to act, though - the smoke scared her and she fled under the sofa, where she had hidden in her early days there. Once the smoke was under control the window was shut and, as she crept back to the windowsill, Whiskey realized that she had missed her chance. She waited patiently until one day, while working with the object and making what smelled delicious, smoke began again. Her Housefolk just happened to be a bad cook - though Whiskey didn't know it. With the window open, the calico bolted. She had only stepped paw outside when carried by a Twoleg, and as she felt the grass under her paws and the wind in her long fur, Whiskey couldn't help but stop and roll around in the grass and dirt. It was a feeling of freedom unlike any other.
Still a young cat and having been raised indoors her entire life, Whiskey set out on her own with absolutely no skill. She bounced from rogue group to rogue group, slowly picking up skills, though they were sloppy and untrained. She had just enough ability to hunt and sort of defend herself in a way that would be effective only against a week opponent when she joined with Sinbad's group.
Clan + life
Whiskey was roughly eleven moons old when she joined with Sinbad's group. She didn't have much to offer, but at this point, she had learned to play it up while she did. She began the act of hastily trying to mimic other cat's abilities and learn skills whenever she could. She soon had a great help, however, as she met Bourbon. It was a night of relaxation with a belly full of rat when Whiskey had first joined the group that she began to talk about Lily's stories - a fierce tom named Bourbon who roamed the streets and fought dogs and rogues. Well, it just so happened that one of the cats listening to her absurd tale happened to be named Bourbon. After striking up conversation, Whiskey learned that Bourbon was indeed the cat in question - he had met Lily about eleven moons ago, and that's when Whiskey had been conceived. Whiskey was thrilled, as Lily had been gone for nearly a solid year. Finally with a parent, Whiskey grew attached to Bourbon right away, and begged the tom to teach her some skills - which leaves her where she is now. She still has training to do, especially with her limp somewhat worsening with the brutal life of the streets, but she's come much further than she would have expected. Now, she serves as a FeralClan apprentice, eager to learn which cat will continue her training, and even more eager to continue learning from and growing close to Bourbon.
P E R S O N A L I T Y
Whiskey is an alert, enthusiastic she-cat. She likes learning new thinks and is always interested in new skills, as she spent so long without having, well, any. She is inquisitive and curious; always interested in how things work and why a best way is a best way. She's known to question techniques and one of her favorite hobbies is taking a skill and attempting to sharpen it, so most of the battle and hunting techniques she has in her arsenal are a mix of her own style and what she picked up when she learned them. She has a tendency to talk too much which could come off as annoying, and she often says the wrong thing at the wrong time - after spending so much time alone, she has little knowledge in the way of social ques. Whiskey isn't one to avoid taboo tactics or talking about something that might upset or offend others, even if she should - she has no concept of a filter.
+ Traits: inquisitive, curious, strong work ethic, adaptable.
- Traits: somewhat obnoxious, tactless, rash, opiniated and loud about it.
S K I L L S
Charisma: β β βββ
Strength: β β β ββ
Speed: β β β β β
Climbing: β β βββ
Agility: β β β β β
Defense : β β β ββ
Offense : β β β β β
K I N
Father | Bourbon
Mother | Lily
E D U C A T I O N
Mentor | TBD
F R I E N D S H I P S
open!
R E L A T I O N S H I P S
Single [β―] Taken [] Too Young [] Crushing [] Widow []
βΊMate/Crush
