Username: Bentley
Name: Edgar VI
Gender: Male
Gender for breeding purposes: Male
Personality: They say the quiet ones are the scariest. That... is somewhat true for Edgar. He'll let others get really close - relaxed, even - before he strikes... if he ever does. His tongue is as sharp as a blade of obsidian - that is, if he doesn't stumble on it, like he often does - and his clever mind is as agile as the most graceful of fox, horse, bird or antelope... however, he gets fixated on little details in order to make the grandest show, which become the greatest obstacles to him in doing... pretty much anything, really. Even something as simple as finding a comfortable place to sleep has to become an ordeal - is it high enough that the sun will hit him just right to someone below? But what if the sun gets in his eyes, squinting isn't very imposing! Is it comfy? He can't sleep on rough rock, that'd hurt his back, but if he oversleeps from being
too, that'd just be no good at all! Is it safe? Are there spiders? (Oh, heavens, no, please - the resulting screech isn't becoming of a lady, let alone a big, imposing male such as himself!)
Short story:
Edgar slunk around the ruins, bell tinkling merrily as he moved. There was something hidden in the maze, something that he wanted, and yet had no name for it, or description or… anything, really. He just knew there was treasure to be had, and he wanted to lay claim on it before anyone else could do the same.
The corner before him had the bearings of importance - an archway that once bore regal carvings and probably held a pair of beautiful, solid doors that long ago were either removed or destroyed. If anything was following him, it’d be the perfect spot to make his stand, and leave the competition in the dust. There were so many ways he could do it, though-!
If he came at it from above, there was the potential of stunning or scaring them, and then the image of him coming to his full height from a crouch, horns framed in the archway like the minotaur’s… oho! But there was an issue of timing… and would the stone even hold his weight, anymore? Or if he stumbled? That’d be a stupid way to start the showdown - with a sprained or otherwise injured leg or foot, or if he landed really wrong, a shoulder. Pft.
If he came at it from the side, stepping into the archway as they approached, it would be a little less intimidating, but… perhaps effective. No chance of hurting himself, but he would not be coming from a crouch to bear over the one following him, and that just… no. It wasn’t a route that fit his specific style.
He could just… stand in the doorway? But… there was no ambush to it, no style or flair, he’d be just a glorified door to plow over, and it’d give the pursuer a chance to just go around him, if they could find a path to do so. And if they got ahead of him while he waited? If they beat him to it, and left him to stumble upon the remains of the spoils? Unacceptable!
Ahead -- a noise.
Uh oh.
Extra:
Edgar can claim he has many powerful allies -- but, really, most of those allies are friends-of-friends of the creatures that he permits proximity, which aren’t really friends, persay, but he wouldn’t know the difference, anyway. He’s a bit on the lonely side, but deludes himself with the idea of being socially inundated, even if most of the time, it’s usually just him chatting - or debating, plotting or outright arguing - with himself or his shadow. Hey, that counts, right? The phrase is, “Me, myself and I”, that’s enough for him to count himself three times.
Despite his flourishing intellect, his social capacity for situations outside of solitude can be properly compared to a stunted Charlie Brown tree in the shadow of the massive Redwoods - perhaps not shriveled completely (yet), but still leaving much to be desired… or, perhaps, some might find it utterly endearing. It’s the latter that he allows to get close, at least until he finds use (or lack thereof) for them… and then they have to face the bull and his horns.
Or… not. The company is, sometimes, pleasant, and it can be a nice change of pace when he isn’t on speaking terms with Him or Himself.
