Note wrote: Hey Lady, I'm honestly doing this just to say, that if ANY of this form looks like someone else's it is COMPLETELY unintentional. I didn't even look at anybody's until I finished, since I had been working on this in a PM draft. So, if some features are /slightly/ similar, know that I had no delusions of stealing, and it is accidental.
- Iceeon
ｂｕｔ ｐｌｅａｓｕｒｅｓ ａｒｅ
ｌｉｋｅ ｐｏｐｐｉｅｓ ｓｐｒｅａｄ,
ｙｏｕ ｓｅｉｚｅ ｔｈｅ ｆｌｏｗｅｒ,
ｉｔｓ ｂｌｏｏｍ ｉｓ ｓｈｅｄ▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀
by meＭＹ ＮＡＭＥ ＩＳＰＥＲＣＩＶＵＸ
Ｉ ＡＭ Ａ ＭＡＬＥ ＫＩＡ, ＡＮＤ ＴＨＩＳ ＩＳ ＭＹ ＳＴＯＲＹ 
by pine.My name is French in origin, because I was named after an old French relative, but I was born in Scotland; among the thistles and the dunes, in a little house near the sea. When I was little my life was great. My parents let me go wherever I wanted and play whenever I liked; the hills, the far-off fields, or the coast. (Naturally, I loved the beach. It was always so fun splashing down by the water an’ roaming thr’ the sand.) My entire world was made of fun and joy, and I loved it.
But, of course, all good things must end sometime. Thanks to money trouble, my mum an’ da’ decided it was time to move to the United States.
At first I loved the place. There were so many new things to see, an’ games to play, an’ places to explore! There were adventures around every corner! But it seemed that the crowded States were not such a good place for a small Kia to explore on his own.
Ye see, this move turned out to be the beginning of my misery.
First, we moved to South Dakota, amongst the firs and the mountains unique to that state. It wasn’t bad, if I say so me self, but it was a-plenty different from Scotland in little and big ways. The climate, for one thing, was different. It was a wee-- okay, a lot a bit hot in the summer an’ flippin’ cold in the winter, with snow drifting down daily until it covered everything in a fine downy powder. Amongst the seasons and the weather there were plenty o’ sights to see though. Like Mount Rushmore, but bein’ from the U.K I wasn’t really interested in these ‘merican presidents, or Watergate, or the Civil War. Leave that to the, what do ye call ‘em? Patriots. Ye, the patriots.
No, that wasn’t what caught me attention. Not at all. It was the flowers! Poppies, to be exact. I loved poppies - absolutely adored them as if they were me little sisters or brothers. And as you guessed correctly, they were my favorite of all the flowers: More romantic than a rose, more extravagant than a lily, more courageous than a sunflower. I always went and collected poppies in the soft hours of the morning, just as the sun peeked above the horizon, lighting the world with a fiery orange glow. Then, as I returned home, me da’ would make iridescent foil cases for them in all colors of the rainbow. Blue, yellow, green, red, you name it! Me da’ could make it better than any florist or crafter. But while his poppy wraps were fabulous and colorful, he was nowhere near my mum and her works of art. While da’ would make the “poppy holsters,” as we called them, she would twine the excess flowers into extravagant shapes. Be it Kiamara, cat, dog, horse, person, she could do it; paws brushing the elegant foliage and gently egging them into creative pieces which in my mind’s eye revealed the Mona Lisa. And while we all worked, it was incredible bonding time for us three. We would talk in Gaelic, and help each other brush up on our English education, or share fun tales of werewolves and heroes. But of course, all fun things must die, and melancholy must reign.
It was a brisk day in autumn, crisp leaves fluttering in the wind like miniature kites that young Kias flew. I was working hard on the chores me folks had given me, and before long I'd finished 'em all. Proud of my work, they offered to get me ice cream, which I could rarely get. Elated, of course, I accepted.
Little did I know that their kind proclamation would be their doom, and the budding of my sorrow.
by Chasing Dreams
It was near dark as I saw them driving back from the downtown ice cream shop in our black KIA (no pun intended).
I was so enthusiastic that I was jumping up an’ down, hootin’ an’ hollerin’ as if there was no morrow. I underestimated myexcitement though, as me parents thought somethin’ was wrong. That something was very wrong. Swerving sharply to see what I was screeching about, they bumped into the curb, flinging them half onto the other lane, into the traffic. And before they could get out of the car, make a run for their lives, a silver SUV slammed into them with the force of a wrecking ball from nigh above. An’ as the cars collided, being larger, the grey van held its ground as my parent’s car flew at least fifteen feet in the air, a streak of dirty black. Then it landed with an imposing crunch of failing mechanisms, me folk’s bones, an’ me own heart. Then nothing. Nothing at all.
There was no blood, except for mine from sharp debris. There was no sound after the fatal fall. The only thing that occupied the vast emptiness of the road was the swarming blackness that engulfed me as I passed out on the pavement.
Six months after me parent’s untimely death I was sent to live with me not-so-dear aunt Shaerun. She was decent, but after my spoiled upbringing she practically let me live on me own. I had to cook everything, walk five miles to school, an’ buy me own stuff. I got into the hang of it, until I turned fifteen, an’ I went to me new school for the third year.
I was the gossip subject. Everyone wondered how I was a teenager an’ yet so little. Some called me weensy. When I politely explained that I had PPS, they all started a’ laughin’. It annoyed me greatly, but I ignored it an’ the sneers I received as I passed through the hall or entered class. But the arrival of a kid named Gvaer ruined any chance I had of being left alone; put away by the news hounds to gather dust; the last year's fashion. No. He was significantly worse than the others, calling me “Scotty boy” an’ mimicking my accent by jeering “pip-pip and cheerio,” among many more teases and insults. He made me life horrid and rotten.
But then the darkness seemed to recede as a girl named Lark made her way into me class. She was beautiful, fine blonde hair tumbling across her muzzle and blue eyes in waves. Her smile enlightened the room, and her voice was creamy and sugar-coated. But one day, as I gave her a poppy (which I had avoided since my parent’s death due to overwhelming emotion) I saw how truly ugly she
by Chasing Dreamswas.
It was in the morning, well before Gvaer and his posse got to school. They were always late. So now, as Lark flirted with a handsome male, I swaggered over to her, armed with a poppy in my maw. Approaching her, I laid the flower at her feet, staring up at her ocean eyes.
“G’day, Lark”. I said, with ’e Scottish twang.
Her soft eyes condensed an’ grew hard, almost like a metallic metal.
“What is this for?” She snarled pointedly, with a fine claw directed towards the poppy. Her lips pulled back as she testily added, “And my name is pronounced LAHRK not Lerk”.
I immediately knew I had made a grave mistake even coming near her.
“Uh, it’s a gift”. I said, lying. I wasn’t going to announce I had a huge crush on her.
Just then, a paw shot out an’ struck me square on the cheek. I reeled backwards, stunned. “What was that for?!” I cried. “I just gave you a poppy!”
Lark snickered. “No. No disgusting Kiamara with PPS should EVER touch me!” she shrieked. “Be gone, foul idiot!” and I obeyed, lips pulled back in a grimace, I fled like the coward I was, an’ still am.
The next night I begged and complained to Shaerun, asking desperately if we could homeschool. She refused over an’ over again, until she finally found a craigslist ad looking for an in-home student to tutor. Shaerun hired the helper, an’ she arrived in the morrow.
Her name was Piper, with brown hair that was swept aside in tumultuous curls. While I thought Lark was pretty, Piper was beautiful in her own unique way. If I got somethin’ wrong in one of my learning subjects, she would gently and calmly point it out, an’ give me tips to avoid it in the near future. An’ unbeknownst to her, she made my life ten times better. Maybe it was because the funny talks we had as we did early strolls, while the dew was still sparkling merrily. Or perhaps it was because she took me to the park to see Kiamaras who weren’t as evil as those who had bullied me.
She comforted me on my PPS predicament, encouraging me an’ inspiring me to grow.
Piper taught me all the lessons a young Kia should know, an’ much more. If I was still in that wretched school, I would’ve been star student, not the pathetic whelp I once was.
When I was sad, she was sympathetic, when I was angry, she let me have me space that I needed.
In all ways, my new best friend Piper was salvation, an’ me life was good fer th’ first time since me parent’s death.
No, not good. Wonderful.
by Chasing DreamsHigh on a bright and sunny bed
A scarlet poppy grew
And up it held its staring head,
And thrust it full in view.
Yet no attention did it win,
By all these efforts made,
And less unwelcome had it been
In some retired shade.
Although within its scarlet breast
No sweet perfume was found,
It seemed to think itself the best
Of all the flowers round,
From this I may a hint obtain
And take great care indeed,
Lest I appear as pert and vain
As does this gaudy weed.
by Chasing DreamsＡＮＤ ＮＯＷ ＦＯＲ ＳＯＭＥＢＥＨＩＮＤ ＴＨＥ ＳＣＥＮＥＳＩＮＦＯＲＭＡＴＩＯＮｐｅｒｓｏｎａｌｉｔｙ
Percivux is quiet and reserved, not saying much, or not even really doing much except smiling weakly at passing people. Some could even describe him as solemn or lifeless, but that is not true. Perci has plenty of life, but with his bullied history, he has problems showing it in a carefree way like others. Percivux is naturally submissive, even towards Kiamaras that had never even laid a paw on him. Flattening his ears, tucking in his tail, and slinking away have all become normal to him. But submission and shyness aside, he is truly sweet, only wanting to help, never hinder. Around those he trusts, Percivux becomes rather happy and joyful, bouncing around like all young’uns should. He has a deep fascination with bumblebees, of all things, and will just lie in the grass watching them, for reasons unknown to Piper, his best friend. Perci has no trace of a temper, unlike the bug he loves; he is utterly calm in all riling situations. He is one to be admired for his loyal and sweet temperament.ｂｉｒｔｈｓｔｏｎｅ ａｎｄ ｚｏｄｉａｃ
- Topaz
- Cancerｌｉｋｅｓ
- Wolves
- Bears
- Books
- Fruit
- Bats
- Gems
- Oranges
- Piper
- Poppiesｄｉｓｌｉｋｅｓ
- Bullies
- Rudeness
- Salads
- Dragons
- Salamanders
- Fire
- Weeds
- Poison Ivyｗｈｙ ｉ ｗａｎｔ ｈｉｍ
Hello dear Lady Masquerade! What joy you have placed on my heart by creating this fine fellow, and as you can guess, I am here to say how much I adore Percivux, or "Perci" as I have come to call him. I hope my chances are not dashed by this cliche extra that is so commonly added, but please, read it and hear how much I would love and care for Percivux. I appreciate any and all attention to my form, as well as your willingness to consider it among the other forms. It truly touches my heart that I am worthy of such notice.
Alright though, lets start!
You see, I have lots of free time to go see movies with my friends, do fun stuff, but lately, for the last week, I have been giving up that time to work on this entry. It is even a little sad, as you may call it, for I even dream about him and stay up into the late hours of the night just thinking of what I would do with Percivux, all the art I would do, all the RP's, all the fanclub-chatting... It sounds a little obsessive over a bunch of pixels, but one day as I was talking to my friend we had a lengthy conversation regarding how people thought of their Kiamara's, Jbd's, or whatever species under the sun as just an oekaki drawing. But do our characters not bloom in our hearts and live in their own unique way? What if they live on some other realm, waiting for us to join them when our time on Earth is up? Or maybe they become real when you truly start to believe. I wonder if we will ever really know.
Either way, I love my characters and I know they love me just as much.
As awful as it is though, I cannot guarantee 100% of my life to him. I have five Jbd's, which I am struggling with keeping them up in RP's and such, as well as the other species that I have won. I do have lots of events starting in December, and I have school which at the minimum keeps me till 3:00 in the afternoon. But hard as it is, I will try to center all my emotion towards Percivux to something viewable on CS. An RP, colored giftlines, art, I will try so hard if I am graced with this Kiamara.
And if I feel as if I just cannot have him anymore? That I just can't keep him? I won't be greedy, I won't keep him to rot. I will give him to a loving friend or re-adopt him out. There is no reason to keep something that you cannot take care of properly. It would break my heart, but it would be the best way, though if I won Perci I doubt that would happen. Which, speaking of winning, if I do not get him I will not whine or be rude, or even slightly aggressive. No. Because if I did not win surely you must of thought that I would not be good owner, and I respect your responsible choice.
This concludes it. Thank you Lady for the opportunity to love and enter for him in this competition.
Thank you.
-Iceeon
by Chasing DreamsThe gleaming Ruby should adorn,
All those who in July are born,
For thus they'll be exempt and free,
From lover's doubts and anxiety.
Under sweet Cancer's healing hands spring now makes place
For summer and its burning haze
Nature is now fully awake
Under nurturing Cancer, concerned for human's sake
Do you see the crabs glittering rosy shell?
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ｏｒ ｌｉｋｅ ｔｈｅ ｓｎｏｗ
ｆａｌｌｓ ｉｎ ｔｈｅ ｒｉｖｅｒ,
ａ ｍｏｍｅｎｔ ｗｈｉｔｅ — ｔｈｅｎ
ｍｅｌｔｓ ｆｏｒ ｅｖｅｒ
