i n i t i a t e :

BUGSY finchwhisker
Roleplayed by finchwhisker
An unusually small Abyssinian tom with short, chocolate-ginger fur, wide, dusty green eyes, and huge, rounded ears. His face is pert, delicate, and triangular, his whiskers long and feathery, and his paws tiny and soft, rendering his claws no more effective than a kitten's. Paler fur rings his eyes, making them appear even larger than they already are. One of his eyes is milky and clouded, the only sign betraying its blindness. In every respect, he looks to be no older than an apprentice - and a particularly diminutive one at that. More pretty than he is handsome, he's often mistaken for a she-cat, though he doesn't especially mind. Quiet, soft-spoken, and shy, Bugsy tends to fade into the background - and that doesn't bother him at all, really. He prefers to spend his time with Queens and Apprentices, away from the limelight of warriors and battles and glory. Fussy to a fault, and partial to his looks, he prefers to keep himself neat and well-groomed, away from the mess of dirt and blood and responsibility. When he does have a chance to speak freely, however, his manner can seem quite at odds with his dainty looks - sly and droll and occasionally cruel, he knows precisely which insecurities to prod at and which old wounds to un-stitch; which soft spots to exploit; which version of himself the other cat would like to see. He can be sweet and bashful, doleful and withdrawn, acidic and dry, bouncy and reckless and chipper as a kit - whatever they want him to be. He thinks quite highly of himself, and doesn't often feel insecure in the presence of other cats. But there's a wispy sort of sadness to him, one that creeps in around the edges of the caustic smiles and the big eyes - one that's all guilt and mourning and emptiness. What should he care what others think of him, when he scarcely feels that he exists at all? With no sense of self, it's ever so easy to become whatever they want him to be. He feels like no more than a wistful ghost, haunting himself till the day he fades away. Born to a rogue and a father he never knew, Bugsy lived the first year of his life in alleys and abandoned buildings, growing up amidst broken windows and black water and mould. Always fussy and neat, he loathed the uncleanliness far more than he ever did the fear and the bloodshed; little and unassuming, he was more often than not able to sweet-talk his way out of potentially violent situations. When he was eight moons old, he fell in love with a dangerous tom he ought never to have gone near - but, always one to be blinded by good looks and flattery, he let himself be charmed. The tom had a terrible temper, and Bugsy found himself slipping more and more into subservience - he let the tom take his anger out on him; he let him blame him, hurt him, humiliate him; he let him reduce him to nothing but an incompetent, unlovable fool, and swallowed the lies every time the tom told him he was nothing without him - until he started to believe it. He let himself be broken, and forgot there was ever such a thing as choice or kindness or freedom. When he was ten moons, the tom flew into a rage over a small, unimportant thing, and slaughtered Bugsy's mother. Tired and ruined, Bugsy did nothing to stop him. When he tried to apologise for whatever it was the tom thought he had done, when he tried to make it better, the tom hooked his claw in Bugsy's eye and left it blind. When he was one year old, he fled into SunClan territory and tried to leave the ghosts behind. (He didn't run fast enough.) (They followed him here.)




hopefully that's okay!! :3