Faol's Log

Personality:
Mallory tries, in general, to be nice. Though cynical herself, she understands that her mindset is not particularly healthy and overall does not wish for it to spread to anyone else, particularly the young. On the occasion she does seem to lash out or drag a conversation down to a more depressing level, it is largely because of the portion of her energy she must spend on keeping much worse thoughts tucked away in her head.

Never in her life was she a particularly rebellious cat; Mallory could at worst be described as having a bit of an attitude. She does not balk at authority and is mostly accepting of other cats, their decisions, and their ability to make those decisions. On the chance she does not respect their abilities or their species (having a general dislike for dogs), she can acquire a rather rude tone of voice and she has absolutely no trouble looking haughty when the situation calls for it. She projects an aura of a female not to be messed with; the phrase “hell hath no fury like a scorned woman” applies to her.

It is perhaps lucky, then, that Mallory has few close relationships; she would be incredibly protective of her fellows if she had any and would likely assume the worst if anyone would come to be involved with them. If she would have kittens, take care if you’re around when they’re upset. Without such relationships, she is more reserved in her behavior and more understanding as a whole. Having a bit of crazy in her keeps her aware of the fact that others might have similar thoughts going on inside their heads and thus, patience is her greatest virtue. Should someone step over the line… Well, as with her shared experience of having less than average thoughts she expects others to be able to contain their issues as well.

Such “issues” are not so easily contained, though. Mallory is plagued with violent thoughts and urges to do others harm, which are somewhat random in the sense that nothing specific triggers them. Most of the time she is able to tell when a particularly horrible thought is coming on and can generally excuse herself to go be violent in a slightly more socially acceptable manner. On occasion, the thought will appear without warning and create the attitude, though these are few and far between. These “episodes” vary from once a week during the night to a few times a week at any time at all during that down swing of her overall mood. It is not exact.

Mallory can, indeed, go months at a time without feeling in the least homicidal but once she has a thought after a long period of time, it sends her into a downward spiral. Her journey out of the slump seems just as uncontrollable but is marked by longer and longer periods of time between thoughts. Unfortunately, Mallory is quite aware of this process and has gained an enormous part of her cynical personality because she knows very well that even if she goes a year without getting the urge to injure or kill someone, it does not guarantee that she is free.

She is very much a prisoner to this issue; when in a slump maybe 10% of her energy is actual usable because she uses so much of it to keep her thoughts under control. Mallory does not want to hurt anyone, really, and wishes on many levels to be normal. She sees it as a hindrance to living a normal life: her dreams of finding a loving mate, have a few wonderful kittens and a happy little family have had a dark, vehement cloud hanging over them for far too long for her to even dream of them without waking and scoffing at the memory of such childlike ideas. It occasionally brings her down a step further, to the point where she wonders what really is the point of her existence if all she will ever do is try her best to live without actually murdering anyone.

Yet, on her better days, she does try to get out. She is young enough that still some hope stirs inside of her and so she tries to be nice. She tries not to be the type of cat to run others away because she fears that if she is all alone for too long, a monster will emerge and she will truly lose herself. Mallory fears socialization for what it may mean for other cats and yet, she craves it, because she believes it is the one thing that one day just might fix her.

Her blessing from all this is a bit of sarcastic, sometimes dark, humor, and an ability to mock her own persona simply because she has nothing to lose by being insulted. Petty insults will not offend her and her most sensitive issue rarely (up to this point, never) comes out in front of other cats. She prefers the company of those who do not take life too seriously but still somehow manage to be intelligent. All in all, as haughty as she can be when offended it is not so easy to do so, and if her erratic thoughts did not plague her, psychological trauma from her past, she would be a very stable and quite amicable cat.

As far as talents go, she is an excellent climber and a speedy little thing - if offended she is quick to send out a slap and doesn't often miss a target due to rather refined reflexes. She is not strong, though; she must use her weight or the sharpness of her claws to really do any damage. Simply slapping someone will not send them flying off their feet and her father used to remark that she had "pillow paws" - claws withdrawn, of course. Despite quick reflexes she is not a fast runner and for the majority of her life has depended on being stealthy, cunning, and keeping sharp claws and teeth to acquire food. Birds are her specialty; some squirrels have proved too fat for her to do much about without pouncing down on top of them.


Appearance:
Mallory is your typical Russian Blue, deep charcoal gray coat and all. She has a more slender shape than average likely due to whatever breed her father brought into the mix. Her eyes are green as jade and much like the stone, vary in color. As her pupils dilate a lighter color, closer to teal, is visible in the center with a deeper, more luxurious green on the outside and flecks all inside. They are not necessarily beautiful, merely average. Her face is round like her mother’s but fits in nicely with her body shape; she does not look unusual.



History:
Mallory was born in the middle of autumn to a single mother cat – her father was in the area, but was not actively involved in her first few months. Unfortunately for her winter came early that year and her mother had to den in the tightly packed snow, with one large opening for herself and another smaller opening hidden in nearby dried out shrubs. She was the only kitten in the litter but very healthy and for several months, her and her mother were able to get by just fine living off of squirrels and birds in the area. There was only once a run in with a badger, but her mother was ferocious in defending her kitten – a trait Mallory would share later in life of those she loved. The badger did not harm either cat.

In the middle of winter, however, after an exceedingly large blizzard a very old Saint Bernard was likely running through its old practice of digging lost skiers out of the snow. At the very least, he had adapted to the environment after his owner had died from the virus and returned to the area every winter, unbeknownst to Mallory’s young mother. While on a hunt, he apparently picked up on her mother’s scent and began digging frantically at the larger entrance. Mallory’s mother shoved her rather unceremoniously into the smaller tunnel and told her to go just as the older dog burst through the entrance; his paw knocked into Mallory likely causing some head trauma but she could still move. Her last image of her mother was with claws drawn, digging into the old dog’s nose. It gave her enough time to escape the smaller tunnel and clamber up a nearby tree to avoid the dog once he had finished.

She slept overnight huddled against the bark of the tree in the freezing cold, and could barely see what grabbed her and dragged her off to a warmer area. She didn’t care; as a kitten, she was already scared because of the loss of her mother and she supposed in her state that whether she died or not it wouldn’t matter. She was unafraid.

After several days Mallory was awake enough to realize it was her father – from her mother’s descriptions of him – who had taken her to safety and kept her warm. After some time she recovered from the incident, and she continued on around her father until autumn came around again. They hunted together and were general companions; she met a few other cats alongside him and was well socialized. Yet, she was always plagued with strange feelings in her mind; at an older, more experienced age she recognized them as precursors to her violent thoughts. While her and her father had an excellent relationship, she later on found she could not trust him. As she grew older, he would not warn her of dangers and instead, flee.

At first, she thought he was trying to teach her and he should be respected for his attempts, but as time went on she found herself grappling with snakes unnecessarily and had seen him flee as a coward on more than one occasion. At a year old, in autumn, she had her first homicidal thought, and found it almost separated from her. She had for some time been angry with her father, and it seemed when she thought violently she would be disgusted with herself afterward and go back to a state of mind she considered more like she had had as a kitten: one of idolatry and adoration. It was only after leaving that the two blended into the cynical but preventative personality she has today.

She found the thoughts and the split reoccurred each time she met up with another feline, but found she could at least control her actions and with prolonged exposure she could keep her personality stable. It is likely a result of the head trauma she received as a kitten, further pressured by uncertain surroundings as she matured. At three, Mallory feels she is able to join a group, even such as the Iris pride, for her distinct dislike of dogs for the death of her mother and because she has managed stability so far.


Season born: Autumn.


RP Sample:
She could see no birds, hear no wings aflutter, feel no scurrying of small mammals in the region. The earth under her feet felt dry, and she knew she would not find water anywhere near. It was suggested that this was an unusual drought for the area to go through; none of the vegetation suggested a strictly desert climate. Mallory shook out in an attempt to loosen her fur, and let some air in to cool her down. If there had been mud, she likely would have rolled in it; she was less inclined to a kitten’s behavior at the moment but God, was she hot.

Mallory shook off once more and trotted into the trees, being mindful of the dried leaves and trying to keep quiet; she was not only hot, but hungry, and it would not do her well to find a prey species that had stuck around only to scare it off.

She stopped.

At least, she thought, there is wind.

Dried leaves rustled on the ground, scrubby bushes thwacked up against one another as a strong wind swept through; Mallory used the sounds to her advantage and leapt through, finally jumping for the side of a tree and scrambling a ways up before it finally stopped. Her claws dug into the bark; she kept as still as possible, moving only her eyes, watching for something to soothe her ridiculously whiny stomach. The feline’s nose twitched, attempting to pick up on a halfway decent, glimmer of a scent, but what little breeze was left didn’t help her all too much.

For a moment she worried; an all too familiar paranoid feeling was creeping into her head and she could feel herself being watched. She swiveled her head around to the other direction and, seeing nothing, scurried higher up into the tree to alight on one of the lower branches, near the trunk. She stood poised, ready to spring.


Link to image of character: Here