&&. all i can do is [ r e s i s t ]

[r a m p [ a g e ] .xo]

Resisted Flashback speaks in 629632.

named,

Resisted Flashback, or Resist for short.

gendered,

Tom.

aged,

Thirty moons.

claned/ranked,

Loner, none.

described shortly,

A black-and-white tom with short legs and murky yellow eyes.

appears,

Resisted Flashback is not of one color, but two; black and white. No other color marks his pelt, no gray or ginger or blue - it's black and white, pure and simple.

His back is coated with the darker of the two shades, black. It ripples across as the color of his fur, and slips down his sides to meet at his stomach. His rump is colored while, though, as well as the fur behind his forelegs, which continues through the two and up to paint his neck. A patch of black is slapped in between the two front legs, and coats his sholders and parts of his two forelegs, although the bottom half of those two legs are almost completely white. His back legs, being rebellious, are mostly black, with white paws; and the tail he calls his own is black as midnight.

His face is somewhat flattened, as if his muzzle had been pushed in oh-so-slightly, so, from the side, Resist looks strangly flat-faced. His muzzle is colored in white, with a streak of black across the top. An upside-down V is angled between his eyes, and is connected to the white of his muzzle, so the nose streak is apart from the black that makes up the rest of his face.

The thin, long projections that are Resist's whiskers look immensly bright against his darkened face; but against the white, they're almost invisible. Resisted Flashback unconsciously twiches his whiskers when he is thinking; he isn't able to help himself, so, most of the time, his whiskers are moving, either with a breeze or his thoughts.

Another point to come across is Resist's eyes; two pools full of a murky, yellow substance. His eyes are raised at the furtherest points from his nose, so they slant diagonally towards his muzzle. Unlike the eyes of some others, Resisted Flashback's eyes are purely of the one color, with the exception of the dark vertically slits of his pupils.

As for his physical image, Resist is, in the simplest word, slim. His body isn't heavy with muscle, big or threatening; to be honest, he looks small and fragile, like an old childhood toy. The tom could, in a sense, be mistaken for a she-cat, but of course, he smelt of the tom he was. Resisted Flashback has small, delicate paws, which usually hide claws of a small size. His legs are shorter than those of a usual cat of his size, but are powerful; his jumping ability is something he is proud of, and he believes it makes up for the loss of speed his legs could have otherwise provided.

persona,

Resisted Flashback is a careful fellow, making sure he knows what he's doing before he daintly tries out the water. He isn't one to take risks, and will never willingly step into danger; they are both things that he will attempt to avoid doing at all costs. If someone is in great need, or there is no other choice, Resist will grudgingly do either, as much as he doesn't want to. He may be careful, but he is no fool.

Chaos is something that Resist turns a blind eye to; he doesn't want to see things messed up, crazy, so his mind does him the favour of ignoring it, convincing every other aspect of his being that the chaos is not there. He cannot stand the wildness of chaotic nature, the things with no rules or boundraies, as it reminds him of things he does not want to remember.

Although his fur is black and white, Resisted Flashback does not see the world as so. Through Resist's eyes, there is no black and white, no good and bad, it's all just shades of gray. He knows, he's not stupid, that things change from the point of view they are seen at; if two Clans fought, one because they wanted some of the other's territory, the other to defend their land, who was the white, the good, and who was the evil, black? From the first Clan's point of view, they need more territory to feed their Clan, prehaps, and the other was being selfish by trying to fight them off - from the latter's point of view, they were defending land that was theirs, and the other Clan was trying to steal it. So who was the good guy? Who was the bad?

Honestly, Resist isn't the most knowledgable cat in the world, there are a lot of things he doesn't know, yet he is willing to lend a helping hand (or paw, if you want to be picky) when others don't know what to do, when they need advice and support. Though he isn't very good at being sensitive, he understands the feelings of other cats very well, and has a strong sense of empathy. He can't exactally "feel" for for some cat, but he can understand them. Even strangers in distress are offered his help if they cross paths with this tom.

past,

&&. first there was the [ b e g i n i n g ] .xo
A born and bred loner, Resist began his life in a small cave, one of two kits. His brother, Shadow, had been a black tom, like their father, while Resisted Flashback was black and white, like his mother's mother. Resist was born a healthy kit, with no problems whatsoever, but it was a different case for Shadow. He was weak and sick; the two parents - Step, their pure black father; and Ashen, the gray tabby queen - realised that almost instantly by his sickly smell. This, through Resist's eyes, made Shadow oh-so-special, and his parents always seemed to favour the sick tom over their healthy one.

Resisted Flashback's birthname was Twilight, and Shadow used to call him "Wielie" (pronounced y-lie), as the young kit, at the time, couldn't say his brother's name properly. The nickname stuck over time, and Shadow had never called Twilight by his actual name.

After about four moons, Shadow became the center of attention in everything. Twilight was almost always ignored, told off for no reason, and told to get away from Shadow because "he'd hurt him". Shadow was getting no better as the days went by. He looked to be getting worse: he couldn't talk without coughing terribly, and his appitite seemed to dwindle. Step and Ashen tried to help their sick son the best they could, and barely even noticed, let alone cared, when Twilight got sick and tired of being ignored and left for a while.

Since he had no one to talk to, Twilight talked to himself: he spoke if he was talking to someone who didn't know what was happening, and he explained to himself that his brother was getting all the attention, that he, Twilight, was being ignored. Sometimes he felt eyes on him - they sent shivers up his spine - but whenever he looked around, he didn't see anyone. So he resumed talking, every time. If he had not, if he had returned back home and kept his mouth shut, his family would still be alive.

&&. then there was the [ s t o r y ] . xo
This became a habit of Twilight's: going out, talking to himself, and returning home when the sun was setting. His parents scolded him the first time he went out, but as he did it more and more, they cared less and less, until he was invisible to them. They cared so much about their sick son, who could barely stand at the age of six moons. He could only stand with support, and, even then, he leaned heavily on whoever was supporting him. Twilight never heard his old "Wielie" anymore.

There was no rules for the young Twilight. He could do whatever he wanted whenever he wanted. If he went and got himself run over, his parents probably wouldn't care less than they already did. But he definatly wasn't going to test that out.

It was after one of his little trips around the place he lived, talking to himself, when he parents were killed. He was returning home after talking about how his brother was getting worse, and how he wanted to leave the boring cave and explore the world, when they came.

Apparently, Step had commited some crime by insulting a random stray cat he saw on the street before he and his mate had kits, who turned out to be leader of a band of stray cats. And they wanted revenge.

They had been they eyes that had watched Twilight as he talked to himself, for all those moons. He had told them exactally what they wanted to hear: where Step was, what he was doing, his sick son and hopeful mate, and the rest. The band planned out their attack so it was when Twilight was returning home, and Step, Ashen and Shadow were sitting outside, watching the sunset. That was when they attacked.

&&. of course there was a [ f i g h t ] .xo
Their plan was simple enough: kill the weak, sick kit that Step cared so much about, then the mate, then the "evil" cat himself. Simple, yet unexpected. So when they attacked, going for Shadow first, Step and Ashen were too stunned and shocked by the sudden-ness to save their son. First Shadow, then down went Ashen. The plan was going according to...well, plan.

But then Step did something they hadn't expected. The band of cats had watched Twilight and listened for moons, so they knew Step ignored his healthy son, and cared nothing for him. Knowing that, they didn't expect the father to suddenly turn on the healthy son, blame him for finding a band of stray cats to kill him and the rest of the family as revenge for them ignoring him, and attack.

The cats had wanted to steal Twilight away once they killed the family, a young tom to train to become a stray like themselves, so they couldn't let Step kill him. They made sure of that.

&&. then i was stolen [ a w a y ] .xo
They took Twilight, however unwilling he was, and forced him into their ranks. After a while, he accepted the fact he couldn't escape, and did what he was asked to do - the only thing he couldn't do was kill, after what happened to his family. He saw a lot of bloodshed in his time as a part of the band of stray cats, a lot of murders in cold blood. His dreams were filled with the horrors of his life, the chaos and destruction the band of cats created in their wake. The things he called his dreams were nightmares. And he didn't only dream them: he lived them, too.

Once Twilight was twelve moons old, six moons after his capture, he couldn't stand it anymore. All the terrible things in his life, all of the things that he had to accept as normal, they were all too much. It could have been just a gradual thing, or it could have been killing in cold blood that finally made him snap.

Twilight did the only thing he could: he ran away. It wasn't the wisest choice, or the brightest, but he didn't know what else he could do. So he ran. And ran. And ran. He didn't know how far he went, but he kept going, even when his body screamed at him to stop, to eat and sleep, to rest his legs. Every time he slowed, the images, flashes of what he'd done, passed across his mind's eye, and he couldn't help but start running again.

&&. it hurt too much to keep [ a l i v e ] .xo
Twilight spent two moons doing nothing but running, eating and sleeping. He begged his mind to resist the flashbacks, he yowled out loud to whatever and whoever would hear that he was sorry, that he'd never do it again. After a while, he got used to the mental trauma; though they always terrified him. Every time he stopped running, they'd come back. But he couldn't run forever, he'd perish. He knew and loathed that. He'd rather run forever than feel the horror of rememberance.

It was at the end of these two moons that Twilight changed his name. It reminded him too much of Step and Ashen, of Shadow and "Wielie". And, for obvious reasons in his own mind, he changed his name to Resisted Flashback; although allowed others to call him Resist. The memory of Twilight, the ignored kitten, and the stray cat, soon faded from his mind. The memories continued to haunt him when he least expected it, but he learned to resist the flashbacks. It was all he could do.

&&. yet im still wandering the [ w o r l d ] .xo
Resisted Flashback stopped feeling paranoid, stalked, followed, hunted and the like when he was fifteen moons old. By that age, he realised his silly scares (they were no longer "the stray cats that wanted his pelt") were all for nothing, there was no reason to be afraid. He soon calmed and became this new cat, who never knew of the young Twilight who struggled through his life, tortured by everyone around him.

extras,

Image of Resisted Flashback (large!):
Click here.

roleplay example,
Royukan
^{...don't let me go...}

_{...don't let me fall...}

The slight widening of his eyes and sudden stop were Royukan's first reactions to the sudden appearance of the younger wolf. He was stunned - how could someone just appear like that? - and he was too light-headed to even turn and run.

"For lack of a more dramatic entrance, hi! I'm Pan." Royukan could only stare at the energetic wolf as he panted heavily, his mind blank of the meaning of the words. He knew he should've known another wolf would come, sooner or later; but being alone all the time made the colorful wolf forget things like that. His delicate nose twitched at the unfamiliar scent of Pan, and he flattened his ears onto his head.

Royukan's brain suddenly snapped into gear, recovering from his shock, and he instantly took a few steps back, whining miserably. Figuring that since Pan had said his name, he needed to do the same, although that was something he hadn't done in a while. "My name... you can call me..." he fumbled for words, unsure of how he should introduce himself. It suddenly clicked in his head that he didn't really remember his own name. The shame! He hadn't used it in so long, he'd forgotten it all together. Another high-pitched whine escaped his jaws, as he desperately searched his memory for the name his mother had granted him, all those years ago.

Forgetting his name was like forgetting himself. Royukan suddenly felt cold at the thought, and he lowered his head to the ground, so that his nose was only inches above the salty sand. What else had he forgotten? He hoped nothing else, that'd be like a living hell. Royukan didn't know anybody else, well, except Pan now, and that meant no one knew his name. Not even himself.

"I'm sorry... I seem to have forgotten my name..."

[/color][/b] He felt his fur prickle in embarrassment as he quietly told Pan his problem. What kind of wolf forgot their own name? The younger wolf probably thought he had something wrong with his memory. Lone wolves always seemed to be more thoughtful, reflecting back on their lives and remembering things better, since they had so much time on their paws. Not Royukan, he wasn't much of a thinker. He'd just do whatever he needed to do.

Keeping his blue and orange head down, Royukan squeezed his eyes shut, wondering how Pan'd react to the strange wolf he was. He hoped the young wolf's cheery attitude wasn't just a mask, hiding someone much colder at heart. He could deal with a happy youngster, surely, but not a mean wolf. It wasn't like he was able to fight back; he was weak in mind and body, and he wasn't afraid to admit it to himself. Why else would he resort to eating what he could find and keeping away from other wolves, because he was scared of his own kind?

Stupid, stupid. Why did he have to be so stupid? Why couldn't he accept that things could be scary, but he had to still try his best? Opening his eyes slightly, he looked sadly down at the ground, not even bothering to glance up at Pan. What was the point?[/center]
codeword,

-Fallen glomps password-

[/size][/blockquote]

[[ .. FALLEN .. ]]

Great bio! Haha, the password is the name of my favorite song. It's by Paramore. ^_^
-->Accepted, locked, and moved.