08-02-2018, 04:46 PM
[align=center][div style="width: 500px; text-align: justify; font-family: helvetica; font-size: 9pt; line-height: 1.4;"]Theo hadn't been beautiful as a child — some sort of cute, in the way that baby rabbits were cute. He'd spent his days napping in his father's hood as he walked, and bounced around whenever they got someplace new. Age hadn't completely taken away that level of cuteness, but it had grown and changed. The lion seems overall soft, with bright colors and a gentle warmth about his face. Underneath, there's a sharp curiosity and paranoia, the rolling of sleek muscles under his skin. There had never been any comments about him being ditsy, just giggling or energetic. Bright, always bright. Maybe it's just the way he wears the cuts and bruises — Theo always looks on them with some kind of pride, and the odd glances don't matter. Even when he was worn ragged, the sheer stubbornness it had taken to survive his life kept the lion's head up. When other people didn't manage, though, it wasn't their fault.
Like Argus, Theo is proud of his scars. The pinpricks on his shoulders and the back of his neck from teeth latching into his skin, the thin lines dragging down his hips and shoulders. He hasn't carried them for centuries, or lifetimes. Theo's body is barely touching the area of three years old, though his exact birthday isn't known by anyone except his parents, who are (probably) dead. It doesn't matter too much anyway, time is something people created to make sense of the world. There's no point in trying that, it'll never fully work.
Reasons for this, reasons for that, why and how and all of those other questions people had. No point. He just rolls with whatever's in front of him. Or — well, he tries. Sometimes moving on is harder than he thought, and that's how the lion ends up walking. To clear his head, get used to the territory, meet people. He hadn't expected it to be in this kind of situation, though. Warm brown eyes fall to the scars, though there's no disgust or pity in his gaze. Maybe a quiet interest, if only because there has to be a story behind something like that. Argus's comment throws the feline out of his thoughts, turning his head to look at the strange with a tilted head. "Cover them? Why?" It's meant for Luca still, and the cinnamon lion sits down to make his intentions clear. Stay here and talk until someone chases him off. "They're cool. It's attractive." Or maybe that was just him. People who survived that sort of thing — well, whatever. He'd made his point just by saying it.
Like Argus, Theo is proud of his scars. The pinpricks on his shoulders and the back of his neck from teeth latching into his skin, the thin lines dragging down his hips and shoulders. He hasn't carried them for centuries, or lifetimes. Theo's body is barely touching the area of three years old, though his exact birthday isn't known by anyone except his parents, who are (probably) dead. It doesn't matter too much anyway, time is something people created to make sense of the world. There's no point in trying that, it'll never fully work.
Reasons for this, reasons for that, why and how and all of those other questions people had. No point. He just rolls with whatever's in front of him. Or — well, he tries. Sometimes moving on is harder than he thought, and that's how the lion ends up walking. To clear his head, get used to the territory, meet people. He hadn't expected it to be in this kind of situation, though. Warm brown eyes fall to the scars, though there's no disgust or pity in his gaze. Maybe a quiet interest, if only because there has to be a story behind something like that. Argus's comment throws the feline out of his thoughts, turning his head to look at the strange with a tilted head. "Cover them? Why?" It's meant for Luca still, and the cinnamon lion sits down to make his intentions clear. Stay here and talk until someone chases him off. "They're cool. It's attractive." Or maybe that was just him. People who survived that sort of thing — well, whatever. He'd made his point just by saying it.