Post by twistedcreek on Sept 16, 2018 13:21:50 GMT -6
Twistedcreek was, historically, not a nice tom. Never had been, probably never would be. Cursed with a long life filled with strife, the tom had every right to be as bitter and cranky as he was. Crippled as a kit before he even had a chance to grow, stripped of his medicine cat name, left without the mate he made so many sacrifices for, and with his nephew leader, Twistedcreek's life wasn't a pleasant one.
As a result, Twistedcreek was not a pleasant cat. He was bitter, he was cranky, he was unpleasant, he was rude, and he was blunt. He openly voiced his disapprovals about his nephew's leadership and his son's choice of mate and his granddaughter. What did Twistedcreek care? It wasn't as if he couldn't have anything else stolen from him. He had his opportunity of being warrior stolen away, his role of medicine cat revoked, his dignity and his pride trampled beneath his clan-mates' paws.
Why not be unpleasant? Why not be rude? Why not be bitter? He was just waiting to die at this point anyway, so it didn't matter. "Hey!" the ragged-looking elder called, poking his head out of the elders' down with a frown on his white muzzle. "Some apprentice get over here, I need the ticks taken from my pelt," the old tom demanded gruffly, amber-green eyes peering around camp in search of an unlucky victim.
As a result, Twistedcreek was not a pleasant cat. He was bitter, he was cranky, he was unpleasant, he was rude, and he was blunt. He openly voiced his disapprovals about his nephew's leadership and his son's choice of mate and his granddaughter. What did Twistedcreek care? It wasn't as if he couldn't have anything else stolen from him. He had his opportunity of being warrior stolen away, his role of medicine cat revoked, his dignity and his pride trampled beneath his clan-mates' paws.
Why not be unpleasant? Why not be rude? Why not be bitter? He was just waiting to die at this point anyway, so it didn't matter. "Hey!" the ragged-looking elder called, poking his head out of the elders' down with a frown on his white muzzle. "Some apprentice get over here, I need the ticks taken from my pelt," the old tom demanded gruffly, amber-green eyes peering around camp in search of an unlucky victim.
