Post by eagle on Sept 10, 2016 5:35:02 GMT
Name: Roulette
Gender: male
Breed: oh god.....Quarter horse x Friesian x Arabian x a whole lot of stuff I don't remember
Genetics: Optional
Age: 11
Arrived in Tathra: Season Here, Year Here I don't honestly see this information?? Tell me if I'm blind 
Coat Color: classic buckskin
Height: 15.1
Eye Color: golden amber
Personality: He's a total ass. Hateful, cocky, hot-tempered, all of these and more colorful adjectives describe my lovey Roulette. He is a dark person. Very loyal to the few he cares for, would fight to the death strictly for pride.
History: He was born in Mustang, a product of Yarran raping his mama, Aila. He has always felt unwanted, which hasn't helped his temperament. He battled with hearing his sires voice in his head (still does), but the only lady he's ever loved, Calla, helped calm that down. He's been separated from her and their two daughters for many years now, and has picked up a few scars along the way.
Sample Post: S rusty so don't judge 
Thump. Thump. Thump.
The battered heart beat rhythmically in his chest, refusing to quit no matter the amount of hatred, poison, lead, and drugs he poured into his system. Damn stubborn organ. It matched its host in more ways than one. He had never been one to really long for death, but he had to admit it had its advantages. For one, it would get rid of this stubborn fucking voice in his head, the voice of the sire he'd never met and yet hated more than life itself.
I'll always be here for you, son.
The voice snarled sarcastically, resenting the affront. You'd think he'd be used to it be now. Roulette had spent eleven long years hating the man who had made him the monster he was. His own mother hadn't wanted him all because he was the twin of the man who had violated her in every way possible. Rest her soul, she had been dead for a long time. She had been one of the only people in this world he'd cared for despite her dislike of him. She may have had her faults, but she had provided him with a little brother to look after, even if he was gone too. Not dead, just wandering. He'd always been a bit restless.
But Calla....oh Calla. They had been gasoline and bonfire, constantly flaring up and sparking at each other, but passionate lovers none the less. No woman could ever be her match. She had loved him despite the drugs, despite the booze, despite the self-hate and self-harm. She had scarred him where no one else had, where no one could see, and perhaps it was for her that his heart still beat steadily within the confines of his torso. He did miss her, missed his daughters. But Lilah was living her life with her arranged lover. As for Calla and their youngest daughter, he had no clue what had happened. Were they dead? Were they alive? Was Calla in the arms of someone else? If he ever found out that she was, he'd rip out the heart of her lover and eat it.
Golden eyes surveyed the ground before him with disgust. He longed for the rugged terrain of his old kingdom. The red clay had been beautiful, and the deep gulleys had provided a space for him to contemplate life and all manner of things. It would do, he supposed. He was not fond of this new world, though it was mostly untouched by the trash that had inhabited Mustang. There had been very few that he'd respected, much less admired. Halloween and Charlie had been his only real friends. But here he knew no one, and maybe that was best. He could start his reign of terror afresh, without hindrance.
Welcome home, Roulette.
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From a rating of one to ten [ten being the best], what would you rate MUSTANG?:
What do you suggest we do next/improve?:
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