Name: Butler
Gender: Male
Age: Adult
Species: Demon rabbit
Sexuality: Straight
Personality: Butler is a lot of the things you would expect a demon to be, eg. cruel, sadistic, unfeeling, but he is also rather a lot of things that would strike you as unusual, as his name suggests Butler is impecibly clean and cannot stand for things to be out of place or dirty - which is one of the reasons he does not live in the forest with Mishka.
Likes:
• Death/destruction
• Cleanliness
• Things being neat
• Himself
• Keeping busy
Dislikes:
• Dirt or grime
• Other animals
• Humans
• Being told what to do
• Violins
History: -
Designed by: Hasuki on CS
Gender: Male
Age: Adult
Species: Demon rabbit
Sexuality: Straight
Personality: Butler is a lot of the things you would expect a demon to be, eg. cruel, sadistic, unfeeling, but he is also rather a lot of things that would strike you as unusual, as his name suggests Butler is impecibly clean and cannot stand for things to be out of place or dirty - which is one of the reasons he does not live in the forest with Mishka.
Likes:
• Death/destruction
• Cleanliness
• Things being neat
• Himself
• Keeping busy
Dislikes:
• Dirt or grime
• Other animals
• Humans
• Being told what to do
• Violins
History: -
Designed by: Hasuki on CS
CAAA character challenge 2014-15: {563 words - Butler (Mishka is mentioned)
A select few knew of the manor, buried deep in the heart of a forest no one could recall the name of, and among those select few only one was actually, truly alive.
Or, maybe he wasn't - the boy had long since forgotten and with not a soul there to tell him, it had been that way for many years.
Not that a soul was still counting.
Fifty-nine years, six months, twelve days.
The manor was a beautiful wreck, the building still intact somehow yet overridden with ivy and thorn bushes that clung to the walls.
It was a wreck because he'd made it that way.
It was beautiful for the same reason.
Had he been allowed such emotions, that might have made him proud, it had, after all, taken years.
Twenty-three years, nine months, eight days.
The boy was the same, ruined by wealth and far, far too trusting -
"Have your eyes always been blue?"
"Of course, my Lord."
"Hmm, I'd never noticed."
Red eyes blinked twice but he didn't speak again.
- naive was not the right word, the child had seen too much to be naive anymore but there must have been some word for it.
Seven years, two months precisely.
Ignorant.
That was the only word that fit, still not quite right, but enough. The boy was most definitely ignorant, so much so that it was almost endearing, for it could not have been trust alone that made a habit of never locking the doors.
Only a select few knew of the the manor at all, none of them were supposed to know at all.
He shut them out every night, eyes red in the light.
Ignorant to a fault, really, the child never even bothered to ask why he begun sneaking out during the night, pale as the moon and black as the sky all at once, ears twitching behind him - they didn't feel the cold, the chill of December, but they knew it was there. He wasn't sure the cold bothered him anymore, it should have done; something about hibernation.
Even the word tasted foul.
Four years, six months and a day.
Foul like ash, that word was, he might have had long, soft ears and fur the colour of snow, but the red had chased all out of him that was animalistic - even his soul.
So, why?
Why when she came along did he stop, tracks merging as paws shuffled back?
Fawn in coat with eyes so violet they could not be disguised, hair, short soft braids, pink as cold cheeks.
Three weeks, four nights.
They met under the moon every frost layered night for that winter, when the child had been put to bed and the manor lay sleeping - two creatures so out of place in the world it was inevitable they'd find each other.
Two nights to go.
Violet and red meeting level.
Plans made with a secrecy the crows envied and the moon made possible.
Paws shaken as if they had convinced them to be hands.
And, for the first time in many, many years - he smiled.
12 hours remaining.
Plans were made, indeed, but plans could never be made to be without fault.
They crumbled to ash, the sort he was never without on his tongue.
The pair parted ways on a familiar night and plans were never spoken of again.
- Please do not copy this piece, it is an original piece of writing done by myself (Shenan) -
A select few knew of the manor, buried deep in the heart of a forest no one could recall the name of, and among those select few only one was actually, truly alive.
Or, maybe he wasn't - the boy had long since forgotten and with not a soul there to tell him, it had been that way for many years.
Not that a soul was still counting.
Fifty-nine years, six months, twelve days.
The manor was a beautiful wreck, the building still intact somehow yet overridden with ivy and thorn bushes that clung to the walls.
It was a wreck because he'd made it that way.
It was beautiful for the same reason.
Had he been allowed such emotions, that might have made him proud, it had, after all, taken years.
Twenty-three years, nine months, eight days.
The boy was the same, ruined by wealth and far, far too trusting -
"Have your eyes always been blue?"
"Of course, my Lord."
"Hmm, I'd never noticed."
Red eyes blinked twice but he didn't speak again.
- naive was not the right word, the child had seen too much to be naive anymore but there must have been some word for it.
Seven years, two months precisely.
Ignorant.
That was the only word that fit, still not quite right, but enough. The boy was most definitely ignorant, so much so that it was almost endearing, for it could not have been trust alone that made a habit of never locking the doors.
Only a select few knew of the the manor at all, none of them were supposed to know at all.
He shut them out every night, eyes red in the light.
Ignorant to a fault, really, the child never even bothered to ask why he begun sneaking out during the night, pale as the moon and black as the sky all at once, ears twitching behind him - they didn't feel the cold, the chill of December, but they knew it was there. He wasn't sure the cold bothered him anymore, it should have done; something about hibernation.
Even the word tasted foul.
Four years, six months and a day.
Foul like ash, that word was, he might have had long, soft ears and fur the colour of snow, but the red had chased all out of him that was animalistic - even his soul.
So, why?
Why when she came along did he stop, tracks merging as paws shuffled back?
Fawn in coat with eyes so violet they could not be disguised, hair, short soft braids, pink as cold cheeks.
Three weeks, four nights.
They met under the moon every frost layered night for that winter, when the child had been put to bed and the manor lay sleeping - two creatures so out of place in the world it was inevitable they'd find each other.
Two nights to go.
Violet and red meeting level.
Plans made with a secrecy the crows envied and the moon made possible.
Paws shaken as if they had convinced them to be hands.
And, for the first time in many, many years - he smiled.
12 hours remaining.
Plans were made, indeed, but plans could never be made to be without fault.
They crumbled to ash, the sort he was never without on his tongue.
The pair parted ways on a familiar night and plans were never spoken of again.
- Please do not copy this piece, it is an original piece of writing done by myself (Shenan) -