── So much of his pelt is red. Like the marsh's mud, it thickens when it dries, matting into clods, and he is– he doesn't understand. There are chasms in memory, great leaps he doesn't remember making. At the start, he knows he was on the sidelines. After that, he'd wanted...Rubble was in danger and Roseal helped him. He helped him. But there's fur under his claws, russet and blue. Maybe it's someone else's, maybe two others because he remembers another face, a growl and a flurry of blows.
Some of this blood is his own, but not enough.
Roseal stumbles into the water, inhaling sharply at the brisk chill, and though he means to clean himself, he is suddenly transfixed by the crimson current gathering around him and sweeping downstream. If they wanted to live they should have earned it. It's no one else's voice but his.
──── surr'oseal'isme (roseal). he/him pronouns. roamer; goes where he pleases.
──── approximately thirty-eight months old; not entirely certain of his own age.
──── single & uninterested in any romantic attachments; possibly open for flings.
──── very tall, scarred albino with sharply-peaked ears and a bobbed, scruffy tail.
── So much of his pelt is red. Like the marsh's mud, it thickens when it dries, matting into clods, and he is– he doesn't understand. There are chasms in memory, great leaps he doesn't remember making. At the start, he knows he was on the sidelines. After that, he'd wanted...Rubble was in danger and Roseal helped him. He helped him. But there's fur under his claws, russet and blue. Maybe it's someone else's, maybe two others because he remembers another face, a growl and a flurry of blows.