Post by Tax on Dec 22, 2006 12:30:09 GMT -5
[shadow=black,left,300]pertubat canis[/shadow]
~Essentials~
Name: Tax
Lab Identification: H1 - Nicknamed Tax
Species: Genetically Engineered..."Hellhound"
Formerly: Husky
Gender: Dog
Age: 3
Height: 3'5" at shoulders, 3' at rump
You make me feel so alive
That I'm tryin' hard
Not to make moves
Choosin' the wrong place and time
Everyone will know
The minute we let it go
I can't hold it anymore
Let's be original.
~Family Matters~
Parents: Unkown
Siblings: None
Shares Genetics With: Quitrent
Mate: None
Spawn: None
Birth Pack: A small family
Current Pack: None ATM
No holds barred
Can you feel it?
Comin' along
Break the Silence
Non-directional
No holds barred
Can you feel it?
Comin' along, it's on
Hit the switch and turn me on.
~Appearance~
Pending.
You make me feel complicated sometimes
I try to explain the way
You took me turned it all around
Everyone will know
The minute we let it go
I can't hold it anymore
Let's be original.
~Actions~
Tax is mentally unstable, but is often kind rather than aggressive from it. He is predictable, once his patterns are realized, and is more likely to forgive than to forget. Submissive, quiet, and calm are his three most outstanding traits.
Cause I'm crawling my way through
I'm falling into you
I'm turning on things I thought I knew
I'm slipping away
Every time I try to be more like you.
~History~
Tax was born to a family, though any siblings he had were forgotten. His first few months were filled with playing and learning. However, his curiousity got the better of him one day, when his humans left the door open. His mother did not notice him missing, whether she was taking a nap or looking after the others.
The small gray pup wandered the streets for days, his ribs showing through matted fur. The tiny tail no longer swayed above his back, but hung low, near his hocks. White buildings everywhere - that was all he could see.
And then, one day, there was food. Hard, dry pellets - but food to the pup. His tiny teeth labored at the task of eating it, and it was hard - oh so hard - but he was able to fill his belly and rest.
A hand scooped him up. The pup had learned not to struggle, but simply looked up at the human holding him with one hand. His tail curled weakly, body still malnourished, as he was disposited in a cage. Next to him was another Siberian Husky pup, so the two became fast friends, playing through the mesh net that seperated them. They grew quickly, and were soon hunched into their cages. They knew that they would soon be moved - they had seen some larger pups taken out of their crowded cages, never to return to that room.
And their day did come. Tax and Quitrent, though they did not call each other that - names were unimportant to them - were moved into a large cage, and around them...
Tortured, starving mutts. Metal, plastic, blinding lights. This depressed the two, and they would huddle together at the back of their cage, watching various creatures pulled away and returned, with additions and subtractions obvious.
Then came dime for Quitrent. He was taken, yelping and struggling, while Tax waited, alone and scared. Then he, too, was carted away, and gradually, though splicing and terrible therapies, the pair were transformed into something horrible...
Get it on
If ya feel it comin' on
If you're real then come along
If you feel the song, come on
Bring it on, bring it on.
~Art~
None ATM