His fur is long and silver like the flower he was astutely named after. He is lion-like, a stocky tom at his age, and will be Herculean come warriorhood. Though, despite his size, Larkspurpaw is particularly nimble. He neglects eating at times, always busy on whatever activity he finds, so he is not as muscle-bound as he should be. He has yet to realize how handsome he is and some part of him wishes he was a bit smaller and nondescript to attract less attention.
LIKES || diving into water, being alone, his independence DISLIKES || rules, meddlesome or dogmatic cats, hypocrisy STRENGTHS || consistent, sharp-witted, generally laidback WEAKNESS || impatient, irresponsible, impulsive DREAMS || to become a warrior... that's about it FEARS || being seen as stupid, losing his mom or sister, public speaking and crowds
Larkspurpaw defaults to a vacant inscrutable face, maybe shifting to tight smile if someone offers him one first, maybe an impenetrable frown when he is annoyed. Reticent, reductive, terse—Larkspurpaw is a young tom of a few words. To some, his brevity can come across as shy; in fact, Larkspurpaw has noticed how his heart flutters when meeting new faces, and he has trouble looking at others directly. But it does not stop him from being terribly honest, his brain-to-mouth filter abortive at best, or overly factual. Cats that fail to see his point of view irritate him, as well as cats who are too sensitive or too authoritative. He has yet to reign in his questioning, too, and he rather enjoys picking apart what others say and arguing until he makes someone cry.
He has trouble controlling his impulses. As a young apprentice, this is to be expected. But, bouncing at his feet and climbing every climbable surface he could find, Larkspurpaw finds himself always embroiled in an activity. Inactivity rots his brain, he needs some kind of physical stimulation to keep his interests up. When met with boring duties or a long lecture, the tom acts out in any way to make life more interesting. Additionally, he is not exactly patient; nagging cats or repetitive voices drive him up a wall, and he naturally lashes out, neutralizing a problem before he could really consider it. He is prone to shouting at others, fighting them even, all to keep some sense of stability. He also likes poking fun at others, his budding perception too sharp for his own good, and pulls pranks at any given opportunity.
It seems as if Larkspurpaw never really knows how to calibrate correctly to different cats. He fumbles any interaction like a doe learning to walk, and his short temper usually means he easily gives up trying to subsist some semblance of decorum. Despite enjoying the presence of his mother and sister, Larkspurpaw is also increasingly hesitant to show affection towards them. He loves them, no doubt, and is very protective over them, but being mama's boy or your sister's best friend is lame. Though, suffice to say, Larkspurpaw would freak out if anything happened to either of them.
He vaguely remembers the touch of many squirming bodies, mewling and grappling at each other for milk. He remembers caressing deeper into the nook of his mother's belly, fighting for more warmth, and the throbbing in his chest as he grew sick. The number of bodies dwindled, he remembers, from a healthy five to a negligible two. Only his sister and he—the recovering twins, surviving duo, spat-in-the-face-of-death pair—lay healthy with their onerous mother. He remembers being a troublemaker, even then, and initiating trouble like it was his warrior name. Annoy this or that cat, ask endless questions, run around like a hyperactive coyote—he couldn't sit still. A few moons more and he will dive into deep water and relax, learn so many new things, become a warrior one day. A few moons passed and he sat next to his mentor, guileless and blithe, finally apprentice-named Larkspurpaw...