Information


Coleson has a minion!

Mars the Pumpkit




Coleson


The Reborn Devonti
Owner: adrien

Age: 4 years, 8 months, 1 week

Born: October 8th, 2008

Adopted: 4 years, 8 months, 1 week ago (Legacy)

Adopted: October 8th, 2008 (Legacy)

This pet has been nominated for the Pet Spotlight!

Statistics


  • Level: 17
     
  • Strength: 18
     
  • Defense: 24
     
  • Speed: 10
     
  • Health: 22
     
  • HP: 22/22
     
  • Intelligence: 0
     
  • Books Read: 0
  • Food Eaten: 3
  • Job: Unemployed



You can call me the King.
Or Ares. Whichever tickles your fancy.

They're both accurate names.

You step into my parking garage, and you're just one of many peons. I get hundreds of guys a week, wanting to try to topple me from my throne. I'm the king of the fight down here, and you don't love with me.

There's books about this sort of thing. Movies. But they're not the same. You may think you know this world - my world - but unless you've live it, you don't know crap. Unless you're one of us forgotten, flawed humans that've fallen through the cracks of life, you're just some petty bystander trying to fit in.

Not that you should even want to fit in. No. This is the dark, the grim, the underworld. We're like leeches clinging to the underbelly of civilization. We're the sort of people that people like you scoff at and ignore when you see us pass by you on the streets. You look down on us like the ssweet oreo cream fillingof the earth. But then again, that's true. We're the soil of this planet. The empires have been built upon our backs, and then when we grow weary of our rulers, we tear them down with out own hands, raw and bleeding from over work.

You know what you are?

Those of you who attempt to join into our world. But your shoes are a little too nice. Your hair a little too styled. Your eyes not yet dead.

You're a mockery of us. Of us real men and women, who scrape out a living beneath the soles of your shoes. You treat us like dirt and then have the gall to try to shoulder your way into my kingdom? The very place where the downtrodden reign?

If you think you're going to get away with that, you've got another thing coming.

Fight club isn't for fun. It's not a hobby. It's to feed that burning need to destroy something. To lash out and to kill with our bare hands.

This is the only privilege in an unprivileged life.

I was born to a mum and one pair of grandparents who hated us. Disowned their pregnant teenage daughter and hated her son on principal.

There's only one type of life that you can lead when you live alone, your only parent working all hours of night and day just to make ends meet, while your grandfather pays your way through a private prep school. The irony. They wouldn't help her, or even me, but they'd pay for an education while the both of us starved.

The only good thing that ever happened in my life was Mars. The Mars to my Ares, yeah. I raised that German Sheperd pup from a scraggly mutt that I found out back in a dumpster. Him and me, both left to die without even having a shot at a better life. That's why I saved him. Selfish reasons. I didn't want to be alone, and he looked too pathetic to leave there alone. All legs and ears and only abour four or five months old. Dead before his life could even start.

It was him and me that started the fight club out here. All sorts of buttheads want to knock a cocky teenager down a peg or two. But they couldn't do it. Sure, they were bigger and better than me, but I had something up on them.

Something that to this day keeps me going. That keeps me on the top.

And what is it that keeps me from losing?

I don't know when to give up.

Art:
school uniform, casual
by gunmoll
by lament
by slytherin
by emi

Pet Treasure


Sun Magnus Plushie

Vulture Feather

The Roman Empire

Smilie Steak

Bovyne Steak

Slab of Raw Meat

Juicy Steak

Greek Textbook

Pet Friends


Bloodier

Genova

Incurable