Information
Cait has a minion!
Colour the Painted Songbird
Colour the Painted Songbird
Cait
Legacy Name: Cait
The
Storm NoktoaOwner:
CaitlinAge: 11 years, 9 months, 3 weeks
Born: June 29th, 2012
Adopted: 9 years, 3 months, 2 weeks ago
Adopted: January 4th, 2015
Statistics
- Level: 455
- Strength: 1,135
- Defense: 1,136
- Speed: 1,136
- Health: 1,135
- HP: 1,135/1,135
- Intelligence: 891
- Books Read: 884
- Food Eaten: 0
- Job: Mens Specialist
Her life, she supposed, could be divided into two distinct chapters: Before Jack and After Jack. It was the inbetween that was the messy, undefinable part.
Before Jack was full of life and love. She wanted for nothing and floated through life as though blessed with permanent good fortune. Things always went her way -- and when they didn’t? Someone would inevitably step in to fix them. Before Jack was a happy time of innocence and youth. Jack changed all of that.
Jack was a messy and complicated person. He was bad for her in a way that picking scabs off of partly healed wounds is bad for you: it hurts and feels great at the same time and sometimes, though not often, it leaves scars. He drank too much, smoked too much, and swore as easily as he smiled -- and he smiled a lot. He came into her life, a whirlwind of laughter and sex and spontaneity, and changed her forever in three short months.
After Jack was understandably dull. She often wandered around her apartment, picking up books and setting them down without looking at them. She opened her fridge and shut it without grabbing anything, and she lay in bed for hours at a time staring at her ceiling. She never responded to phone calls and ignored people at her door.
The breakup, she eventually decided, was inevitable. She had been a moth drawn to Jack’s flame and had of course been burned. (Was there ever any other option for a girl like her?) Surely she wasn’t the only one, though it hurt to think of Jack kissing another girl, Jack smoking his cigarettes on another girl’s fire escape, Jack taking another girl to parties and concerts and movies and Jack, Jack, Jack. How many other girls, she wondered, had been burned by Jack? Somehow, in all of their time together, they had never once discussed his past, though they had delved deeply into her own.
Six weeks after The Breakup (she thought of it as a life-defining event, needing to be capitalized and italicised and maybe even cited), she finally regained the will to leave her apartment. It was no longer summer, and she could see the trees turning colors from her windows. Working from home had its perks (and she could get her groceries delivered straight to her door!), but she supposed she needed to see if the world had forever changed outside the way it had changed inside for her. She was amazed to see people going about their business as though the world hadn’t ended six weeks ago (hadn’t it?). There they were in line for Starbucks, hailing cabs, getting on and off the train without a clue that she was trying to adjust to the noise and bustle of the city the way your body has to adjust to daylight after a matinee showing at the theatre.
She blinked and everything slowed for a moment before resuming that frenzied pace that can only accompany life in the city. It was then that fate chose to intervene -- turning around to go back to her apartment, she bumped into a young man, knocking a bag of books out of his hands. Flustered, she apologized profusely and bent to pick up the books at the same time as the stranger. It wasn’t until later that she realized she’d accidentally walked off with one. With no way to return it, she chose instead to sit in the lobby of her apartment building at the same time each day to see if she could spot him. Not two days later, she rushed out and shoved it at him and, embarrassed, turned to flee again.
“Wait!” he called, “What’s your name?”
The doors shut behind her before he could hear if she responded.
Before Jack was full of life and love. She wanted for nothing and floated through life as though blessed with permanent good fortune. Things always went her way -- and when they didn’t? Someone would inevitably step in to fix them. Before Jack was a happy time of innocence and youth. Jack changed all of that.
Jack was a messy and complicated person. He was bad for her in a way that picking scabs off of partly healed wounds is bad for you: it hurts and feels great at the same time and sometimes, though not often, it leaves scars. He drank too much, smoked too much, and swore as easily as he smiled -- and he smiled a lot. He came into her life, a whirlwind of laughter and sex and spontaneity, and changed her forever in three short months.
After Jack was understandably dull. She often wandered around her apartment, picking up books and setting them down without looking at them. She opened her fridge and shut it without grabbing anything, and she lay in bed for hours at a time staring at her ceiling. She never responded to phone calls and ignored people at her door.
The breakup, she eventually decided, was inevitable. She had been a moth drawn to Jack’s flame and had of course been burned. (Was there ever any other option for a girl like her?) Surely she wasn’t the only one, though it hurt to think of Jack kissing another girl, Jack smoking his cigarettes on another girl’s fire escape, Jack taking another girl to parties and concerts and movies and Jack, Jack, Jack. How many other girls, she wondered, had been burned by Jack? Somehow, in all of their time together, they had never once discussed his past, though they had delved deeply into her own.
Six weeks after The Breakup (she thought of it as a life-defining event, needing to be capitalized and italicised and maybe even cited), she finally regained the will to leave her apartment. It was no longer summer, and she could see the trees turning colors from her windows. Working from home had its perks (and she could get her groceries delivered straight to her door!), but she supposed she needed to see if the world had forever changed outside the way it had changed inside for her. She was amazed to see people going about their business as though the world hadn’t ended six weeks ago (hadn’t it?). There they were in line for Starbucks, hailing cabs, getting on and off the train without a clue that she was trying to adjust to the noise and bustle of the city the way your body has to adjust to daylight after a matinee showing at the theatre.
She blinked and everything slowed for a moment before resuming that frenzied pace that can only accompany life in the city. It was then that fate chose to intervene -- turning around to go back to her apartment, she bumped into a young man, knocking a bag of books out of his hands. Flustered, she apologized profusely and bent to pick up the books at the same time as the stranger. It wasn’t until later that she realized she’d accidentally walked off with one. With no way to return it, she chose instead to sit in the lobby of her apartment building at the same time each day to see if she could spot him. Not two days later, she rushed out and shoved it at him and, embarrassed, turned to flee again.
“Wait!” he called, “What’s your name?”
The doors shut behind her before he could hear if she responded.