General InfoName: James (pronounced jay-A-mms)
Age: 28 months, or 2 years.
Appearance: A scrappy but sturdily built tom cat with broad shoulders and no tail. His pelt is smoke black and ginger spotted melded together in a tortoiseshell fashion. It's split by white in some parts. The texture is a little course from a hard life. He has dark amber eyes set in a square face, complimented by the crooked bump of his nose bridge. James has a wide, thickly furred jaw.
Height: 11 inches
Weight: 10 lbs
Disabilities/Scars: Scars tatter his left hind leg and he walks with an odd limp, indicating there must have been some kind of trauma done there in the past.
Fur Length: Short to medium, sticks up in places
James appears upon first glance as a friendly, well-rounded cat. He's sociable and kind, always trying to get someone's attention or layering compliments on them. He seems genuinely interested in people, ears pricked to hear what they have to say. Many times he remembers things you've told him, implying that they're important to him. He's a joker, always trying to dissolve tensions between people with a well-placed joke or distraction. He's also rather considerate, snips of conversation that scream he's been thinking about what other people are feeling. Sadly, it's all a well-crafted mask. James cares little for other people in general, but he likes having friends behind him that can take the blame for him -- or he can throw behind him as he runs off. His dislike of conflict leads to him trying to break it up before it happens, because he may live longer if he does. He's only ever thinking about what people think so that he can guess who their enemies are. It's always good to know if someone hates you, in case they kill you.
James seems to think that death is coming for him, and he's running as long as possible before it catches him. He is incredibly selfish, always looking out for himself and trying to protect his own life. He easily betrays other people without a second thought if it suits him. He's not particularly smart or strong, but he is rather sly, good at getting himself out of sticky situations with his life. A thrum of anxiety is always pulsing beneath the surface, though it rarely shows across James' smiling face.
James was born last in a litter of eight to a pair of proud parents living in a bustling human city. Life was difficult at times, but humans tended to feed them and give them plenty of attention. They never truly suffered. James was a loud, boisterous child who spent many of his days following his older siblings around and trying to impress them. He hunted mice for fun, chased cars down the road, and made many friends. These were his days in the warm sun, happy and comfortable.
The Scorch hit, and everything turned on it's ass.
Of his family, only James and his sister Macy survived. They were adults by this time just about, on the cusp of setting out on their own. This was a forced transition for the two cats, who began wandering the wasteland trying to survive. They hunted for what food they could find, both cats trying to avoid eating any garbage -- or worse, members of their own species who didn't survive The Scorch. When things became quickly dire, James in private turned to devouring bodies for the sake of survival. It made him ill initially, causing suspicion from Macy, but as he adjusted she only found out when she caught him in the act. Disgusted, she launched herself at her brother and the two tangled briefly, a fierce fight that ended in a draw.
Too tired and weak to continue, they were forced to talk it out. James explained his reasoning, he was starving, he wouldn't survive, and Macy relented. She never stooped to his level, managing to rip what she could from the world. He watched his sister become increasingly ruthless. James took to trying to please her as often as he could, desperate to avoid her rough edges.
When they were exploring a crumbling building, the two cats suffered their greatest challenge. The ceiling collapsed in, and though Macy dodged most of the rubble, James was pinned by his hind leg beneath a metal beam. He begged her for her help, trying to pull himself free.
"I think I can get it to budge-- if , if you help, please, I can't do it on my own-- Macy, please," James wheezed, feeling the overwhelming, sweltering heat and the unbelievable pain of his leg. A pressure, a sharp burning, a tingling all over. Mind numbing. Shock keeps him talking, keeps him awake.
Macy looked at her brother for a long time, eyes wide and owlish. Her expression is surprised, nervous, then... contemplative.
She sits down.
James feels his heart drop into his stomach, brow furrowing. What's she doing? He gives another tug, and the metal doesn't give much. A flood of pain hits him, and he tosses his head back and tries to ride it out.
Macy's expression grows cold, dreadfully neutral. She adjusts herself, taking her sweet time to tuck her tail around her paws. "Do you remember what we talked about a few months back? When I learned you took on that horrific habit." Though her frame is frail, thin, her eyes are sharp and vivid. They're more present than James has ever seen them. His fear scent begins to fill the room. He chooses not to respond, sides heaving.
She studies the hungry features of his face and stands up again. "I can tell you do. Well, then you know why I'm doing this. You're sick, James. They had lives. Families."
"None of that matters now!" he roars, thrashing in his entrapment and starting to become more and more panicked. "Help me! I'm your brother! Help me! I'll die here, I'll die here!"
Macy is icy cool, breathing in a deep breath with her eyes fluttering shut. Like a mother waiting for her kit to settle. Patient, she has all the time in the world now. How could she do this? How must it feel to make that decision? Does it kill her? James thinks it's like relief to her, dropping off dead weight. He thinks it's one of those freezing decisions, even with the heat. The ones where your heart and blood goes icy, and then you take the leap.
The she-cat, his own sister, turns around. "For their sake, I hope you do."
His sister left him to die in that building, and James decided if he got out of this that he'd never trust anyone ever again. After immense pain and effort, James tugged himself free. To the best of his ability, he cleaned his wounds and cared for him. He kept up his habits, and now that his leg is healed, though the limp remains, James wanders around to this day. Always looking for his next meal, and always watching his back.
"Bury the grave digger's son."