…Oops.
You sit up, rubbing the back of your head. "…ow. What am I-" You break off mid-sentence as you take in your surroundings. It's maybe midmorning in a bright forest -how clichéd. Your head was resting against the trunk of a huge oak tree, and then you remember what happened.
You'd been rereading a second person introduction to a petpage that someone had written, when you'd neomailed them with several recommendations. Unfortunately, you had failed to realize you would be a character in this introduction…
Irritated with yourself, you shake your head, before feeling something move across your leg. You look down to your feet.
An xweetok is asleep at your feet, his tail curled around him and, whether he realized it or not, across your leg. You're startled, but still take just a moment to admire the creature. The green light filtering through the leaves hit his fur at just an angle to make the strange periwinkle shade shine. His darker markings are stripes, six thick stripes across his back, five thin ones across his right ear, and just darker fur from about the middle of his right front leg down to the bottom of his leg.
Still. It was weird. So you kick him.
He stumbles away from your feet, hissing, his fur sticking out in all directions in an attempt to look larger. For a fraction of a second, he continued trying to look threatening, before taking a good look at you. His fur automatically lay flat. He sits down, shaking his head, and beginning to groom his fur.
Puzzled by his reaction, you frown. What? You aren't good enough to be counted as a threat? But you shrug and look at him sideways. His eyes were gold. Not a warm, glowing gold, but a hard gold, bitter and cold and uncaring- as if the world around him wasn't good enough to take interest in anymore. "…Why were you asleep on my foot?" You ask, deciding it was a good question.
He didn't smile, but his eyes danced with cold amusement. "You were in my way," he answers. His words were murmured more than spoken, quietly, but for some reason his voice makes you uncomfortable.
You scoot away from the trunk of the tree to see an empty space in between a root and the ground . He nods slowly before going over to the hole and scratching slowly at it, making the whole wider. It was slow work, but he managed.
After a while of watching him, you ask him: "What are you doing?" The question appears to amuse him.
For just a moment, a smile dances across his face. It held no signs of amusement. It was cold and dark and empty. "Have to get into the den somehow. And there really isn't any other way…" He shrugged, continuing to dig.
You look at him sideways. "Den?" He nods, stepping aside and flicking his tail towards the opening, which is now decidedly wide enough to crawl through
He sat, motioning to the rough hole under a root. "Please, come in. Pardon the mess…I'm not the best decorator." He shrugged, like it meant nothing.
You accept his invitation, looking at the still narrow hole. "Afraid of ruining your jeans? Please, just hurry." His impatience is written clearly across his face. You weren't going to mention that the already torn jeans were the last thing on your mind, he didn't seem like the person who was willing to tolerate a statement of the obvious. So you crawl through the hole, which is maybe two feet tall and scarcely three feet wide.
You land on a box. This box is stacked on top of multiple others, a teetering tower meant to be, you assume, makeshift stairs. The xweetok crawls through the hole with no problem and gracefully descends the "stairs", looking up at you curiously. You follow his example, though you find yourself a little uneasy on top of the swaying crates. Another humorless smile lights up the xweetok's face as he watches you, slowly descending the pile of boxes, testing each wooden crate carefully before setting your weight on the seemingly dangerous cube.
After several minutes in which you had only succeeded in stumbling down two boxes, the little pet appears to grow tired of watching you. Rolling his strangely gold eyes, he walks over and kicks the largest box- the one at the bottom, straining under the weight of the others.
He turns away as the crates tumble down, apparently uninterested in the consequences of his action.
Sitting amongst the broken bits of wood, you shake your head. This xweetok really did have a problem… he was now sitting in front of a messily arranged bookshelf next to a small table, a fireplace, and a rug. He obviously put very little time into the den.
He looks back at you, frowning. "You're a strange one… even for a human. I suppose that most of it is this generation in general." He rolls his eyes again, selecting an old leather-bound book from the shelf.
You're mouth is hanging open in shock as you try to pretend you aren't offended. "Wha- you
are this generation! What are you? Seventeen?" You cross your arms, pouting like a child.
False amusement, used to hide annoyance, flickers across his face, and he makes a
tsking sound, like he's scolding a slow child. "One hundred six," he answers, still apparently humored by your accusation and immature behavior.
You look at him, now confused. "Pardon?" There was no way…he looked eighteen, tops. But here he was, grinning at you, still looking at you like you're no more than a child.
He motions you closer. You push yourself up from the ruined crates, and walk unsteadily over to him. "My name is Artymmis, and my tale is not one I'm really proud of. But I have no way to change the past. But neither does anyone else…" You don't hear him trail off. You'd already picked up the old book, and now you sit, utterly immersed in the cursive writing scrawling across the yellowed pages of the book.
Written in Ink.
Who has ever expected the unnatural to happen to them? It has always been assumed that the worst will always happen to "someone else." But, as it is, we are all someone else to another person.
A child never bears any of this in mind. A child is focused on bugs and dirt and causing chaos- or…I was. I was, where we begin this tale, five years old, living amongst a group of other xweetoks in a large forest. There was no name given to this group of xweetoks. Well…if we were to be technical, we all referred to ourselves as a group in one word: Family. Never a moment when I wasn't covered in dirt or my hair wasn't messy or I didn't have a bandage on my elbow. I was a clumsy child. But this worked well, as it was a good excuse. Being uncoordinated was the lie I told when I "fell" into a puddle of mud or a pond or a pile of sand. Of course, these falls were never an accident. It was my goal to get as messy as I could every day so I could prolong my time before sleep. It never worked. Most of the time I was just sent to bed covered in disgusting pond water or dirt. We begin the story here mainly to show that I am a very stubborn person. For, despite that I never ended up pushing away my sleep, I never failed to come home coated in more dust and grime than the day before.
Now, since that held almost no point, we will go to when I was fifteen. Doubt had begun to spread through my life- doubt of my intelligence, doubt of my purpose in the family. But then I replaced the doubts. There was more than one way to do so- I found myself in love. This replaced it automatically. But so many years have passed that now I don't even remember her name. I don't care, in truth. But why can only be explained when I turned seventeen. That was when I made a mistake. I never call it a mistake except in confidence of myself. I refuse to let others know, in general, what it is that ruined me.
The forest was invaded by a group of dark faeries, Jhudora leading the attack. The main goal of this was obviously to cause chaos, because no one was severely hurt. But several hostages were taken.
I was not one of them- instead, I was cornered against a tree by a dark faerie, the name of which I do not know.
I was, of course, terrified… and then she laughed. "Child… I sense your fear. That is obvious. You are no good at hiding it. But you're also afraid of losing some things- your family, your friends… your
life- ooh, that's at the top of your list of concerns. Selfish little boy." She smiled with genuine amusement.
I remained silent. I wasn't going to answer her.
She continued, "What if I told you there was a way to save your life? For all eternity… I could make you immortal, child. Think about it… eternal youth. What would you trade for immortality?" She smirked, looking down at me.
I was almost drooling at the offer. "I would trade anything," I whispered, eyes wide.
The faerie nodded slowly. "Hm. Your dreams, perhaps?" She looked at me sideways, violet eyes sparkling.
I nodded. "Anything," I repeated.
She held out her hand, muttered several words, and a golden orb hovered there. She grabbed me by the scruff of my neck- and sadly, I was so fascinated by the orb that I could do nothing. She took the orb and pressed it into my back. Nothing for a moment… and then the warmth seeped from my body. She dropped me, and in her hands now was a glowing turquoise sphere- strangely the exact color of my eyes. Or…what my eyes had been.
The faerie looked down again, frowning. "Your eye color wasn't supposed to change… they're gold now. Don't worry about it. It looks better. Now go and return to your family- though you could never call them that again." The smile lit up her face as she left, and I truly realized the consequences of my actions.
My family and friends were no longer such. Every dream I had ever had… being successful, training the few of my talents to the level of acceptable…all of these were out of my reach. I realized the last of this as I returned to the ruined group of my "family".
No one seemed to take into account that I was just sort of turning away from them, ignoring their words of concern. Instead they looked at me for a moment and then continued to search for those I had, over time, learned to call my brothers and sisters. Not anymore. Now I just sat, leaning against a tree, not at all worried about their concerns. And then
she walked over- the girl I had loved. She gave my ear an affectionate lick, purring in the way xweetoks can. The familiar warmth when she was around was absent. I pushed her away, frowning.
She stepped closer, concern obvious on her face. I didn't respond. I pushed her away again, hissing. "Arty…What? I don't…understand. What's wrong?" She whined, eyes wide. I looked at her, trying to decide.
And then I realized. I'd dreamed of her for years. But I had just traded those dreams… Which presented a problem. I shoved her away again, and this time finalized the act with words. "Do me a favor. Leave me alone." I tried to walk away.
She reached out to me, shouting. "Arty! But-" I half turned around, and I believe she noticed my eyes for the first time.
More than the color had changed. I appraised her through new eyes. There was no emotion in my face, I knew. It was easy to turn away. "Leave me alone. I never want to see you again. So, if you would, stay away from me." I turned and walked away, head held high. It was, after all, her dignity that had been crushed.
But I could feel her staring at me. But her sobs fell on deaf ears… and it didn't bother me in the least.
It didn't take long for the rest of the forest to realize I was not myself. In confidence, I told an old "friend" what had happened. He told the rest of the forest. I was promptly kicked out.
Sad part was, I didn't regret that I wasn't still a member of the family.
It was more than eight decades later when the human Mihn found me. It wasn't long before she was captivated by my tale. She offered me a home. I had been without a home for too many years to deny her offer. I believe it has been three years as of now that I have lived in her home with numerous others.
Looking back, I would love to change some choices. Wouldn't everyone? But it's written in stone- and more. Written in ink. I can change nothing now- and over ninety years, I suppose I have learned to accept it.
Who is Artymmis?
Name: Artymmis Enthae Neis
Pronunciation: Art-eh-miss (like the Goddess)
Origin: Greek. Distantly. A severe misspelling of a Goddess's name.
Nicknames: Arty
Gender: Male.
Species: Xweetok
Age: 106 (appears 17)
B-Day: August 4th
PB color (at the moment): Yellow
PB goal: Darigan
Eye color: Gold
Hair: Messy, long, dark. Straight and falling into his eyes in anthro.
Adopted or Created: Created
Personality: Artymmis is quiet, easily irritated, constantly bored with the world around him. There is never a moment where he is fully focused on a conversation, choosing instead to tune it out and half answer questions, whether important or not. He doesn't notice that he looks down on the world, treating them all as his inferiors, believing the world is full of naïve children. Even he accepts that he's cold and distant, greedy and proud of it. He values knowledge above most things- of course, this is because knowledge is the one definite thing in this world. He can't count on others, others will die long before he does. So he stays detached from everything but his books and information.
Love: Uh…no. Just no.
Fur color: Two shades of gray-blue.
Daily attire: A wrinkled white oxford shirt, the sleeves of which are rolled up to his elbows, faded blue jeans.
Most noticeable feature: His eyes. Just sort of weird…
Occupation: …moping?
Theme Song: Second Chance- Shine Down
Roleplay: Open in Quad and Anthro
What he Enjoys?
Many believe that I have always been a nonsocial little fellow. This is untrue. Let it be known that, in truth, I try not to develop an emotional attachment to any living thing. Or any non-living thing. Therefore the list of things I like is very brief. But the next few pages of this book contain a list of things or places I have grown to reluctantly love, and those I have found I do not.
Likes:
-The mortal Iicychiill. One of my "Sisters" who lives in Mihn's home.
-Conversation. I may not look it, but I would love a good, quiet conversation with someone. Of an equal IQ, of course.
-Silence. Next best thing to a good conversation.
-A good book. That's what I need at the end of a long day. Something to read.
Dislikes
-Music. Loud and obnoxious.
-Computers. Distracting from his book, and they constantly beep at the most inconvenient times.
-Mihn's house. Still loud.
-You. More than likely.
The Faerie?
You look up from the book, frowning. "Who was the faerie who traded with you?" You ask, frowning.
He shrugs. "A dark faerie by the name of 'Laainy'. Over the years I found some information on her. She was, at one point, an apprentice to Jhudora, but the faerie found her useful and had her taken away. She rejoined the ranks of the dark faeries, but it took her four centuries to do so. And she still wasn't regarded as anything but a failure. She isn't very well known and her spells, when they've been noticed, are specifically noticed only because they're so disastrous. At one point she'd tried to destroy a fly, and by accident scorched off the majority of her hair. The spell she used on me was one of her best. Dissected in a science class after a spell to turn the Darkest Faerie into a frog backfired horrifically." You nod, pretending you don't notice how his eyes dance with triumph as he says it. So you look back down to the book, unable to truly look away for more than a few moments. For some reason the small, cramped writing is insanely captivating.
What's in a Name?
Mihn has now taken over this petpage. Please, don't be too alarmed. You'll have your precious book back soon. Arty is, presently, unaware of who he is named for. He believes he was named for a huntress- strong, powerful, alone in the world and proud to be so. In all reality, he is named for a human. A genius, a child prodigy, and a criminal mastermind, but a human at that. Artemis Fowl. He's a character created and owned by Eoin Colfer, author of the Artemis Fowl series. At one point I found myself captivated by the series. And so I named Arty after the ever wonderful main character- Artemis. Never anything but perfect. Never forget that much. Ever.
So, though I have drifted in and out of that particular obsession, Artymmis's name can never change. I never wanted it too, anyway.
Love…
Artymmis pulls the book away from you. He holds it away from you for a moment, before pushing it back to you reluctantly. The page is empty, except for his handwriting across the top.
It's rather depressing. "…That's…sad," you mutter, resting your hand on the page.
He nods bitterly. "As are the consequences of the emotion. I can't think of anything good that's ever come out of a lie. And that is precisely what it is. If it is so material that it can be traded like a coin, then it cannot hold much value."
He treats everyone like a child, you think to yourself sadly,
but he's the one in denial of a feeling…
A small sketch?
You turn the page, deciding not to tell the xweetok he wasn't named after a mythological hunter. Instead you are immediately fascinated by the messy sketch on the next page. A little xweetok is drawn, asleep on a stack of books.
He grins, though it seems false. "I don't know the inspiration for that. I was reading. I was tired. Mihn thought it would be most amusing to throw a pencil at my head. So I sketched something out. She was glad to finish it. If you'd like, you could take one…" He turned the book towards himself, flipping two pages over to a page crammed full of identical images, though each was colored differently.
Trades: Open
Requests: Open
Rules:
All adoptable related neomails should be sent to Mihneis with the title "Fishsticks and Books".
To pick up an adoptable, just replace COLOR in the code with the color you want to pick up (No capitilization. For example, it'd just be 'blue' or 'red'.). For Customs, just put the full name of the pet (including capitilization).
If you don't know the other rules, you have no business taking an adoptable.
Skin Deep
You noticed how he had skipped two pages. You turn the page backwards, and find a picture of Artymmis. it's nothing special, and you imagine it was only to show people exactly what he looked like, in case it was ever necessary.
Miniatrures
When you turn to the next page, and then the next- you are greeted by Artymmis's golden eyes, staring back at you. Startled, you blink several times, before your mind realizes what you're looking at- multiple stickers of Artymmis. You look up, puzzled.
He gives a cold laugh, empty of all humor. "I'm not a vain creature, I assure you. …Greedy? Sure. But not vain. Mihn asked for most of these to be made. They're useless little stickers, but I like them well enough." He grins- still not a genuine smile. You can tell it's forced. A child could have.
Taped in
You turn to the next page. Bits of paper, all covered in artwork, are taped into the thick book. A label at the top of the page and another halfway down.
Mihn's Art
EMPTY
By Others
The last page….
The book was thick. Yes. But somehow…this was the end. You close the book, wondering how long you've been sitting here. Long enough for your arms to be numb from holding up the book for so long.
You close the book. There was a slam, and the dust that had coated the book rose in spirals before settling again. "That isn't the end." Artymmis's voice breaks you from his twisted world.
You look up, frowning. "Pardon? That's the last page…" You trail off.
He laughs, and for the first time, genuine amusement is laced into the laugh. "A story doesn't begin on the first page. It doesn't end on the last. Remember that if nothing else." You look down to the xweetok. With the amusement dancing across his features he might've almost passed for a normal teenager. Almost. But you will remember that. Inn fact, looking at the amusement glowing in his cold eyes, you find yourself silently promising that that is one thing you will not forget.
To Return….
To Exit…
