10-04-2018, 09:17 PM
[size=10pt]To call himself a fugitive wouldn’t be… well, he can’t say it’s wrong, but he doesn’t like the sound of it. There’s a bounty on Ottawa’s head, though he wouldn’t ever consider himself a crook. The creatures after him sure would, but for them, anything is a crime. He had apparently committed quite the serious offense - treason, which is defined as daring to question the authorities. To be fair, it wasn’t hard to follow his old gang’s rules. You were either with them or you were rotting in their little dungeons. You kept your mouth shut, head down, and you did as you told.
He had been born into it. He had no choice in whether or not he was part of such a thing, his parents decided for him. Unfortunately for his mom and dad, Ottawa had grown up to be a rebellious free spirit. They gave him plenty of thorough beatdowns in hopes that if he got hit upside the head enough, he’d become compliant. It didn’t seem to work.
Though he’s been on the run for so long now, yellow warpaint is still caked on his face. It serves no purpose other than to act as the target on his back. He’s got plenty of other identifying marks, such as the thin scar running down his muzzle, his tattered ears or the funny way he talks. Ottawa wouldn't look too odd otherwise, just a bit battered, however the paint, minimal as it is, is still flashy enough to draw attention to him, wanted or not.
He’s vaguely aware that he’s stumbled into a camp of sorts. He’s clearly not well-received, judging by the glares he receives, however a rustling sound behind him makes him bolt further and further until he’s stopped by some poor creature blocking his path.
Ottawa has never heard of the Pitt. His view of the outside world has been limited to what the gang was willing to tell him - he was often confined to home base, so everything he’s learned so far, he’s learned while on the run.
He knows what trouble looks like, and obviously trespassing has landed him in some deep shit. In any other case he would chuckle nervously, maybe try to smooth-talk his way out of a beating, but he’s too on edge and uptight at the moment to so much as offer half a smile. If anything, all he does is grit his teeth. Despite all this, he still has the nerve to ask, ”Uh, where am I?”
He had been born into it. He had no choice in whether or not he was part of such a thing, his parents decided for him. Unfortunately for his mom and dad, Ottawa had grown up to be a rebellious free spirit. They gave him plenty of thorough beatdowns in hopes that if he got hit upside the head enough, he’d become compliant. It didn’t seem to work.
Though he’s been on the run for so long now, yellow warpaint is still caked on his face. It serves no purpose other than to act as the target on his back. He’s got plenty of other identifying marks, such as the thin scar running down his muzzle, his tattered ears or the funny way he talks. Ottawa wouldn't look too odd otherwise, just a bit battered, however the paint, minimal as it is, is still flashy enough to draw attention to him, wanted or not.
He’s vaguely aware that he’s stumbled into a camp of sorts. He’s clearly not well-received, judging by the glares he receives, however a rustling sound behind him makes him bolt further and further until he’s stopped by some poor creature blocking his path.
Ottawa has never heard of the Pitt. His view of the outside world has been limited to what the gang was willing to tell him - he was often confined to home base, so everything he’s learned so far, he’s learned while on the run.
He knows what trouble looks like, and obviously trespassing has landed him in some deep shit. In any other case he would chuckle nervously, maybe try to smooth-talk his way out of a beating, but he’s too on edge and uptight at the moment to so much as offer half a smile. If anything, all he does is grit his teeth. Despite all this, he still has the nerve to ask, ”Uh, where am I?”
[align=center]characters + 16 + he/him