At first glance, Mal’s a rather unextraordinary cat. Always feverish, as if struck by an illness he can’t quite shake, and eyes always heavy with a drowsiness that sleep won’t cure. He’s sluggish and slow to react, always lost deep in the depths of his own mind, but there’s a wit to him that often goes overlooked. Even the most unlikely, unassuming cats can become threats when pushed to their limits.
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♥ stat change log +3 to constitution (chapter 1 reward, level up, level up), +1 to charisma (level up)
♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♡♡♡
HEALTH 70/100
DISABILITIES none
he’s hardly a healthy cat thanks to the toxins that have accumulated in his system over time. the doses aren’t strong enough to kill him, but enough to leave him with chronic illness-like symptoms that leave him light-headed and lethargic.
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"and i always fall flat on my back,"
NAME mallory hart
NAME MEANING “unfortunate / ill fated heart”
NICKNAME / ALIAS ”mal” to friends, goes by “hyacinth” when he’s unsure if he can trust someone with his real identity
AGE 48 moons (starting age: 48 moons)
BIRTHDATE 11th of may, taurus
GENDER bigender
PRONOUNS he/she
ORIENTATION bisexual
HEIGHT 25cm / 10in
WEIGHT 11 lbs
BUILD round and slightly on the pudgy side
EYE COLOUR a murky yellow-green
FUR TEXTURE soft and bouncy when clean, but often matted with grease and grime
SCENT naturally very floral, but obscured by the stench of garbage and the odd tang of petrol
SCARS while they can easily be covered by his fur, he hosts a collection
of deep gouges along his haunches, and a kinked tail bent into a heart shape
ACCESSORIES a tatty brown newsboy cap and messenger bag
VOICE goldilocks; puss in boots the last wish
"like an upside-down cat,"
"but is bad luck really such a crime?"
Mal’s a rather average-sized feline, though his tired slouch means he often seems smaller than he is. He always seems to fold in on himself, as if retreating into his own warmth. His fur, once soft and slightly curled, is dried into dirty, matted tufts, and stinks of the sludge that drips from human machines. Large ears flop sadly beside his head, and dull olive-green eyes blink tiredly up from beneath an unkempt mop of fur. His pelt is cream for the most part, with darker brown stripes creeping up his limbs until they fade into the soft eggshell white of his stomach. His tail has clearly been broken and neglected, forever misshapen into a painful mockery of a heart.
Dark smudges surround his eyes, and little black freckles are dotted all along his nose and cheeks, as well as his shoulders and haunches. Sometimes, when his pelt is at its worst, it’s hard to tell how much of this is natural and how much is residual garbage caught in his fur. Mal will always claim the former, of course.
"if you won't be my valentine, could you at least give me a little bit of sympathy?"