The Kindly Corpse (OPEN)

OOC: You can torture her or befriend her, or really do whatever with this poor little disfigured gal. It's up to youuu~

Hunger.

That was all that Chatsworth seemed to know now. Hunger when she woke up. Hunger throughout the day. Hunger as she fell asleep. Even hunger in her dreams. Her body showed it, too. While she was naturally skinny, now ribs pressed through her limp fur, and her belly swayed empty from side to side as she ran. Her sunken cheeks showed out through the bald patches on her face. Chatsworth was not far from starvation.

And the worst part? She was constantly surrounded by food.

The scar-faced cat had been traveling for a long time, and everywhere around her was prey. Sheep grazing absentmindedly in fields. Deer fawns tucked away behind foliage. Mice scurrying across the ground. Birds fluttering just above her head. It wasn't that she was bad at hunting; she was quite decent, in fact. She just couldn't eat them. Every time she ate her kill, it would take the low itching sensation she always felt and multiply it by tenfold, making Chatsworth feel like she must scratch her face or she'll die. She would spend days-- sometimes a dozen days or more-- hidden away, trying desperately to make the itchy sensation stop. And each time she'll resurface, face bleeding, claws torn, and more starving than ever. The disfigured she-cat had over time learned what she could eat: beetles, fish, salamanders, and frogs, but most of those were hard to come by. Chatsworth's journey had taken her over dry, windswept plains, with no fish or amphibians to eat. She had been surviving almost entirely on cockroaches- slimy, disgusting little things, with no meat and just barely counting as food. She never wanted to eat another ever again. 'It won't make a difference either way' she thought. 'Either way, I will starve eventually.'

Chatsworth frowned slightly at the dark thought. Since when was she so pessimistic? She was Chatsworth (also called Rot), the optimistic traveler! She can't die now, when she still had a way to go to her destination!


The she-cat suddenly slowed down, going from a trot to a complete stop. What was her destination? She had been traveling ever since the man-kit left her, but she didn't know where to. Did she forget the answer, or did she never have an endpoint to begin with?

The question started the daydreamer back into the real world. Chatsworth had traveled a long distance without noticing, and now she was deep within a man-tribe. The stark gray trees (or what looked like trees, with her vision loss and all) surrounded her on all sides, and the sky was overcast. To her right was a busy black-river with monsters racing down both sides. Normally, this scene would be quite startling, but there was a certain smell on the horizon the vagabond knew well.

'food!'

Not real food, just a dumpster, but it was far better than anything else. Sometimes the green boxes held food that she could eat just fine, as long as she got past the horrid stench and taste. She rushed towards the metal container, found the lid that was propped open, and neatly sliced open the thin plastic bag with a claw. The insides spilled out (along with countless maggots) and, holding back a retch, she sorted through the contents. She found a long, triangular slab that smelled vaguely like mother's milk and ate it greedily. Chatsworth couldn't remember the last time she ate more than beetles, even if the current meal smelled worse than dog dung. Deeper in the carrion was another milk-triangle, along with a fatty brown disk that had a meaty texture but smelled like vegetables. The stray greedily ate up the triangle, and was halfway through the not-meat when she heard something.

Multiple pebbles skipped through the air at the corner of her eye.

Chatsworth stopped. That noise, that act, was unmistakable for a creature that just tripped. If she had to guess, it was a small dog, a raccoon, or worse- a cat. She felt her hair rise up. A dog or raccoon would be aggressive, but Chatsworth can always run away. But to a cat, she might spread her horrid curse to them too! She didn't care if said cat might attack her, but if they accidentally contracted the face-scarring curse she had-- the one that made the kittypets laugh, the one that made the loners back away in shock, the one that made mothers scream and hit you-- she wouldn't be able to live with that.

She turned around to face the mystery animal. She couldn't see them clearly, with only squinted, blurry eyes to look through, but she could see a silhouette. It was definitely a cat. This was bad. "H-Hello?"  she called out. "P-please don't come n-near me. You can have the f-food, but j-just, please, stay away. For your own g-good."