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detectivenoire replied to your post: [I promise you’ll regret everything you’ve done.]...
Watch out Yomiel because he is not above biting you for bathtime, he’s grumpy,
IT’S FOR YOUR OWN GOOD YOU STUPID CAT (whom i love and adore)
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◑ nya
“Sometimes you just have to frame someone else for murder! And they’re gonna go to jaaail for five yeeears!”
[I promise you’ll regret everything you’ve done.] (imagine he's meowing furiously at the suggestion of a bath or something-)
“The paint isn’t gonna just come off if you keep licking at it.” It’s weird, he’s never really considered himself a painter but lately the hobby has come to him. And Sissel won’t. Stop. Stepping. IN. HIS. PAINT.
“Bath it is. I can’t let you get poisoned.”
11, and 4 from the bonus
11. Who do you think would miss you most if you were gone?
“Just you, Sissel. Just you, and nobody else. Sh-... they already went ahead of me.”Hmm. Hurts just a little.
4. What do you consider yourself (ghost, zombie, spirit, etc.)?
“I’m a real pissed-off spirit with a whole lot of unfinished business.”
(major ghost trick spoiler warning) technically a reapp but i lost his old blog so time for a fresh start! i have no impulse control so here's Sissel from Ghost Trick, app is at /app or link i, stats are at /stats or link iii.
Welcome!
You’ll be staying in CONDO 413!
You’ll be able to recover from mild to moderate injuries 5 times a day!
You’ll be given your body mods and... claw caps!
Enjoy your stay!
--Mod Lyra
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@detectivenoire
🐾 He always liked cats. Even his transformation into Chat Noir that led him to be slightly more territorial was not enough to overcome that - he would remember walks with his hand in his mother’s, her soft voice telling him not to scare the small creatures off - ‘be gentle,’ she would laugh. ‘Maybe next time we can bring something for them.’
Chat Noir bounded down from the roof with careful, practiced movements, gasping softly at the sight of the furred cat. “What a cutie,” he grinned, slowly extending his hand. He should have known that nothing in this city was quite as it seemed, though.
What did it matter where you lay once you were dead? In a dirty sump or in a marble tower on top of a high hill? You were dead, you were sleeping the big sleep, you were not bothered by things like that. Oil and water were the same as wind and air to you. You just slept the big sleep, not caring about the nastiness of how you died or where you fell. Me, I was part of the nastiness now. Far more a part of it than Rusty Regan was. But the old man didn't have to be. He could lie quiet in his canopied bed, with his bloodless hands folded on the sheet, waiting. His heart was a brief, uncertain murmur. His thoughts were as gray as ashes. And in a little while he too, like Rusty Regan, would be sleeping the big sleep. On the way downtown I stopped at a bar and had a couple of double Scotches. They didn't do me any good.
The Big Sleep, Raymond Chandler
