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[Numeral Preference] No preference. CDX?

[Nickname] Big Red

[Gender] Female

[Age] Adult

[Base color] Reeeed.

[Markings] Like an ocelot. biggrin Thick bold spot-stripes. What color? I don't know. What looks good with red? D:

[Mane] None (see Mutations)

[General Build] Powerfully built; lots of muscles. MEAT MOUNTAIN. Also, big big big layhr.

[Mutations] 'Mane' is a non-heat fire-crest from head to tailtip, flames ordinary fire colored. Possesses massive curved horns, for which there will be a picture attached at the bottom of this form at some point. She has no visible eyes, and navigates through a peculiar mutation like some vipers enjoy, allowing her to sense heat and movement. Important note: Not a shred of fur anywhere at all. Skin is leathery to the touch, dry and still brightly patterned. Bald layhr is baaaaald. May have considerable scarring. Claws thick and heavy, not particularly sharp. May have a tailtip like Draco from Dragonheart, able to open up to all those blades but usually kind of thick and spadelike.

[Personality] She is a good being, virtuous. Not the kind of virtue that most people think of, like going to church and helping people, but the kind of goodness that means doing what's right, what's honorable, no matter what the personal cost. It's a trait of absolute, heroically stubborn, utterly unyieding determination. It drives her to keep a promise no matter what the cost, do whatever is honorable and just no matter the personal cost, to keep trying even when there's no hope of ever succeeding. She fights to complete a task regardless of whether completing it has any purpose anylonger, because the act of accomplishing it alone is what matters to her. As such, she defends. Some believe she might have a hyperactive mothering sense that leads her to defend those who can't defend themselves with vicious tenacity, loyal and obedient, downright docile until pushed too far by anyone, including GeNTech's scientists (who may find her far more agreeable if simply treated with all the care and respect one -should- treat a brute her size), but even these she'll defend to the death if they're threatened. Humans are helpless, even ones with powerful guns and technology, and must be guarded against the dangers others cause. She is a mother, a guardian, a tenaciously loyal and stubborn being. Whether or not she likes someone or something ... she does what she must, not because she wants to, but because it's the right thing to do.

[Background/History] She's always been a complacent subject. Called 'Big Red' with some measure of affection by some handlers and lab techs, even from cubhood she was an ideal subject - not without flaws, as the horns that had sprouted during middling adolescence eventually grew over her eyesockets, effectively blinding her, and her lack of fur made chafing and skin irritations commonplace; but having a subject that was willing to perform as asked, even tempered when strapped down and injected with things or put through a battery of tests was to some techs worth far more than any physical perfection. Not that percautions weren't taken anyway - nobody took risks when dealing with creatures that could kill on accident, nevermind when hostile.

She worked like a well-trained dog and in some instances was treated like one; she never seemed to mind it. They created her, they were weaker than her, and as such it was her place to obey, and protect as necessary. Only once had it ever been necessary, a fellow layhr escaping bonds during a test and turning on the techs and scientists with all the savagery their race is capable of. She'd gotten there first .. it was amazing how nothing more than size and determination can intimidate some but not others. She's never killed before, but she might: to defend GeNTech's personnel, and cubs, and other layhr too small or stupid to defend themselves. Most of her own kind didn't take well to this, likely considering her all meat and no brains, but it didn't bother her.

She's still a good subject to work with now. Good to put with cubs or on a leash as an 'ambassador' layhr to show off to others. That she'd apparently work herself to death for anyone who asked it of her might make her a touch more valuable than some of the vicious brutes the labs have accidentally come up with.

[Additional Info] She is effectively blind. She navigates through infrared, which might have been a spontaneous mutation. Adult in age, she's a very big layhr - and is entirely hairless. If her skin isn't cared for with some regularity with washing and keeping it soft with lotion or oil, it gets rough, hard and cracks painfully. She is hopelessly, helplessly addicted to melon candies, and will do almost anything to get one.

Officially, she's a Subject, and has an Identification Number.

Unofficially, she's Big Red, and one of the first layhr brought to any given test. Granted her nickname due as much to her considerable size as brilliant crimson coloring, but that alone doesn't make a good test subject. She's a visible, obvious failure of the project - furless, her skin needs to be kept oiled or lotioned to keep it from chapping and cracking, and now that her horns have grown over her eyesockets, the lack of vision was also an empairment. But more importantly than that, despite being a failure, she had a personality that made working with her very easy on the technicians and scientists, so she was a preferred subject.

It had taken her a while to understand human speech enough to know this sound meant sit, or that one meant come here, but it took her less time to figure out that these people that caused so much pain and demanded so much from her were her creators, and were despite their skills and clever hands, helpless. So she learned even when she still had her vision, to recognize the scent and sound of those technicians that would reward obedients with a little more gentleness, which scientists it was best to simply shut up and endure whatever she was put through, and which ones were worth giving every iota of effort to. She learned faster it's not worth the effort to growl or show teeth to the guards, because while their growls and teeth were unfrightening and dull, they had other means to exert their will. The guards weren't as fragile as the rest.

Time taught her that not all her kind were as amenable. She could remember the hoarse slavering yells of the defiant (how they'd come back later silent, exhausted, unwilling to fight back for a while), could remember the smell of blood in the next cages over and quiet sounds of pain, and could remember the horrific battles some would put up to prevent being taken to another test. Sometimes it was her cage that stank of blood, and she lay silent and panting, waiting for pain to ebb. But mostly she didn't endure terrible traumas, perhaps because she was willing to try, to obey and do her best, which might make her more valuable when her flaws are so obvious. Maybe. There had to be a reason why she wasn't assigned some other human to care for her yet. There had to be a reason why she was kept on active rotation for some tests, even if she rather enjoyed the ones where she got to run and run and run on that strange machine until her skin was shining with sweat and she trembled with exhaustion. It felt good to run, and she looked forward to those tests.

She doesn't understand why others don't.

Random prompt. Not canon, probably.

She doesn't run from her handlers often. She'd been amiable enough to being leashed and collared and muzzled today, but as soon as she'd heard the shouts of alarm and smelled the sharp coppery scent of fear from the technician that had held her lead, she'd simply reacted. And the poor boy, unused to a normally sedate layhr, no matter how big, suddenly jerking away with frentic strength, had no chance to hold onto her. She hadn't even been thinking about it. Maybe layhr were like other animals, fine tuned to the signals of danger from other beasts, and even blind as she was she was helpless to stay still when every nerve suddenly screamed 'run!'... so she ran.

Terror has a way of building on itself. She couldn't see, precisely, where she was going, but cold things, lifeless things were blues and greens and purples, and pelted past at a flat out run; the slap of her lead against her own flanks only worked like a whip to drive her on (had she stopped, had she /thought/, she'd have realized what it was but in the dark that wasn't dark to her, all it seemed was some Big Danger clawing at her, waiting to catch and kill), lowering her head and smashing full-force into a pair of closed doors, the impact jolting through her neck and shoulders but mostly absorbed by her curling horns, which didn't so much as crack from the sudden impact and skidding into the corridor beyond. The sounds of yelling could still be heard distantly, but getting fainter, and the only stink of terror being her own.

Too many turns later and she was quite lost, lead dragging now on the ground, claws clicking, head lowered and short caninelike whiskers forward to test for anything she might suddenly run into. The unease was still there but she could ignore it now, distant and later instead of emergency right now run-run-run. Now it was important to get back to where she had been; her lead-out was not one of the stronger people here, and given to startling and reacting. He'd need protection.

Only heat stops her, the surge of orange and yellows not far from her position and the clicking clatter of claws on tile - another of her kind. So she turns, however unwillingly, and changes tracks, padding instead towards the sense of hot life and the smell of male and dust and something that lingered in the back of her nose like an unpleasant acidic tang. She didn't know what it was, and didn't recognize him by scent. A stranger, perhaps a new layhr. But her kind. Maybe he'd run too when the lights went out; the light-heat from above had long cooled to yellowish green, some already blue.

"What are you doing?" She keeps her tone low and unaccusatory; her size did all her intimidating for her generally. But he doesn't react with surprise save his head snapping up, and distantly she wonders what he might look like to those with eyes. Silent, the two regard eachother, one with clear sight, the other with no sight at all.

He startles her by laughing; the crest of flame along her back brightens momentarily to mark her surprise, like hackles rising. "Something special I have found." She thinks he might be trailing a leash too; something cold drags beneath him on the floor and rattles softly when he moves. "See it would you? I suppose not. No eyes have you to see with. But a good secret it is."

Not only his speech was wierd (it reminded her of the way one of the cubs spoke, when it had been struck too many times by a guard when it would not obey, or listen), the scent of something wrong still nagged at her. It reminded her of sickness. Of dying. "I can see you perfectly clearly." She shouldn't respond to this with a challenge in her voice, but if she'd had fur, it would be standing on end. The sense of /wrong/ seemed to get stronger the longer she stood here. "What's this secret of yours, before I chase you back where you belong?"

"Belong I to where I wish to go," was the immediate response, all humor gone from his voice, calm, self-assured, and strange. "Fear not I the dark, or what it brings. Even when it fire-maned and long-toothed is. Know you, I do. Mad you are."

This struck her as ironic somehow, but she chose to say nothing, simply hunch her shoulders and stalk towards him with stiff legs and bared teeth. He responds as she expects, by shrinking lower to the ground and sidling sideways with a low appeasing whine. "Maybe wrong I was. Show you I will this secret. Our freedom it might be from these chains binding us. Come, I show." Before she could turn to snap at him or the lead he trails, he bounds away down a different hall, and she's forced to pursue, be it to catch him or find out this secret. She's curious. She didn't think they needed freedom (they weren't slaves), but this one seemed to know /something/, so she would find out.

And if it were important enough, show one of the scientists or guards. She was loyal to her people, but her people needed to understand it was their duty to endure, to survive, to do their best when asked of them. Not claw for some nebulous 'freedom' like mindless animals. "Wait!"

She's not slow, but he was much faster. She has to follow the trail of hot pawprints to keep track of where he goes, winding and twisting through halls and rooms, pelting past those few people unfortunate enough to be down here in the dark. She wondered what they might see, but it lasts only a moment, because around another corner he waited, curled into a small ball on the floor, his warm tones turned to white and yellow from exhertion. She sniffs, whiskers forward, nudging with horns to try to find some sign of why he stopped, and the lack of response as she does so is unnerving.

She looks back the way theyd come, then at the balled-up layhr, whining in the back of her throat. If something had happened, it wasn't her doing. She shouldn't have encouraged him!

"The secret here is," comes the whisper from the floor. "Our freedom is, and safety is." When he suddenly lunges with a throaty snarl in a streak of heat-colors she shies away in alarm - but wasn't his target to begin with. The terrific smash of a layhr impacting a metal thing is painfully loud to her ears, the crash and running-water sound of a bucket of water being kicked over in the commotion bringing the scent of soap to her nose. Above the cacophony of snarling and crashing bottles and squealing metal, she flattens herself against the ground, listening to his hoarse screaming about traitors, and the spawn of traitors. The noise was going to attract attention soon, and the sense of wrongness was so overpowering she could do nothing but crouch there, ears back, sickeningly positive that this escaped fellow was mad. Or worse.

With all the noise someone would come soon. She hauls herself to her feet again, trying to ignore instincts telling her to run-run-run again, and places herself purposefully between the ravaged cart and screaming layhr and the dubious freedom of open hallway. There were no doors that she could sense nearby.. only past her was the way out. Even if he were mad, it was her duty to do /something/. Even if that something was preventing one of her own kind from escaping, or worse. She can't bite, still muzzled, but she has other advantages. The sound of yelling from down the hall is a sudden thing but brings relief so acute it's alarming: with guards and scientists came surity that this fellow would be handled, unless he turned his ferocity from the cart onto them.

"Keeping us locked up! Keeping chained we are! I will be free! I will be free! Stop me you will not!" Claws tear through metal of a cart so easily, and maybe to him it was like rending the flesh of whatever demons plagued him. He doesn't even turn to face her when she charges like a mountain goat, slamming into him horns first and with considerably heavier weight sends him skidding down the hall on soapy-slick floors, where he bumps up against the wall with a sickly, unsteady wheeze. Only to get back up in a scrabble of claws and yell of defiance and attack - the cart?

He goes after the cart again, when she'd just driven him away? Made herself a target?

The shout from down the hall is familiar - one of the more ill-tempered scientists, quick with the weaponry she had to keep the layhr in line in the name of self-defense, but the male layhr immediately abandons the cart and scrabbles in /her/ direction instead, heat running for heat, and while the guard yells this time in alarm and reaches for some kind of weapon, she's forced to charge again, this time to grab hold with claws and attempt to drive him back and away. Even the guards were fragile, and this was no guard

Even the guards would die if he got his claws on them. "Traitor! Traitor you are! Killed my sister! Killed my brother!"

She drives him back. It means being clawed, it means being bitten, the sharp flash of pain and the feeling of wet running down her furless sides, but with no eyes to blind and little concern for her own health, trying to get past her is like trying to get past a wall. She can't bite, and her claws weren't sharp, but they didn't have to be. All she has to do is keep shoving him away, keep him cornered while the sense of heat that was a scientist is joined by others, these with cold things in their hands. Guns, maybe. It's hard to keep footing with the floor so slippery and cluttered with objects slung off the cart.

There's a hiss of something flying past her head faster than she can sense it, and a sharp yelp from the male cornered, coolness spreading from a spot on one hot flank. Not being shot as well (she's sure it's a sedative but it might not be) means immediate pacification, so she keeps her head and claws turned away and hunches against a wall with a whine meant to be placating, tail thumping against the floor like a dog might instead of the beast she was. Seeming harmless, or at least eager to please, has kept her from being sedated before, unconcious and left to suffer through waking up again hours or days later with her head on fire and mouth dry.

Such grovelling means instead of the pain of a needle she gets told 'good girl' and 'stay' and 'easy', and her lead seized by one of the others that smells like gun grease and alarm - possibly a guard - and means being tugged away from where her fellow layhr lay twitching on the ground, muttering and snarling about murder and freedom.