Plato

Family: None that he knows of. His mother was put down not long after his birth, though he may have a father or older siblings (or half-siblings of any age) out in the world still.

Personality: Still waters run deep, and Plato is certainly like a very deep, dark, still well. On the surface, he is a very calm cat, but he carries with him a sense that there is mysterious and unknown depths lying below. There is an intense magnetism about him, and cats are often either strongly attracted to or strongly repelled by his atmosphere of inscrutability and controlled power. This magnetism is generated by a powerful emotional intensity Plato carries with him everywhere.

Plato never takes life lightly. There is little in him that could be considered light-hearted. He lives his life in extremes, and has a very black-and-white way of viewing the world. There is a kind of obsessiveness to his intensity, which causes him to struggle with destructive behaviors. At his best, he is very controlled and endlessly patient. At his worst, he goes to terrible limits to destroy himself. Secretive, private, and controlled, Plato is truly a volcano: self-controlled and calm but seething with emotional energy underneath, and always moments away from possible eruption. He is constantly processing emotions, and storing up impressions and experiences.

When the volcano does erupt, Plato is very much a trouble-maker, paranoid and suspicious and smelling rats where there are none. He does, truly, have a very keen sense when it comes to those around him, and does not often allow others to leave poisonous things hidden under the surface. He feels compelled to bring it forward so that it can be eliminated and healing can begin. He is an agent of purging, not holding back when it comes to airing others' dirty laundry.

Though intense, Plato is quite pleasant to be with. He is thoughtful in conversation, reserved, yet affable and courteous. He has a very penetrating gaze, though, which often makes shyer cats feel defenseless in his company. He is certainly no social butterfly, preferring being on his own. Others often think that he dislikes them, but he merely needs to be in control at all times to feel safe, and this often translates to isolation. If somebody is lucky enough to grow close to him, they would be surprised by the depth of his emotions.

History: Plato never had it too rough, but he never had it easy, either. He and his mother were found just a few hours after his birth, and taken to a shelter. They were cared for until he was old enough to be on his own, then put up for adoption separately. As it often goes in human shelters, he was adopted quickly due to his young age, while his mother was put down after three days of no interest. Of course, he does not remember this very well. His first memory came not long after, when his humans, annoyed with his destructive play habits, abandoned him.

He was only a kit, but old enough to be able to learn his way around the big city. He could always find somebody to take him in and care for him, but it never lasted more than a couple of weeks. Most cats were not very equipped to handle a young tomkit with too long limbs and a much too touchy temper. He passed through home after home, living on the streets between each, until he finally realized he was old enough to take care of himself. He found odd jobs when he could, and formed a thick skin in the meantime.

It wasn't until he was sixteen that he found his way to the Jellicles. He'd gotten a job as a bouncer at a club not far from the Junkyard, and had to chase down a tiger-striped cat who'd stolen an impressive amount of liquor. He was fast, but she was faster. She led him straight into the Junkyard where a group of older and stronger toms apprehended him quickly. They questioned him, but let him off the hook when he explained his side of the story, and admonished the queen ('Teazer', one of them had called her). His curiosity got the best of him, and after asking around at the club, he returned to the Junkyard a few days later with questions. They were more than happy to give him answers, and, impressed by the acceptance and efficiency, he asked to stay.

The stability that had helped convince him to join the Jellicles quickly turned into monotony. Without a steady flow of jobs, Plato became desperately bored. He wanted to train as a Protector, but his first sparring session proved to be a disappointment when the other tom continuously chided him for being overly aggressive and not disciplined enough. He tried what other things he could, but everything felt boring to him. Eventually, the only outlet he could find that offered any sort of excitement was drinking. And it wasn't long until he was trying drugs as well.

He spent three years in little more than a haze. As much as he'd tried to avoid monotony in his life, he quickly established a routine. Wake up well past high noon, some catnip, some liquor, and straight to whatever club he chose. That's where he could get the hard stuff. He'd be there until late into the night, when he would usually get kicked out and stagger back to the Junkyard, where he would pass out in his den. Then he'd wake up and do it all over again.

It took something appropriately dramatic to shake him out of his lifestyle. He was drinking at a skeevy dive bar when a queen burst in, crying for help. Her mate was being cornered by Pollicles. With the type of courage liquor could give, Plato swaggered out the door with her, expecting to see two or three dumb mutts that could be easily chased away. Instead, he turned the corner and came face to face with a pack of at least seven Pollicles who had already ripped the poor tom apart. All he could do was run.

It seemed like he ran for hours - the sun came up while the Pollicles were still on his tail - but he shook them off eventually by clawing his way up a pipe and waiting on top of a building until they gave up and left. He returned to the Junkyard painfully sober and spent two sleepless days cleaning his den and throwing out anything remotely drug-related or alcoholic. He started Protector training again, and tried to reach out to other Jellicles.

This was when he first began speaking to Victoria. He had seen the white queen around the Yard. How could anybody miss her, after all? But he'd never thought he would speak with someone so 'high society'. Surprisingly, they hit it off well enough, and he was lucky enough to be her partner during her coming of age. He thought it would be a start of something healthy in his life, for once, but Victoria seemed to disappear whenever he showed up afterwards. He recognized it for what it was, and regretfully backed off.

However, he hasn't been able to shake the dark feeling in his gut since the Ball. He is disappointed that things did not work out with Victoria, and even more disappointed that what he thought was a step toward stability and progress was little more than a fling. It's been hitting him harder than it should, and the path toward his old favorite haunts is looking more and more tempting every day.