Meet the Studs: The Tiger who Blinds like the Sun
#10 of Meet the Studs
So, bit of a musclefur fan. Less obvious from my writing style and gallery than you'd think, but there it is. All things meaty, manly(and sometimes femmy), and powerful, when portrayed with style and talent, is A+ in my book. So much so that I've been developing a rather exhaustively involved and in-depth series, nearly a decade in the making, involving the subject...well, perhaps not involving, but rather featuring it, to the point that with barest exception...
all the furs are huge. Like, nearly all of em. Indulges my author appeal and leaves open tons of possibilities for far more varied personalities than "vain, dominant gymrat" and themes to explore therein.
So of course, I've had to wrack my tiny brain creating characters for this self-indulgent little project, and suffice to say, I've been busy. You don't even know the breadth of character and species I've been developing and mining so far. Like, guess. You won't get it, but guess. Ya don't...just, dude, stop. You don't even know. You're embarassing yourself. You don't know. YA DUNT KNOW
Enjoy. Love it, Hate it, let me know.
Oh, and apologies for vanishing for awhile. A nasty case of mono has been kicking my ass, though my muse is till firing on all cylinders, thankfully. I do my best thinking when dripping with sweat, wasting away and wracked with lack of sleep, it seems.
Oh, and I changed the name of this setting's race of fursons to "Nagual." Look it up. More or less felt unhappy with the old title of "Zulians" cause 1. no need to be THAT naked with some of my influences, and 2. would rather not potentially draw the readers mind to the term "zoophilia."
Name: Vergil Tigremure
Species: Siberian Tiger Nagual
Age: 24
Height: 7'8"
Weight: 612 lbs.
Appearance: In appearance at least, Vergil's what you'd expect a tiger that can just happen to bend a tank barrel into a ring what look like. Brilliant orange coat that outshines the sun; wild stripes that weave and dip along the curve and hill of every bulging muscle and sinew, weaving into threads like tattoos(he's especially proud of the sun-like motif they form along his face. Any accusation of scribbling them on with marker or paint is met with snarling denial and vice-grip headlocks.); thick tail that slinks through the air like an anaconda through riverwater and draws the eye towards a powerful, citrus-splashed bubblebutt; and a mountanous chest and rippling stomach radiating a warm yelloyish hue instead of brushed in snow-white. Ask him to flex, and he will, for hours, and it's like staring at a feline adonis molded from molten sunlight itself.(He'll probably appreciate less lofty compliments, ones that involve more physical appreciation.)
He does has his odd touches, however, not the least of which his eyes, nose and tongue, all the same bright shade of green like emeralds set into sensuous statuary. His headfur, streaked in his natural orange and black, is braded and woven taught into short, scraggly dreadlocks, and his bubbling testosterone fuels the musky, scruffy burts of dark fur trailing down the hills of his tummy, peaking out from between his dense pecs and battleax arms and fringing his square chin and fuzzy head tufts. On the left side of his neck is the signature G-clef mark of those branded as the Solfege. He's a nagual, so of course, he's obscenely muscled, powerful, virile, yadda yadda yadda. For future reference, most just grow that way.
Being your typical rowdy, rough and tumble jock, Vergil prefers apparel that's comfy, sporty, and doesn't easily rip. Shirtless is the way to go when possible, but when pressed he'll usually pry on a tight yellow-green tye-dye muscle-shirt, black wrestler-style tights with green highlights running down the outer sides, a spiked collar, and gaudy yellow pumps. Speedos aren't his thing, less so out of humility and more for his preference for tight wrestling singlets; why settle for only two tantalizingly taut straps when you can have them stretched over heaving muscles to noodle-thiness everywherer the eye can wander? He has a piercing in his right ear (one of his mates, Dante, insisted he had all his others removed) and a pair of tiny cat bells, one on his collar, the other tied to his tail by a green ribbon. He goes positively loco should he lose one, especially the tail bell ( a gift from his other mate, Semille, a fox the tiger towers over so much, he may as well be his shadow).
Personality: Fiery, Macho, Rebellious, and a bit of a Wiseass, Vergil's a difficult kitty to tame. He shares Dante's lust for sports, friendly combat, pumping iron, the outdoors and all things physical and manly-like, but where the wolf focuses on having fun, Vergil has a habit of letting his competitive spirit run wild, no matter who happens to be in the way. He adores his Herculean physique and testing what his body can do when pushed, and rarely holds back in any kind of competition, be it a bare-knuckle brawl with a hulk twice his size or arm-wrestling against the local kids. Naturally, he dislikes having to wear a collar that massively suppresses his strength at all times (that, and he finds it unbearably itchy), and becomes grumpy and aggressive if forced to stay indoors for too long. A scratch along his chin, down his pecs, are any deeper sort of physical therapy works miracles in placating him, though. (And it's not entirely sexual. Dye him tangerinre and paint on streaks, he's still a kitty underneath.)
While mostly outgoing, he has his share of annoying social habits, including being a condescending bully to those weaker than him, if through bro-ish socks to the shoulder and unwanted noogies and such and less through mean jabs, usually without even realizing it, giving people nicknames when repeatedly asked not too, and just having a general air of pure masculine dominance about him that most find insufferable rather than intimidating at first blush. But Vergil isn't a bully at heart. In fact, under the loud jocky exterior is a macho but warm soul who's lived a rough life growing up and knows the value of confidence, camraderie and having a broad, beefy shoulder to lean on. He's a tender, shockingly insightful lover, firm and understanding, quick to pick up on when something's eating at someone but just as quick to pull his mates aside when one of them steps out line. Vergil's almost as much as a slightly annoying but lovable big brother figure as he is a rowdy, fun loving alpha-male. He just has a LOT of weight to throw around, and he chucks it all over everyone and everything because being tough, boisterous and dripping with unflappable machismo is just who he is, and he expects the same from everyone else. He rarely realizes his more obnoxious habits and is rarely outright mean or malicious, unless of course you're a central figure of authority. Vergil has a rebellious streak a mile wide and almost can't resist causing trouble when an officer or what have you takes him to task. The tiger tries to never cast the first stone, but what altercations he has been in have always ended violently.
Again, despite his brashness, Vergil can be startlingly intuitive, catching small cues or hints that others may fail to notice. But he can also be a bit of a snoop, freely wandering about through other's property. He also has a remarkable knowledge of geography and famous landmarks, a refined appetite for seafood and orange sorbet, and a protective, loving side to him only his mates ever see, even if he can be jealous and insecure at times.
Abilities: Vergil is a Solfege blessed with a power he calls the "Bastet Tempo", a power attuned to the element of light. Naturally, he can control light, create light of various hues and wavelengths, create projections of himself and fire lasers. He was a sucker for wrestling as a kitten, and his favorite technique is to confuse an enemy with solid and transparent projections of himself, leaving them open to a brutal surprise submission hold, or a team beat down with his doubles.