STYLO

[Deleted]

Name: Stylo
Gender: Stallion
Breed: Hot Blooded Mutt

        Akhal Teke x Thoroughbred x Marwari

                                 (heavy Teke lineage)
Genetics: --
Age: Three
Arrived in MUSTANG: Summer '10
Coat Color: Dark Chocolate Palomino

       with High Stockings on both hind legs
Height: 16 hh
Eye Color: Ghostly Blue

Personality:

    So cool. Stylo has a silver tongue, he just lacks the sense of leadership to put it to progressive use. Personified, he'd be the one with the great taste in suits and nowhere to wear them; perpetually leaned against a hole-in-the-wall bar, blowing marijuana smoke rings at pretty young things passing by -- and they'd giggle, probably because of something clever he'd said to them at one time or another, before disappearing into a car he could never afford. That's the kind of cat we're dealing with here. The steal-your-girl-even-though-he's-broke kind of cat. The not-really-smart-but-still-witty-enough-to-count kind of cat. He's a cheap, dreamless dirtbag with a fancy cigar to add the illusion of depth.

    But not all there. Stylo can get himself into close-call situations with other men over their women, land, and other things he feels like arguing about. Stylo has an unorthodox perspective that nothing living can be owned, and therefor pays little due respect to the ownership of a mare, or the border of a territory. A male may find it much more challenging to befriend him than a female, as this can sometimes be mistaken for feminism. He's actually just an impossibly sassy, truculent asshole hidden behind a mellow, good-tempered demeanor. He is a practiced verbal escape artist, because he certainly isn't packing much brawn within his emaciated-feline-esque bod.

History: 

    Stylo was born on Mustang to a rogue mother, Matilde, who had become estranged from her herd during a prolonged summer storm while swollen with child. She was weak through pregnancy, and the birth of her first and only son and all his bones wreaked havoc on her troubled little body. Matty fell gravely ill - and was amazingly suspended in her near-vegetative state of health for a extensive length of time. Stylo learned from a young age to fend for himself because Matty could not, and self-sufficiency soon transformed into a know-better lack of trust for his mother. His imagination became a formidable fortress, and he never believed her when she'd told him the herd had simply lost her like a left sock in the rain. Someone had to have chased her off, and as a boy he would pretend to battle his 'heartless' father. Perhaps it was his way of coping with having an abnormal family structure. Tired, his mother could only shake her head at him until she died. 

His upbringing was filled with love despite its lack of energy, and he was poorly prepared to deal with loneliness, armed with nothing but his lack-luster social skills at the time in a world full of strangers. Not to mention, Matty had left him with a laundry list of questions (though she'd patiently answered them a million times over and he'd rejected the unsweetened or soured truth on every occasion) and a strong, force-fed feeling of independence. As a svelte young bachelor with his boney head in the clouds, he began life by jamming his odd outlook down the throat of normality, batting smoky eyelashes and binging on out-of-touch daydreams. Herd-life seemed unnatural, and every square inch of land was his glorious birth-right (because it was easy to be alpha male in a world of one, which was all he'd ever known). Oh, and he was still set on finding his Dad, that sick son of a bitch, wherever he lived, and whatever he looked like, and whatever his name was again. It all seems very real to Stylo, now. The lies he told himself as a babe were inevitably solidified with time as truth.

Stylo tap-dances through the world, his world, a quarrelsome and useless jokester with an odd penchant for married women and a fictitious personal agenda that will likely further bar him from settling anywhere.

[Kezz]

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