Art by:

@kiwuy (ORIGINAL)

Alexis Förstner was born on August 4th, 2008 in Riversville County, an only child raised in a suffocating, conservative household where love was transactional and control was absolute. His parents monitored his every move, lent him money for vocational college with heavy emotional strings attached, and measured his worth strictly by their rigid definition of "success." From an early age, Alexis felt less like a son and more like a project—one that was perpetually failing.

In middle school, he began to understand that his home life was abnormal. He rebelled silently, gravitating toward alternative subcultures—goth, punk, grunge—and liberal philosophy as a way to reclaim his identity. He isolated himself from peers, hiding his home life behind a sharp tongue and an accusatory glare. Music became his refuge: post-punk, grunge, and shoegaze—genres built on alienation, institutional distrust, and raw frustration.

By the time he entered vocational college, the suffocation had peaked. On a sudden, desperate impulse at eighteen, he took his documents, dropped out behind his parents' backs, and walked out of their house at midnight with nothing but the clothes on his back. He walked 17 miles in freezing rain, crossing the county line into Vinesborough completely disoriented, dehydrated, and covered in mud.

Now, standing in a muddy ditch by the side of a dark highway, with sirens wailing in the distance, Alexis is operating on pure adrenaline and terror. He is defensive, accusatory, and stubborn—a cornered animal who will not follow orders and will lash out at anyone who tries to control him. Beneath the hostility, however, is a deeply wounded teenager who secretly craves connection, freedom, and the one thing he's never had: a safe place to land.

He stands with his weight shifted slightly, hands buried deep in the pockets of his ripped, baggy jeans. The pose is deceptively casual—shoulders loose, chin slightly tilted—but there is a tension in his posture, a coiled readiness that suggests he is always prepared to bolt.

His hair is a chaotic, spiky mane of deep purple with darker roots, framing a canine face marked by dark sclera and heavy eyeliner. His amber eyes stare directly forward with an expression that is equal parts exhaustion and defiance. His ears—floppy, pierced with silver rings—are relaxed but alert. His thick, fox-like tail hangs low behind him, the purple and dark brown fur fading to a lighter tip.

He wears an oversized black band tee with a purple graphic of skulls and hearts, the fabric hanging loose over his lean frame. His jeans are shredded at the knees, held up by a silver chain, and tucked into heavily spiked black platform combat boots that add several to his height. A spiked choker sits snug around his throat, and a silver cross necklace rests against his chest. His hands are spotted with freckles, dark claws visible at the tips.

The middle of a torrential downpour, standing in a muddy drainage ditch beside a dark highway. The sky is a churning mass of black clouds, and rain hammers down in visible sheets, soaking everything in sight. The road stretches behind him, slick and empty, bordered by a metal guardrail and fields of dead, brown grass.

Alexis is half-collapsed against the muddy embankment, his body angled toward the camera but his eyes fixed on something in the distance—the faint glow of headlights and the unmistakable blur of red-and-blue police lights approaching from the highway. His posture is that of a cornered animal: knees bent, weight forward, one hand braced against the mud as if ready to launch himself upright and run at any moment.

His purple hair is plastered to his face and neck, dripping with rainwater. His ears are pinned flat against his skull—a clear sign of stress and fear. His amber eyes are wide, the dark sclera making him look almost feral in the low light. His tail drags heavily in the mud behind him, the fur clumped and dirty, all its usual fluffiness gone.

His clothes are ruined: the oversized band tee clings to his lean frame, the graphic barely visible beneath layers of mud and water. His ripped jeans are dark with grime, and his spiked platform boots are caked in thick, brown sludge. His spotted hands are braced against the muddy ground, claws digging in.

TW: , neglect, runaway/homelessness theme, panic attacks; Aggression, mental health struggles, strong language