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Name: Lost Hour [Makes use of the alias “Poet”]
Appearance: Cherry red mane and tail, cream colored coat. Eyes are foggy/milky blue. Cutie mark consists of a broken hourglass, tends to wear prefer wearing such formal clothing as ties, vests, and suits when working without concern for arousing suspicion.
History: “I wanted to be a doctor.”
“It only seemed…natural. I’d been raised in the middle class, brought up on the spiels and allegories promoting hard work, determination, focus, and discipline. Youth and stupidity allowed me to take these at face value for a time - whilst my father served on active duty through most of my foalhood and adolescence, I lived in a variety of countries, including Chineigh, Afghaneighstan, Horsetrailia, Germeneigh, and Brayzil, though my birthplace was in Trottingham. Naturally, then, I am fluent in a few certain languages, and have an applicable knowledge of a few others. Even at an early age, my parents seemed aware I was… gifted. A mixed bag, I daresay. My father was…quite demanding, whilst my mother was what you might call an enabler, and each claimed to wish to see me ‘succeed.’ Yet…I wonder now how much of that was borne of their own fear of their eventual degradation, and their wishes that a well cultivated son might save them from such a fate. I suppose it matters little now - they never did live so long enough to see it.”
“As you can imagine, I felt isolated from my peers during my foalhood, for a multitude of reasons. Instead I turned to hobbies, primarily reading, music, and certain martial arts, when I found myself in one of those antiquated countries which still give credence to the practice. Through these I maintained a semblance of sanity, even in the face of my father’s transgressions. Academics and reasoning skills became my greate