Noir

ROGUE

large black molly with long fur and pale yellow eyes

Noir is large in stature, a muscled molly who easily towers over the average cat. Her shoulders are broad, and her body is bulky. She stands out among a crowd for her burly build and her height can come off as seriously intimidating. However, her body does have some feminine allure, it's curves and pleasing angles. Noir's legs are sleek and slender, the fur covering them well like a glove. Her body has a dark handsomeness to it, like the stranger you meet in the alleyway who sends shivers down your spine. Her flanks and back legs was sculpted for power and allure, thanks to the hardships of the nomadic life she pursued before she settled down with Lily. As her name suggest, the molly's pelt, from crown to tail, is covered in inky blackness. Sometimes, when she is out in the sunlight, her black pelt swims with hues of bright coffee brown and bronze. At night, she can make for a most intimidating sight, since all that is visible are a pair of vividly glowing optics. Noir's pelt is quite long and wraps around her frame like a fur coat. She takes great care to make sure each hair is well-groomed at all times. Her tail is a long plumy wisp of black, and given Noir's sweet temperament, it's usually found extended high in pleasure. Noir's face is a bit flatter than usual. Going down from her ears, her face is rounder near her forehead, but dips down steeply to form her muzzle. Her auditors are small but pert, further adding on to her fashionista's air. Her face is elegantly sculpted, just like the rest of her body. She has two pale golden optics, the color of honey; oftentimes, they can be found narrowed with mirth or round with joy.

Noir's voice is rather rich and smooth, if not a bit husky and low in timbre. The black shecat tries to affect a soothing, warm tone to it — lacking in hostilities and very welcoming. Her scent is a mix of jasmine and something citrusy, like lemongrass.

— 359

Despite her intimidating physiology, Noir has little ill-will towards others. In fact, she tends to be a very benevolent soul, filled with goodwill. Her demeanor is rather lighthearted and breezy in a way that suggests a youth long past. She has a view of life that can be considered carefree to those around her. Clemency is a very unusual trait among rogues, and yet the black coon seems to embody it. Despite having no kits, the black molly seems to have an internalized benevolence that could be mistaken for maternal instinct. Noir relishes the opportunity to spend time with her fellow rogues, offering her help when needed. Nevertheless, she is not the most social cat, a taciturn figure. Perhaps it's because being around large crowds of cats gives her headache. She prefers to work alone, believing that it is how she works best. She appears to be a lenient and relaxed figure who enjoys sitting back to watch life move along instead of taking the reigns to usher other cats around. No doubt, there is very little hesitance to help out when the black she-cat is called upon. The black she-cat moves with skill and grace to attend upon others. No matter how tedious the task, Noir is determined to see it through. The black she-cat is an enduring soul, having a longer patience than most, even if she harbors deep resent at times due to betrayal and dishonesty from her peers.

For those in her company, Noir is a cat full of surprises. For one, she is incredibly fanciful, and quite unrealistic. Her mind seems to drift between stone-cold reality and some alternate fantasy realm. Some would confuse this as being merely dumb or naïve, but that is not the case. What one sees on the outside is not like what is on the inside. There is something largely inscrutable about her, something inexplicably mysterious. Her sense of duty towards the rogues, especially Lily, is unwavering, yet it isn't out of her character to use her words to play them off into her own hands. She is wily, a smooth-talker for sure, jocular and witty even at her worst; her maw is often pulled upon into that of a smile. Those who interact with her well ought to be careful of her tongue, which is as sleek as her pelt. Despite her rogue status, Noir is unusually aware of her appearance and how her behavior reflects upon other cats. Her self-consciousness borders on vanity. She zooms in on emotional and psychological nuances — all small details in getting to formally know the cats around her. Naturally, such eloquence lead to the more hedonistic territory of coquetry. In simpler terms, Noir is a flirt, though rarely are her words ... actually serious. It's more for the fun of it, though she does crave a cat's affection.

In contrast to her sweet and laidback demeanor, Noir is quite prone to fussing when things start to slip, and she's notorious for worrying 'a bit too much.' Some cats blame Noir for worrying about the littlest of things in her escapades of tidying up their everyday life. A few cats welcome this unusual amount of concern, and others find it annoying.

— 545

MOTHER : Sootfeather
FATHER : Badgerscorch [ † ]
BROTHER(S) : Hazelflower
SISTER(S) : None

LOVER : None yet
KITS : None yet. She does want some though
SEXUALITY : Bisexual, female leaning

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Noir, originally christened a different name upon her birth within Redwoodclan, was born in a two-kit litter to two strong warriors, Badgerscorch and Sootfeather. The two had met as young apprentices in Redwoodclan, and their fast-paced, fiery romance quickly carried them into warriorhood and soon Sootfeather was in the nursery. The name she was given was Pinekit, named aptly for her dark pelt and mien. Her younger sister, who carried the warm tabby markings of her deceased father, was called Hazelkit. Snakewhisper, her father, had been killed on the day prior of her birth — his life ruthlessly claimed by Lichenclan warriors on the border — leaving his mate a tragic widow. Left empty and drained by the cat she had loved since apprenticehood, Sootfeather became a distant and sometimes absent shell of a mother to Pinekit. Perhaps this rubbed off too much on Pinekit, because while Hazelkit pranced outside the nursery with the other kits without a care in the world, the black shekit merely watched from the sidelines, amused but not interested in participating.

Six moons came and went, and soon Pinekit became Pinepaw, a cheery and thoughtful apprentice to contrast Hazelpaw's excitable, ambitious and bubbly energy. The black molly was assigned to Rabbittail. It was a near perfect match. A straightforward yet organized tom with a knack for jokes, he kept Pinepaw on a firm schedule for training but allowed her plenty of time to socialize with the other apprentices. He became the father that she never had, with a dynamic that could be matched by few other mentor-apprentice pairs. Soon Pinepaw and Hazelflower became Pinefeather and Hazelflower; the former named for her adept running skills and habit of thinking on her feet.

Pinefeather and Hazelflower had been close as kits, despite their differing personalities, but as warriors they began to drift apart. This didn't come as a surprise; Hazelflower was a huge socialite who loved to mingle among her clanmates, while Pinefeather preferred to focus on her role as a warrior. A hardworking and steadfast warrior, she dedicated herself wholly to the clan. When there was patrol, she was the first to volunteer. When there was work to be done, she stepped up. She could've lived a good life in Redwoodclan, but it only took one choice to turn her world upside down. A few moons later, Pinefeather came across a Lichenclan warrior - newly minted it seemed, for they were quite young, who had been brutally attacked by a fox. Pinefeather was unable to smell the fox nearby, but she could see the damage it did. The warrior was weak, her pelt marred by horrid bite marks. The two stared at each other for a long moment, both tense and indecisive. Pinefeather quickly realized that the younger was at her mercy, open to attack. Blood stained the forest floor as she remained there, unmoving.

Right then and there, she made that one fateful error. She decided to help, to give the warrior, who introduced themselves as Fogberry, aid. Pinefeather was no medicine cat, she would not be able to provide much aid. But what she could do, she did. She brought moss soaked in water to wash his wounds. She licked Fogberry's wounds to clot the blood. She caught prey from Redwoodclan territory to feed the white molly. But that wasn't enough. The wounds needed medical attention. Knowing that wandering into Lichenclan territory meant a very painful death, Pinefeather made her most egregious error: she took herbs from her side of the territory to treat Fogberry's wounds. On the second-to-last day, she was caught red-pawed by none other than the Redwoodclan deputy Redfox, with a mouse in her mouth and Fogberry's scent on her pelt. Both were a dead giveaway. Furious that the black warrior would dare provide aid to a warrior from another clan, Pinefeather was exiled without a second thought. Her family was devestated. Hazelflower yowled that it couldn't be true — that her clan-loving, devoted sister couldn't have done something so shocking. Shocked, confused, and hurt beyond words, Pinefeather departed from the territory, never to be seen again.

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