Hawkstorm

[Pyro]

N A M E |
Marlo Hawkstorm

G E N D E R |
she-cat

A G E |
50 moons

R A N K |
warrior

C L A N |
PineClan

B E L I E F S |
Hawkstorm isn't that crazy about Starclan, but she doesn't have any issues with the concept of ancestors and the afterlife. Her twolegs used to do little prayers before they went after a large alligator, and they always came back alive and with a nice addition to their reputations, so obviously being spiritual ain't so bad. She just doesn't like the idea of prophecies and other such boo-spooky things. Gives her the willies, it does. And the idea of dead cats giving living ones nine lives is just bullcrap. Honestly. What are those cats on that they think they can wake up from a nap with nine chances of escaping death?

P A R E N T S |
Louis [m x father x alive]
Margo [f x mother x dead] eaten by gator

S I B L I N G S |
Gumbo [m x older brother x alive]
Ana [f x sister x dead] eaten by snake
Morgan [m x brother x alive]
Dillinger [m x brother x alive]
Rooksley [m x brother x alive]
T-Roy [m x brother x alive]
Aspen [m x younger brother x alive]
Catcher [m x younger brother x dead] fell in the stewpot

O T H E R K I N |
Auntie Cherub [f x aunt x unknown] missing, presumed eaten
Uncle Davenport [m x uncle x unknown] missing, presumed eaten
Gran'mamma Rooksley [f x grand-dam x dead] natural causes
Gran'mamma Marlo [f x grand-dam x dead] eaten by gator
Pappy Crooked Toes [m x grandsire x dead] drowned

F O R M E R M A T E |
Tolliver [m x alive]

C U R R E N T M A T E |
all your mates are belong to Hawkstorm.

C R U SH |
your face.

K I T S |
Buck [m x son x unknown]
Lily [f x daughter x unknown]

A P P R E N T I C E |
-open. inquire if you dare. /shot

A P P E A R A N C E |
There have been she-cats that have been big. For she-cats. But Hawkstorm is just...freaking huge. There's no other way to describe it. Her lean form is bigger than most toms and there is a certain 'here comes the biggest, brashest woman in the forest' aura to her. Her face is fierce in the feminine but marred somewhat by a problem in her right eye. She has trouble seeing out of it, and it is noticeably darker than the pale amber of her left eye.

Her heavy and coarse pelt is a mixture of greys, blacks, and browns, overlapped with very dark tabby markings.

P E R S O N A L I T Y | If Hawkstorm's mind did not have a gutter, it would not have a place to live and she would not have a language to speak. Nothing is too suggestive, nothing too insulting, to come spitting out of her maw in the curse-riddled filth that is her dialect. Boundaries? Tut, tut, my dear little poppet, Hawkstorm doesn't know the meaning of the word. Years alone in a swamp with no-one but twolegs and relatives for company have rendered her completely and utterly socially inept. And the moons wandering by herself really didn't help the situation. At all. Don't be mistaken-she's not without respect for her betters-but that doesn't stop her from telling them exactly what she thinks when she thinks it.

But she's not always "Come here you moronic toad so I can smash you like the unborn fetus you are," no, noooo. Hawkstorm has her moments of cheer and condescending glee. Why, nothing makes her happier than loonies and poor, poor chickies ignorant of even the most obvious of sexual innuendos. Them she just wants to put a comfy bed in front of the fireplace for. Them she wants to love and hug and call 'George'. And those that can match her word for word, blow for blow, sexual suggestion for sexual suggestion? Well, they find themselves in the lucky (or rather unlucky) position of being liked by Hawkstorm. S'not every day she meets someone with absolutely no filter (besides herself). Or at least, she likes them until they start reminding her of herself. Only so much Hawkstorm that can be taken...Even by Hawkstorm herself.

Only so much that can be eaten though? Perish the thought. Hawkstorm will eat anything that doesn't eat her first. Even her parents question whether or not the tolerance is in her genes or if she just...she just doesn't give a flying rat. Her stomach certainly doesn't. It gladly accepts the rocks, poisonous substances, and rot she shoves down her throat. And her mouth? It's likely that her saliva is as foul as her language. You probably want to piss Hawkstorm off about as much as you want to be bitten with that bacteria-infested maw. But don't think that the only things she eats have been dead for five weeks or are better left unmentioned. She also has a healthy appetite for mint. She adores the smell of it, and to her, it doesn't taste half bad. Of course, her opinion on what tastes good can't exactly be taken to the bank.

There are a few. And I mean a few things in this world Hawkstorm goes 'protective grizzly mom' over...and lord help the cat that tries to harm 'em. Might as well toss yourself off a cliff, because it's a lot better than what she has planned for your sorry hide. Those she is indebted to generally top the list as far as what she protects is concerned, because let's face it: Hawkstorm is not the kind of cat with an abundance of friends. And tooootally not because she ate her other ones. Totally. But yes, she is loyal to those who befriend her. When you don't have quite as many friends and allies as the normal, sociable cat, they become all the more precious and all the more worth protecting.

S K I L L S |
Hawkstorm will chew your ear-off talking and literally. She uses her size frequently to her advantage, and she's a fair hand at battle tactics. She may not be able to shimmy up a tree like some of her other clanmates can, but prey on the ground best beware. This she-cat is more than used to fending for herself.

H I S T O R Y |
There once was a kittypet.

Who ate everything.

You could surmise that as Hawkstorm, then Marlo, grew up in a swamp, there was not much to choose from food-wise, and a cat could not be picky. You would be wrong though. Marlo had plenty of food, as did her eight other siblings and the countless other relatives that milled about her home. She was a kittypet, and even in the swamp that meant comfort. Although, it would do well for you to remember that 'swamp-comfort' isn't exactly the same as 'city-comfort'.

Swamp comfort was a meal. A meal that didn't include you as the main course.

From the moment they could walk, a cat of the swamps was taught by their parents the importance of watching their back. Gators didn't ask before they ate you, and neither did snakes, coyotes, or any of the other deadly creatures that roamed the bayou. Marlo's family was braver than most, a fact which could be explained by their owners, who were hunters of the same gators that parents warned their children about. And it was because they were braver than most that they were also a good deal more foolish. It was a long standing tradition of their's to accompany the twolegs when they went out to check the trap lines...and it was because of this that many of Marlo's relatives were gator-et [eaten].

However, being eaten by a gator was not the future for Marlo.

It may have been the result of seeing her mother snapped up by a '10 footer, but from a young age Marlo ate anything that didn't get a mind to eat her first. And even some things that did. Her father and the relatives that stepped in to help take care of her and her siblings were run ragged trying to keep her from eating harmful substances. They were largely successful, but she still spent much of her kithood vomiting, until she gradually began to gain a tolerance for nasty foods. That pet you used to brag about that ate a bag of nails or a rock and survived? Marlo's the one that ate it and the nails.

Growing to be bigger than even her older brother Gumbo, Marlo quickly became the 'woman' of the family. She helped raise her siblings and even her younger ones when Pa found a new sweetie. But...well...you can't exactly raise stupid. And it's even harder to protect it. Her sister Ana was eaten for checking out a big ol' snake, and her younger brother Catcher? Well he was so stupid he plumb fell right into the big stew-pot and drowned.

Life in the swamp though, wasn't all hunting trips and sibling-wrangling. She met a nice tom by the name of Tolliver across the way, and within a few moons she was giving birth to his kits. Tolly wasn't so crazy about that little development though, and as soon as he learned that the kits were being given away to other twolegs, he was off like a shot before he could get into any more 'child-related' messes. Marlo took both these losses in turn, and like most losses on the swamp, they were treated a one big joke. That was really the only way to get by. After all, cats got eaten and drowned and whatehaveyou so much that the only way not to loose your mind was to thicken your skin and move on.

Papa Louis wasn't so crazy about her not having a real mate yet though. Families were as good and tight-knit as a clan, but that didn't mean that all the chickies had to or could stay in the nest for the rest of their lives. He was eager to get her hitched, especially with her brothers moving out to make their own paths to follow.

It was while avoiding a talk about this matter that Marlo found herself in the back of a truck. It was the only place left for her to hide and when it started moving? Well that was even better. She figured she'd stay in there, maybe get carted into town for a bit of walking, and then hop back in to be taken home. That was not how it worked out, however.

She'd been in the truck-bed for a few hours, and the damn thing hadn't shown any signs of stopping. This in of itself was strange because a drive into town didn't take that long, and she should know, considering she'd been with her twolegs plenty of times when they'd gone in to buy more gator-tags. It was then that she realized. Well. It wasn't going into town then. Unbeknownst to her, her twolegs had sold the truck for the last bit of money they needed to get a new one. She could only watch as it carried her further and further from the swamp that was her home, and eventually, far away from any main waterways she could travel along to get back to it. When it finally stopped for the night she didn't have the slightest inkling of where she was, but she hopped out and let it drive on. No way was she going to let it taker somewhere that was too far North.

At least she wouldn't have to deal with Pa's ramblings about getting a new mate.

And thus began her wanderings. She ranged far and wide, both trying to get back to the swamp and seeking out the sights of the news world she'd been thrust into. Who knew there were so many places that weren't completely covered in water? Who knew there were some places where you could go days with out even seeing so much as a drop. And who knew that there were groups of cats that amassed to be bigger than a swamp family?

The journeying cats were a sight to behold, and feeling a bit starved for company she decided to tag along. When they finally found a place to settle though, she broke off, and tried her luck at being a city cat. She'd already been swamp and country, after all. It didn't quite agree with her though, and in time she joined the clans. Pineclan to be specific.

She worked her ass off to become a warrior and earn the name 'Hawkstorm', and now reaps the benefits of being ranked a senior warrior, lending her strength and experience whenever the others can bend her mind to it.

Critique level | Make my cat FoF suitable.