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LONG LONG SWORD
rabidbacon
Name: Schrödinger (Schroedinger, if you don't have the patience for those fancy letters)
Title: sir, ah...cat, erm -- yes (He's definitely male. But that doesn't keep him from confounding those who put a great deal of stock in matters of etiquette but failed to consider that cats are far better people than humans)
Moniker: the Improbable Feline
Age: ? (He claims, at various times, to be a few thousand, to be older than the First City, to be older than the Bazaar. He is probably lying about most of this. He also claims to be older than the Duchess. How old is the Duchess? Come now, that is not the sort of thing one ever asks a lady, particularly not a lady of her caliber)
Race: feline (has the appearance of Felis silvestris. Not F. s. catus -- no one with any sense ever accuses him of being a domestic cat)
Appearance: a standard cat of perhaps nine or ten pounds, about a foot in height at the shoulder when on all fours. He has a luxurious coat of black fur that fades to merely very dark brown in some places. He seems to be of some unknown longhaired breed, though his fur is on the shorter side for most of those breeds. His eyes are either yellow or light green, but which depends as much upon when one is looking as anything else. There is a minor kink about halfway along his tail, and one ear has a small slice in it where an injury didn't quite heal right.
Of course, things become far more interesting in Parabola....
Primary Attribute: Watchful
Secondary Attribute: Shadowy
Background: Schrödinger claims his mother was a sister to the Midnight Matriarch, and his father a Parabolan panther of considerable power. It is not entirely unlikely that this is the truth, though he must be lying when he says he visited the Second City just to see it fall. ...Mustn't he? He's never had any qualms about bending the truth when it suited him, nor substituting a reasonable lie when the truth just wouldn't do.
What is known for certain is this: he has been around long enough to acquire both knowledge and wisdom, and given the ease with which he visits Parabola and the nature of death in the Neath, he may well be considerably older than the average Surface feline.
He is a frequent figure in the presence of the Duchess, and also at the University (Benthic more often than Summerset). He is fond of the Shuttered Palace and Veilgarden, and like all cats he is intimately familiar with Spite and the Flit. Unlike most of his brethren, however, Schrödinger shows an unseemly (for a cat) fondness for the affairs of humans. Perhaps that explains some of his more unusual habits and predilections. Perhaps he is simply a singularly unique specimen. Whatever the case, he has been known to make himself useful, or at least conveniently bribable, depending on his mood.
Title: sir, ah...cat, erm -- yes (He's definitely male. But that doesn't keep him from confounding those who put a great deal of stock in matters of etiquette but failed to consider that cats are far better people than humans)
Moniker: the Improbable Feline
Age: ? (He claims, at various times, to be a few thousand, to be older than the First City, to be older than the Bazaar. He is probably lying about most of this. He also claims to be older than the Duchess. How old is the Duchess? Come now, that is not the sort of thing one ever asks a lady, particularly not a lady of her caliber)
Race: feline (has the appearance of Felis silvestris. Not F. s. catus -- no one with any sense ever accuses him of being a domestic cat)
Appearance: a standard cat of perhaps nine or ten pounds, about a foot in height at the shoulder when on all fours. He has a luxurious coat of black fur that fades to merely very dark brown in some places. He seems to be of some unknown longhaired breed, though his fur is on the shorter side for most of those breeds. His eyes are either yellow or light green, but which depends as much upon when one is looking as anything else. There is a minor kink about halfway along his tail, and one ear has a small slice in it where an injury didn't quite heal right.
Of course, things become far more interesting in Parabola....
Primary Attribute: Watchful
Secondary Attribute: Shadowy
The Duchess likes most cats better than most people. She's also intelligent. Naturally she likes him.
The University is fond of him, for a number of reasons. Among them is his knowledge of higher mathematics, though he doesn't care to indulge most of their scientists. He can find any book in their libraries in a matter of minutes, so long as it is on the shelf. He's been known to turn up curled on a table with an open book before him, though doubtless some student neglected to put it away when they were done.
Bohemians tend to be fond. He can write a mean sonnet, when he cares to -- but he rarely cares to, and he dislikes being asked. He is not a trick dog, to show off for any passer-by who expresses interest.
The Devils with their connection to a time not yet arrived are of interest to him, and he's nosed about the Brass Embassy on a number of occasions. To facilitate this, he is unfailingly polite to them, though his opinions on the soul trade are more complex.
Society does not know what to make of him. On the one hand, he's got manners to rival theirs, when he cares to use them; certainly he never uses the wrong fork. He's charming enough. But a cat! ...Then again, he has excellent taste in wine, and can match them to meats like nobody's business. And he even restrains himself on the fish course. Nearly always.
The Great Game could learn a thing or two from him, but he has no specific ties.
Revolutionaries are nearly as good as the Foreign Office when it comes to secrets. Best not to be seen listening, however.
The Docks always appreciate someone who can keep the rats clear, but he is not really a mouser. But he does avoid tangling with their birds and bats. Call it respect -- or better yet, a reluctance to deal with their noise over the matter.
Criminals do not often like people -- or creatures -- that are able to uncover their secrets. For the most part it is a matter of live and let live, with one exception. The Topsy King is unnerved by Schrödinger -- and his bat more than a little intimidated, after a recent indiscretion involving where it wished to sleep.
Urchins are far too fond of chasing and tail-pulling, and he a bit too prone to defending himself with claws if they are rough.
The Rattus Faber are sometimes useful, but his relationship with them is best called an uneasy truce.
The Glass is bad news, and he thoroughly enjoys causing them difficulty should the occasion arise.
The University is fond of him, for a number of reasons. Among them is his knowledge of higher mathematics, though he doesn't care to indulge most of their scientists. He can find any book in their libraries in a matter of minutes, so long as it is on the shelf. He's been known to turn up curled on a table with an open book before him, though doubtless some student neglected to put it away when they were done.
Bohemians tend to be fond. He can write a mean sonnet, when he cares to -- but he rarely cares to, and he dislikes being asked. He is not a trick dog, to show off for any passer-by who expresses interest.
The Devils with their connection to a time not yet arrived are of interest to him, and he's nosed about the Brass Embassy on a number of occasions. To facilitate this, he is unfailingly polite to them, though his opinions on the soul trade are more complex.
Society does not know what to make of him. On the one hand, he's got manners to rival theirs, when he cares to use them; certainly he never uses the wrong fork. He's charming enough. But a cat! ...Then again, he has excellent taste in wine, and can match them to meats like nobody's business. And he even restrains himself on the fish course. Nearly always.
The Great Game could learn a thing or two from him, but he has no specific ties.
Revolutionaries are nearly as good as the Foreign Office when it comes to secrets. Best not to be seen listening, however.
The Docks always appreciate someone who can keep the rats clear, but he is not really a mouser. But he does avoid tangling with their birds and bats. Call it respect -- or better yet, a reluctance to deal with their noise over the matter.
Criminals do not often like people -- or creatures -- that are able to uncover their secrets. For the most part it is a matter of live and let live, with one exception. The Topsy King is unnerved by Schrödinger -- and his bat more than a little intimidated, after a recent indiscretion involving where it wished to sleep.
Urchins are far too fond of chasing and tail-pulling, and he a bit too prone to defending himself with claws if they are rough.
The Rattus Faber are sometimes useful, but his relationship with them is best called an uneasy truce.
The Glass is bad news, and he thoroughly enjoys causing them difficulty should the occasion arise.
Background: Schrödinger claims his mother was a sister to the Midnight Matriarch, and his father a Parabolan panther of considerable power. It is not entirely unlikely that this is the truth, though he must be lying when he says he visited the Second City just to see it fall. ...Mustn't he? He's never had any qualms about bending the truth when it suited him, nor substituting a reasonable lie when the truth just wouldn't do.
What is known for certain is this: he has been around long enough to acquire both knowledge and wisdom, and given the ease with which he visits Parabola and the nature of death in the Neath, he may well be considerably older than the average Surface feline.
He is a frequent figure in the presence of the Duchess, and also at the University (Benthic more often than Summerset). He is fond of the Shuttered Palace and Veilgarden, and like all cats he is intimately familiar with Spite and the Flit. Unlike most of his brethren, however, Schrödinger shows an unseemly (for a cat) fondness for the affairs of humans. Perhaps that explains some of his more unusual habits and predilections. Perhaps he is simply a singularly unique specimen. Whatever the case, he has been known to make himself useful, or at least conveniently bribable, depending on his mood.