Cyanide

Not the tallest in any given crowd, but maybe the most proud. The way Cyanide carries herself, she's dripping in it. Upright posture and a sharp gaze, one that will see right through you. Piercing, and one of the most distinctive things about her. Cy's eyes are an unsettling shade of pink, and they stand out against her dark coat.

Cyanide's coat is a dark, inky black. It seems to wrap her up and swallow her whole. If you stare into the void long enough she'll probably tell you to take a picture, it'll last longer. Her coat is glossy, soft, and sits close to her body. It's not terribly warm. Between that and the general lack of fat cover on her excessively athletic frame, Cy does fairly poorly in colder climates.

Scent: citrus, cedar, and smoke. appearance

Sharp. Sharpness as a defense mechanism. If Cyanide can cut with her words, then no one can get in. No one can come close to getting in. The built up bravado, the way she carries herself, all of it is a disguise. It's a disguise she'd like to believe one day. If Cyanide can convince everyone else she's cocksure and relaxed, then they won't look close enough to realize what's underneath.

No one needs to know that there's a bitter creature that cares deeply under everything. No one needs to know about the self doubt, about the second guessing, about the weakness and the damage. Cyanide will keep it to herself. No need to burden anyone with her bullshit anyway. It doesn't matter if she's hurting. She'll deal with it on her own.

Now that Cy has been introduced to the concept of found family, some things are starting to change. She's beginning to warm up. For the first time, she has something to be loyal to. For the first time, she has a reason to stick around. Maybe Cyanide is warming up, at least to them.

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