Name: Alabaster
Alias: Ala, Baster [Derogatory- like "bas.tard"]
Age: 2 [3/4]
Gender: Female [she-cat]
Status: Alley/Stray cat
Breed(s): Moggy [British Shorthair origins]
Description: To all extents, Alabaster appears to be a small British Shorthair, the whitest of whites and extremely round-faced. Her eyes are a solid gold-yellow, large and as round as her face. Her tail is thick, with a rounded tip, and held directly out behind her, consistently flicking to and fro. Her ears and short and fox-like with an almost-rounded tip, and there is almost always a snarl on her face. Although she is not the prettiest cat around, she is certainly one of the most striking.
History: Judging by Alabaster's age, health (and smell), when they found her lying outside the abandoned store and mewling helplessly around the parking lot, she probably didn't start life as an alley cat, although she doesn't remember a life around the humans. The chances are that she was probably once the daughter of a beloved family pet- and, not being able to find a home for the flat-faced white kitten, they tossed her to the wild cats. Since then she has grown into a marvel of a street cat and swears that she knows the city as well as she knows her own head (and there are always snickers from the cats who think she's more than a little crazy). She's evolved into quite the fighter and scavenger, as she is unusually plump for a cat of her status in the city, and sharing isn't one of her strong points. She is the current leader of a small gang of cats famous for their tendency to stick together, and even then very loosely. She'll provide for them (and only them) if she has to, but for the most part, the gang stays strong through themselves.
Personality: Although standoffish and a tad acquisitive, Alabaster is a force to be reckoned. She's only been made stronger by the laughs and jeers that speak of exactly how Alabaster is not a name for an alley cat. "Alabaster? Baster. Little wench. What kind of name is that? A house pet, I dare say." No one ever makes the comment more than once, and if they know what's good for them, they don't make it the first time. She likes to keep herself out of the way of the much larger cats- unless, of course, she thinks she can take them. While a little tiff is a constant part of every day life for the alley cat, Alabaster looks at it as a thing to desire. She craves a fight and, if she doesn't get one, she'll make one. She's not a bully- she'll look for a reason to fight someone first- but she does like to scrap every once in a little while.
Mate[s]: --
Offspring: --
Gang: Pavement [Leader]

Role Playing Sample (has to be from past roleplay):
The dark male's walk was casual, but the flitting of his eyes from place to place was anything but. He was watching carefully, keeping his eyes on the ground as he picked his way delicately, cat-like, over the tiny path, the winding trail that lead to the empty territory that he had discovered on his flight from his older brother. His lips pulled back in a silent snarl as he stumbled, and he cursed himself. The long, elegant, spidery limbs were the perfect tools for this type of terrain; how was he so clumsy? It was clear; he was excited. His breath was coming unevenly and the tail was raised high in the alpha position, as he prowled down the edge of the ravine, wagging. Yes, Arahc was pleased, was excited. This would be his land and he would raise a pack here. He grinned wolfishly in the darkness. His own land. Well, Malek. I wonder if you and your wench are this lucky?

He would raise a pack and the whole of the surrounding area would know their might and their strength. Clearly, it was a small territory, with only enough to feed five wolves at the most, but they would expand, he was sure- because that was something that Arahc would fight for; the wellness of a pack that would thrive under his leadership. Another pleased growl escaped his lips and his tail began to wag uncontrollably as he passed slowly down off of the rocks onto the mud that started the entrance to the Twilight Oasis. Even as his paws touched grass, he pulled his breath in sharply and grinned still wider.

It was dazzling.
Stars sparkled on the small lake in the very center of the enclosed area, thick foliage encircling it. Even from here, he could hear the gentle sounds of prey beneath the cover and his jaws began to slaver, not only from the thought of food, but that he was about to make this land his. However, he stopped short and growled.

“I can’t just sleep here and call it mine,” Arahc mumbled decidedly, “There has to be some sort of ceremony to it.”

And with that he strode to the edge of the water, questing. Slowly he bent and, in his jaws took up a small, round stone, before moving it to the cushion of a grassy patch nearby. He dug a whole and placed the stone in it gently, before turning away again. Here, the feather of a bird- it was a dull gray and, although he would have preferred something like white, there was no time to wander around hunting for the right kind of feather. Whirling around, he stalked back to his hole and dropped the feather in as well. Lastly he pulled up a bright pink flower, an old claw that he found on the ground and some water from the lake and placed them in the hole before sitting back and closing his eyes.

“This rock, for strength to my pack and the hope that we can face the years only growing smoother and wiser, just as it has done.
This feather, for gentleness and respect within my pack, that we may love and care for one another without reserve.
This flower, the colour of the sunrise, that we might always live to see another day and grow without thought of death.
This claw, that our enemies might feel our wrath and displeasure, should they threaten us or what is rightfully ours.
Lastly, the water of our lake that we might always help each other to grow and draw on nature to give us what we need.

Strength, gentleness, life, ferocity in battle and balance. Give me all this and the gift of knowing when to use each. I bury them in the hope that they will help this place to grow into not only a place of beauty, but a home for the Sterlye Pack.”

And with that, he carefully reburied each of the items and placed his paw in the center of the soft dirt. The ceremony concluded in this subtle way, he raised his head to the sky and let a song of invitation join itself with the twilight.