Obscene Symphony — Roleplayer Guild

"Careful, buddy. Even house cats have claws."

Mitchell "Twitch" Felidae

Male | House Cat | 24 | 6'6" | 180lbs

Occupation
Stripper and Prostitute, works out of a multi-sexual strip joint within The Hole called "Glory".

Personality
Despite his morally questionable lifestyle, the first thing one will notice about Mitchell is that no matter what, he holds himself not with pride, but with dignity. He walks with his head high, unafraid to meet a stranger's accusing gaze; he won't hesitate for a second to tell anyone just exactly what he is. He may not be proud of it, but he will not be ashamed and he will not be pushed around. This is an attitude that took him years to develop, and that he works hard to maintain. After all, it's easy for a stripper, prostitute and drug addict to slip into a pit of shame and self-pity, and it sometimes still gets to him. 
Aside from a dignified exterior, Mitch 

Biography
It's a simple story really, he would say. Born half a set of twins to a prostitute and a John who never did find out, Mitchell was sent careening into the underbelly of city life from a ripe young age. His mother tried her best to care for her sons, but life as a sex worker with substance abuse thrown in made it a bit more difficult. Still, Mitchell carries several happy memories of his early life, largely due to the presence of his twin brother, Aaron. He was a yellow-and-white patched boy with bright blue eyes and deafness to match, and from birth the two were inseparable. They both learned sign language and started caring for themselves and their mother as soon as they were able; with their mother's age, her customer base was dwindling and her appetite for gin was growing fast. Often it was left to them to cook, clean and keep mom in one place until she cried herself to sleep. 
It was during one of these bouts that Mitchell's life started its downward spiral. One of Mom's bad habits was smoking, and when she was too drunk to stand, she simply did it in bed. Now, the apartment that housed the happy family was far from high-end: with peeling wallpaper, leaky ceilings and drafty windows, many residents weren't even sure it was up to code. Add that to a domed city where rain is impossible, and it wasn't hard for a cigarette falling on sheets to light the place up like a tinderbox. 
When the smoke cleared days later, it found Mitchell in a hospital, covered in burns and hooked up to a steady flow of pain medication, which he later learned had been intravenous Dilaudid. His mother's remains had been found in the wreckage (she had never even stirred from her slumber) and Aaron was missing, assumed dead. Mitchell was alone in the world, for all it seemed to matter. 
Many painstaking skin graphs, surgeries, hours of physical therapy and weeks later, Mitchell was released from the hospital at 14 years old, with a miraculously uninterrupted coat of fur, a developing Dilaudid addiction and a stack of medical bills taller than he was. He made the rounds of kids in his predicament: some petty theft here, some lying there, a few questionable dealings mixed in. By the time he was eighteen he was living alone in an apartment that was little more than a milk crate under a landlord who liked to add interest to missing rent. Struggling with his substance abuse and drowning in debt, something had to be done - so, it seemed only natural to respond to hearsay that The Hole's in-house strip joint was looking for new talent.
On his worst night at the club, he earned $50 in salary and tips. On his best, he surpassed $900. 
Steadily repaying his debts but still on the rocks, it seemed an eerily smooth transition from dancing for Glory's clientele to responding to their requests for "one-on-one" meetings with him. These "meetings" normally started with a drink after his shift and often ended with a walk of shame through an unfamiliar part of the city the next morning, with a pit in his stomach and a wad of cash in his bag. 

Hey, it's a living. 

Inventory/Equipment
A backpack containing:
- A green plastic case containing clean syringes
- A red plastic case featuring the biohazard symbol, containing dirty syringes (he got the cases/needles under the guise of being diabetic)
- Small vial(s) of Dilaudid, either liquid or pill form (not always present, attained through forged prescriptions)
- A heavy-duty cash clip, sometimes stuffed with bills
- A change of clothes and small bag of toiletries 
- Nail clipper and file
- A fine-toothed comb, metal
- A collapsible water bottle
- A small bottle of pain killers
- A stack of coy business cards, held together by a rubber band
- Assorted supplies for extended business dealings
On his person:
- A leather wallet containing his ID, bank card, driver's licence, cash, etc.
- Apartment keys
- A small switchblade
- A whistle
- A cheap "survival bracelet" made of knotted rope

Other
His stripper name is "Stranger", based on the saying "Tall, dark stranger."
His nickname ("Twitch") was founded upon occasional agitated and 'twitchy' states, which are symptoms of withdrawal underwent during long periods of time between Dilaudid hits. 
The apparent lack of weapons is due to the fact that Mitchell's first choice in a fight is to get away, and as a cat with stripping experience (pole dancing takes a lot of muscle and flexibility) he is very naturally well equipped for it. If it comes to fighting, he'll use his claws before his knife, and relies on speed and agility to dodge and escape his attackers. Besides, most potential muggers and the like tend to be intimidated by his towering height and disdainful 'walking attitude'. 
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