Iris the Rogue

Iris
 
"We all want to be a little glamorous, a little playful and a little mischievous at times."
 
Name: Iris
 
Past Names: Butterfly
 
Clan: None
 
Age: 29 moons
 
Gender: She-cat
 
Rank: Rouge
 
Neutral: kits, wanderers, those who don't cross her

Iris doesn't really have any strong feelings about kits. Too young for her to bother caring, as someone who has wandered a fair bit herself she isn't one to become cross with an explorer, and if a cat doesn't cross her or act negatively towards her she doesn't particularly care either way

 
Hate: those who push her, bullies, those who look down on her, hypocrites, Luke

Iris hates anyone who dares to try and push her to do anything she doesn't want. She does what she wants when she pleases, and if you dare try to push her with nothing in it for her you'll likely find a claw to your throat. She hates anyone who bullies those weaker than them, those who pick on the young or old or disabled. Her motives might be questionable at best, but killing those or harming them who have no means to defend themselves is something she despises in others. She doesn't need nor want your pity or contempt. She's faced enough of it and if you shoot her enough wrong glances, you might want to watch your step. Iris rather enjoys toying with hypocrites, those who cheat and lie and do one thing while saying the other. Hate would probably be safer than loves to hurt, but you get the gist. Luke's family has wronged her in an unspeakable way, and now, when she's beginning to find her way with Claw and his group, Luke always seems to be one step ahead, and to her, that means he is purposefully stealing away the things that matter to her once again.

 
Love: Chaos, Moth, Lotus, Zinnia

Iris loves mischief and chaos, she enjoys the drama and panic as she watches the situation unfold. Even though she would rather be torn apart or murdered without speaking of it, deep inside a flicker of the same love burns inside her for her baby brothers and late sister.

Crush: None
 
Mate: N/A
 
Respect: Silence and Claw have earned her grudging respect. She is impressed by Claw's drive and Silence... intrigues her.

 
Mentor: N/A
 
Apprentice: N/A

Appearance: A lithe tortoiseshell she-cat with green eyes. Iris is often seen wearing a signature smirk and has a long, feathery tail. Her eyes often dance with mischief and are constantly moving. She is pretty, something she wouldn't be afraid to use to her advantage.
 
Personality: Mischievous, clever, and tricky are three words that come to mind when discussing Iris. It seems clear why many a cat has referred to her as a 'Trickster', a title she rather enjoys. Iris has a flare for the dramatics, a well placed smirk, a few sarcastic comments here and there, and maybe even a flirtatious comment or two. Iris is often dry and sarcastic. She enjoys toying with her victims, cats who she feels should be brought down a notch. She enjoys startling them with her appearing out, coming out of nowhere and suddenly being scarily nearby, hissing 'Boo' from the darkness.

Iris loves misdirection. She lives for it, using misdirection to achieve her goals and secretly to protect herself. She isn't afraid, and probably even enjoys, using her claws to defend herself. Her intelligent and quick moving mind loves to find irony in any situation, and many who find a sticky fate at her end have been killed by rather ironic means. Chaotic, cheery, and a bit playful, Iris has a good sense of humor all things considered. 
 
History: Her parents named her Butterfly. A sappy, sweet name for the colorful ball of fluff that they brought into the world. She was the only kit of her litter, a single black and orange bundle in the first litter Star had ever had. She loved to pounce on flowers as a kitten, pull silly pranks on Mama, and viciously dig into the prey that her father brought home. Her father was often distant when she was a kit, cold towards her, something she didn't notice much when she was small.

Then came the day when Mama would crouch down with a smile and tell Butterfly that she was going to be a big sister. And her father would sit with a half-smile curled on his features on days when the little tortoiseshell kitten would crouch with one paw moving cautiously towards her mother's belly as she tried to understand how Mama had a baby inside her belly!

Butterfly was four moons old when her younger siblings were born. Two boys and a little girl. Moth, Lotus, and little Zinnia. Her father would crouch down as he gazed in wide-eyed awe at the little bundles of fur, his children, as Butterfly vibrated with excitement, trying very hard not to bounce so she wouldn't squish her baby brothers and sister! Mama would watch with a weary, and everything was perfect. They were perfect.

Until they weren't.

After the kittens were born, Mama got weaker and weaker. Sicker and sicker and all they could do was watch as she withered away in front of them. Butterfly became very good at helping her little tottering moon old siblings away from the worst of it. Mama said she was a great big sister. At least, Butterfly thought so. She was very tired, distant, and in those days her words slurred together. Then, one day, she quietly slipped away and left them to pick up the pieces.

He got worse after that. Father, the awkward, sometimes distant parent he was, grew worse without the love of his life beside him. She still remembers the dawn she crept towards his nest, trying to wake him. The kits were hungry and needed food, and more than anything they needed their father.

She still remembers the way his face twisted as he spun to face her, the way his bellowed words left her trembling. The way his words hurt more than any claw or teeth ever could. And when it was safe, she would run. Run and run and run until she collapsed, hiding her face under her paws as she trembled and choked on her mewls of sadness. And when the little kitten, trembling, pulled her head out from behind her paws she got up and set to work. She would become the mother of the family, running around and dancing around the kittens as Butterfly fondly reprimanded them for their antics. And though her paws were clumsy at first, she charmed a nearby loner into teaching her how to hunt for herself.

She’d bring back scraggly mice to her squeaking, cheering younger siblings with a smile on her face. The mischief she had always loved was picked up by the adorable kittens Butterfly never could quite get mad at. Father was never off her mind. He grew worse, would shove into the family meals and she would always, stupidly, take the fall. Spit out the vilest thing she could when one of the kits slipped up, said something they shouldn’t, so his wrath, whether it was verbal or physical, could never touch her precious angels.

It changed her. The kits were a light in her life, but the nightmare she faced every day changed her. And one day, she would pick up her baby brother by the scruff and quietly try to lead them to safety. Away from him. It would have worked, if Moth hadn’t tumbled on the way at and woken the beast from its slumber. Father lost it. She had betrayed him, tried to leave him, just as her mother had. And if she wouldn’t live with him, then he decided she wouldn’t live at all.

Butterfly never wanted to remember. She never wanted to remember why she stumbled, half dead, from the pits of the den. She never wanted to remember why those scars hide beneath the fluff under her pelt. She never wanted to remember, so, she doesn’t. She’d pick up Moth by the little scruff of his neck and stagger unsteadily towards the little nook where she had hidden the kittens. Stumble until her vision went out and she hit the floor.
…
The same loner who had taught her nursed her back to health. Gruffly told the kittens off and pretended that the spark in his eyes wasn’t affection. When they got better, they’d spend a few days fondly bickering together with almost smiles and friendly jibes. Butterfly never had the same spark in her eye she used to- until she looked at the wide eyes of her baby sister and her heart swelled with pride. In the end, he would carefully carry Moth by the scruff of his neck with Lotus on his heels as they padded into the great unknown.

He would keep them safe. Away from their father. And Butterfly and Moth would find their place together, and perhaps someday, their paths would cross again.

The cruelty she had faced had turned something in her. The seeds of darkness had been planted in her heart. And so the battle begun, the light of her sister’s joy versus the darkness her father had begun.

It seemed the light was winning. As she watched her sister leap, giggling through the meadows so far from the place they once called home, chasing after a butterfly as Butterfly watched with a smile. Her sister was growing, but the joy and excitement and pure adoration she held for her big sister had begun to overpower the darkness in her soul. Each day brought more hope, more mischief, and maybe it wasn’t as harmless as it once was but she was fighting an uphill battle- and winning.

Until one day the light of her life was gone.

She was murdered. For what? To Butterfly, it didn’t matter.

So began the downward spiral into madness. The tumble into the giggling, chaotic mess with a burning desire in her heart to rip the life from the one who had torn her world apart. She stalked through the forest, lashing out anyone who dared to come to close. Her claws and teeth had been trained by the ones used on her. She knew what hurt, and she was going to find the cat who killed her baby sister.

But when she looked into the eyes of the kitten of the huntress who had killed her baby sister, all she could see were the same wide eyes and in that instant she hated the child who lived when her sister had not. So with a snarl and fighting every urge to kill the monster in front of her, she turned and stalked away. The nearby loners would be enough for the anger broiling under her green eyes for now.

Five moons later, she heard whispers that she had left her kit behind, and all she could do was curse herself for being so stupid. Her sister had never seen another butterfly, and the world would never see this one. She named herself Iris, in honor of the flower she had laid on the make-shift grave of her baby sister.

Deadly, but pretty, she supposed. She made a name for herself in whispers, hushed speak of the chaotic she-cat whose mischief went far beyond mere child’s play. And every hurt, every trauma, made her lose herself a little more, lock that small innocent kitten deep inside and try to rip her to shreds for the weakness and pain it had brought her.

Butterfly had been stupid. She had cared too much.

Iris would not make the same mistakes. She would never let a cat rip her apart the way those in Butterfly’s life had. She would be stronger- and maybe, in some twisted way, after all that she has faced she truly knows nothing but a life of pain.