Velvety pelt streaked with silver like moth-wing veins, always immaculately groomed; a long, tapering tail tipped with a single black tuft. Moves with the easy, coiling grace of someone who spent youth on ship rigging and market roofs — a continuous, economical flow rather than sudden leaps. Their ears are pierced with mismatched rings, each ring a souvenir from a different port. They wear a net of fine chains across one shoulder from which tiny glass vials, stamped seals, and folded sigils hang like a mobile. Unexpectedly, their left forepaw has a bureaucrat's callus: a permanent ink stain and faint burn from years of sealing documents with hot wax, which contradicts their otherwise furtive, thrill-seeker aesthetic.