Rafaela Franzen

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• Vital Stats

  • Name: Rafaela Franzen
  • Gender: Female
  • Played by: Lyra_Lovett
  • Nicknames: Faye
  • Race: Lynx
  • Age: In her 20s
  • Height: 5' 4"
  • Hair: Teal
  • Eyes: Silver
  • Handedness: Right
  • Mannerisms: Observant

• Description

  Rafaela Franzen is a quiet soul on the exterior, but those who get to know her should be prepared to get their ear talked off. Versed in the art of theatre, some say she knows her way around prop weapons a little too well to be a mere director-choreographer. Most times she's clad in a black stretchy turtleneck-top and matching yoga pants. There seems to be more to this cat than she lets on, but if you catch her in the right mood she might even produce a magic trick or two from thin air for your viewing pleasure. [Whisper friendly]

• Biography

  Text excerpts that might give you a glimpse of Rafaela in her various elements.
  
  A low murmur echos and fills the empty theatre that had been silent moments before, mostly with grumblings that they had to report for the first day of rehearsals at such an early hour, for fight choreography, no less. The actors filled into the theatre, a varied bunch, but all as fit as they come.
  
  As their belongings are deposited haphazardly across the seats, they’d notice a lone figure standing on the stage, arms folded across the person’s chest. Nearing the stage, they’d make out a grey lynx, clad in black rehearsal attire glaring at them with cool silver eyes.
  
  The lynx was also clearly of the fairer sex.
  
  “You’re our fight choreographer?” One of the canines blurted out in disbelief. The rest looked slightly stunned, as there is silence for a moment before it is broken by stifled laugher.
  
  She looks on in silence for a moment before she raises one leg and kicks forward, toes scraping and catching on the bamboo pole she had been balancing on, sending her and the stick flying through the air. The lynx executes a neat flip before she lands atop one of the seats, one leg on the backrest, the other pulling the seat open and resting lower to keep her balance. The stick that vaulted through the air was caught in it’s arc towards the floor.
  
  Once again, there is a collective silence as the cast realises that she’s been standing in the orchestral pit all the while balancing on nothing but the end of a bamboo pole.
  
  “No need to be alarmed. We’re not going to be doing that as part of the show.”
  
  ---
  
  The canine flinches slightly as she corrects an actor’s stance with a gentle whap of the tip of the stick. Sure she wasn’t using much force, but her corrections always caught him by surprise. “Go take five, your whole body is quivering.” She’d mutter, lancing her stick to give him a poke in his back to send him on his way. She might be harsh at times, but she certainly wasn’t heartless.
  
  “Kane, I didn’t say you could go” she calls at the well-built tiger who’s walking off into the wings beyond the curtains. He whips around and snarls at her, prop dagger still in hand. She continues to look nonchalant, her steely gaze not entirely fierce, but still unnerving.
  
  “I want to spar with you. If I win, I get to take off early”, the tiger growls out. Clearly, he still wasn’t settled on the issue of her being a female yet. She observes his challenge coolly before sighing softly. “I accept, but I do say, you could have made things easier for yourself, we’ve only got on hour left to go anyway.” Tossing the pole away from her, she gestures to the tiger to come forth. The surprise on his face shows at her choice to discard her weapon as he leaps forward, swiping at her with the dagger, one easily avoided with a slight sideways bend and tilt of her head. The next lunge misses her as she vaults on one hand to her side. A flip backwards and the third slash sails through the air.
  
  This went on for about a dozen moves and the other actors have formed a loose circle around them, watching on in amazement before Kane snarls out, “Stop running away and fight me.” A forceful run and lunge towards her and the blade of the prop dagger flashing through the air. A simple lowering of her frame down and towards the side allows him to grab his wrist, pulling his arm over her head so that she was now on the inside of the arm still holding the blade. A twist of the hand causes him to release the blade, snatched from his opening palm and sank straight into his belly up to the hilt, her fingers wrapped firmly around the handle.
  
  He gasps for a moment, breath catching in his throat. She’s only a few inches away from his face and he’s looking down into her eyes, her still maintaining a quiet calm. A second later she pulls her hand away from him, the blade that had retracted into the handle sliding out once more. Kane remembers to breathe, taking in air in a choked gasp, along with the realisation of the fact that it was still only a prop weapon.
  
  Rafaela merely takes a step back and trots off to lay the dagger on a table offstage. “Everyone take five!” She calls over her shoulder, trotting off to get herself a drink. Just another day at the theatre.
  
  —————
  
  There is a rustle through the trees as a fox trots along a forest path. He looks well to do, a gold tooth gleaming in the moonlight as he smiles, hand grasping a small sack that was knotted at the mouth.
  
  Her nose twitches, her frame pressed up against the bark of a tree out of his sight. The scent coming from the sack informs her that this is indeed her man. Raising her right calf back, she retrieves from the holder under her pants leg a black dagger, blending into the darkness with the rest of her clothes. A few well placed footsteps later and she has a hand clamped about his muzzle, the sack of product having dropped to the ground.
  
  His hands dart up to try and pry her hand from his mouth, a muffled “Who the fuck are you” desperately screamed into her palm before his whole body goes still, hands still on her arm. Her right arm is around his waist now, the blade with it’s hilt against his stomach. A deft twist of the blade and a pull to the side and downwards again opens up the wound, the blade removed, wet this time. It’s been taken out swiftly enough that only a few drops of his blood decorate the fur on her hands. She seems surprisingly strong, his body thrashing in her grasp and pointlessly screaming into her hand. He even had tears running down his cheeks before he grows weaker, and eventually goes still.
  
  The lynx releases her grip on him as the lifeless body slumps to the ground, the blossom of blood staining the fabric of his clothes and pooling around him. Silent all this while, she cleans her blade on the sleeve of his coat and grabs the sack laying on the ground. This is stowed in the hollow of a nearby tree, where someone would collect it before dawn.
  
  Sheathing her clean dagger in the holder strapped to her right calf, she sets off through the thick of the forest in search of a stream to wash her hands in, eyes gleaming a fiery amber-gold and fading away to silver under the cover of the night.