He is lethality personified. He's deadly, he's cruel; he knows how to hold a smirk. Arseni's a street cat, and he's required to be all of those things, but he's so much more. He can kill, he can crush, he can wink at a queen and set her off in a fit of giggles. The tabby tom's never met a she-cat he can't tame, a tom he can't gut. And, well, if he has...he has a henchman to take care of that.
And then he sees her, gleaming like a coin under the street-lights, small and hunched and oh- Arseni likes shiny things. He can't help but strut closer, can't resist inviting her back to his nest. Calla has already been shunted to one side. He's tired of her. She's tiny, and boring, and vocalizes in squeaks.
But this sleek she-cat is more than he is. Deadlier, meaner, crazier- and it takes her claws in his throat to realize that. That he's been rendered to nothing.
