tGO Fennel Application

EDIT 1/12/2016 Fennel has since been updated! See her new application here!



If anyone has any comments, suggestions or corrections for me regarding this application, please tell me!
EDIT 9/9: Switched over to the new application base! Hopefully it looks alright.
Full view or download, please!

Special thanks to IcyReflections, who read through my history and gave me some great feedback. <3

I've been thinking about making an application for this group for some time now. At last, I've dug up the courage to do so!

Time spent: 5 1/2ish hours on the image; 3+ hours on the info


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{Name} Fennel Owens

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{Age} 3 years (young adult)

{Gender} Female (She-cat)

{Breed} Mixed - Tabby Maine Coon x Unknown

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{Chaw} Dabble

{Magic} None

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{Job} Cook

{Faction} None

{Home #} West Quarter; C7

{Schillings} 69 warriors-horse.deviantart.com/…

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{Personality} Kindly | Hard-working | Stubborn | Poetic | Rash
Kindly | Fennel is always ready to extend a helping paw - and is sometimes too kind for her own good. All young cats remind her of her little sister, whom she loved dearly; this often results in her freely giving out cookies or biscuits to any who are wise enough to look cute and beg.
Hard-working | This she-cat has been known to stay up until the waking hours of dawn if it means she can finish what she started. Fennel won't back down from an obstacle and will keep working no matter how hard the task.
Stubborn | Fennel has a deep sense of pride, and when it or her decision is put into question, her stubborn-as-a-mule side will show. Even if her side of the argument is hopeless, she will go down with flying colors.
Poetic | One side of Fennel that she keeps secretive is her poetic abilities, which she learned from her mother as a child. Given enough time to think, Fennel can spin a poem on almost any subject. She doesn't like to share them, which is why she writes them down into her book; cats that are close to her might get the rare treat of hearing her recite some of her works.
Rash | Fennel tends to dash into things without really thinking all the way through. As a young child, this landed her with a permanent burn on her foreleg and a hole in her ear... but apparently, she still hasn't learned the lesson of patience.

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{Talents} Poetry | Listening | Baking
Poetry | Fennel’s most close guarded secret is that she is also a poet. She writes in her book at any chance she gets, but seldom shows her works to anycat. Sometimes, if she’s feeling particularly good or if you manage to slip her a drink, she might even recite for you.
Listening | One thing that Fennel is especially good at is lending an ear. Her back door is always open (save when she sleeps, of course – then it’s locked tight!). Many a cat have come to her and spilled their feelings while she works, kneading dough and listening intently. She isn’t too good at offering words of comfort, but sometimes just listening is enough.
Baking | Fennel is an expert at baking - she's been learning since she could hold a spoon, and it's in her family. She learned from her parents, who owned the bakery before she did. Fennel is best at making sweet treats and breads, but it is rumored she makes a spectacular meat pie when she can get her paws on some game.

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{Items} Apron | Leather Bandage | Bow & Quiver | Bound Book of Poems
Apron | A ragged and stained apron that she wears at most times. She removes it if for whatever reason she needs to walk on four legs, so that it won't drag in the dust.
Leather Bandage | The only purpose of this is to hide her burn scars, which she is slightly self-conscious of.
Bow & Quiver | A crude, handmade weapon. The bow has a leather grip. The quiver was her older sister's, and was a parting gift. Fennel makes her own arrows, sharpening stones for the tips.
Bound Book of Poems | Now her most prized possession. This is where she writes all of her poetry. It is kept hidden well away from prying eyes.

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{History} Born into the kingdom of Gweillan, Fennel’s first and only interaction with the human realm was from a grassy hill overlooking it. It was mid-autumn and a dry breeze rustled the yellowed plant life around them, bringing with it the scent of leaf mold and a chilly hint of winter. Her father Cecil, a cook by trade, stood nearby, allowing his children to take in the sight of the civilization so much like their own. “Father,” Flax asked, “Can’t we go closer? It looks just like our village.” The burly tom placed his heavy paw on his son’s shoulder. “Aye, it looks like our home, but ‘tis far more dangerous,” he explained solemnly. “And if you two know what’s good for yeh, you’ll stay far away from it.”

That was the last of the human realm that Fennel saw, and she hasn’t gone back since. Pictures of the dawn-lit village still echoed in her mind after that day, but the humans were never anything of interest to her. Flax, on the other hand, spoke about it often, telling his twin sister of his plans to go there when he was older so that he could see just how dangerous it was.

Fennel had very few possessions that she could call her own: a worn and stained apron, her book, and a beautiful blue and silver hoop earring. The earring was her most prized possession, a first birthday gift given to her by her parents. She wore it everywhere, despite their warnings of thieves and thugs. Padding through the market one day, clinging to the paw of her elder sister Cornmeal, young Fennel spotted an unattended display stand exhibiting bulbous green fruits that she had never seen before. In the nature of a curious young toddler, she broke free of Cornmeal’s grasp and bundled over to admire the peculiar food. Suddenly from the shadows, a sneering tom grabbed her, covering her mouth to muffle her screeches and tearing at her ear in an attempt to snatch the earring. When the first slash failed, he spoke low into her bleeding ear, saying, “Take out your earring. Now!” Shaking with fear, she unclasped the earring and relinquished it to him, never to see the tom or her possession ever again.

Once old enough, Fennel and her twin brother Flax were trained to cook and bake by their parents. Fennel grew very close to her mother, Onion, who was a she-cat unafraid to speak her mind. There were no freeloading customers at Onion’s table – and many had welts from her rolling pin to prove it. Onion was also an admirer of the arts, and she encouraged her children to read and write as much as it was possible for a working-class family such as themselves to do. All in all, she was a big-spirited cat in a tiny cat’s body, an unfortunate characteristic that would one day lead to her demise.

The whole family was surprised to learn that Onion was pregnant again. To the children, it seemed to be a blissful turn of events to have another sibling on the way, but what they didn’t see was the troubled glances exchanged between Cecil and his wife. Both of the adults knew that Onion had a slim chance of making it through yet another birth. When it came time, her body was simply too exhausted and weak, and although the child survived, Onion did not.

Onion had died before naming her newest daughter, so Cecil decided to name her Thea. The distraught cook left the care of Thea in the paws of her three siblings, and he began to drink away his grief. Soon the trio not only minded Thea but also the whole shop. Fennel noticed her brother growing moody and withdrawn; often Flax would stay up late by lantern-light and mutter to himself as he wrote things down in his book. The close bond that they had once had was disappearing as quickly as her father’s drinking money. One night, Flax and his throwing knives could not be found, and the only trace left of him was a note ordering his sisters not to come searching. Fennel was angry and miserable with her twin gone, and he haunted her dreams like a ghost. Even Cornmeal made daily trips out. At first Fennel thought that her elder sister was going to market, but months later, Cornmeal informed them that she was moving out, to be wedded to a soldier. The tom had plenty of schillings, and could easily support another mouth or two. Fennel was shocked when her sister added that she was taking Thea with as well.

“It will be easier this way,” she told Fennel. “I couldn’t leave you to care for Thea and father both.” Knowing there was reason in Cornmeal’s words, she bid a sorrowful good-bye and slowly, painfully, set back to work.

Weeks later, in a drunken fit, Cecil accused Fennel of not being able to bake properly. In a slurred, intoxicated voice that his daughter had come to know well, he yelled that she was the sole reason their money was dwindling. Fennel was furious. Slamming the door of his room, she marched down to the ovens to prove him wrong. She had been working since sunrise the previous morning, but her determination outweighed her exhaustion. She’d bake enough bread to fill the whole shop! That would show her old fool of a father.

Fennel worked through the night, but as the moon was going down, she began to doze on the spot, completely exhausted. It was only until she felt a searing pain in her arm that she snapped awake, an acrid smell filling her nostrils. Sitting too close to the embers, Fennel’s arm had caught fire! Getting past the shock in an instant, she let out a scream and plunged her limb into the rank dishwater. Though the flames were put out, the fur never grew back, and Fennel bears the burn on her arm to this day. She wears a leather bandage over it, as she is still ashamed of the incident and doesn’t wish to tell the tale to every curious customer.

Not long after the burn incident, her father was on his deathbed. Sober for the first time in months, he apologized to Fennel with tears blossoming in his dying eyes. He told her that since she was the only one brave enough to stay with him in his unsavory state, she was to inherit the shop from him.

Fennel has owned and worked the shop since then.


{Family}
Father | Cecil | Deceased
Mother | Onion | Deceased
Twin Brother | Flax | Status Unknown
Older Sister | Cornmeal | Status Unknown
Younger Sister | Thea | Status Unknown

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{Additional Info}
· She is quite uncomfortable with open fires – not enough to quit her job, but she tends to be extra careful around it.
· Fennel grows most of the herbs that she uses in her breads and bakery items.
· Occasionally she has ‘ghost pains’ in her burn arm; often she will wake in the middle of the night, feeling as if it is on fire again.
· Her name is as such because of an old family tradition passed down from her mother's side, which is that the children are to be named after the breads baked on the day they were born; ergo the names Cornmeal, Fennel and Flax.
· She is a great shot with her bow, but even so, doesn't like to hunt. She prefers to pay someone else to do it for her.

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{Relationships}

CHECK OUT HER RELATIONSHIP CHART HERE.

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{Roleplay Sample} Stroking her paw along the underside of her worn, almost threadbare quilt, Fennel burrowed deeper into the security and warmth of sleep. Watery dawn sunlight streamed through the windowpanes, as if to remind her that she was neglecting her duties downstairs; distant clinking and thuds hinted that Cornmeal was already at work on the day’s bread. A loud shattering caused her ears to prick and yellow eyes to open. Guilt, habit and curiosity combined heaved her up, and she rubbed at her eyes before flinging off her blanket and trodding down the creaky wooden ladder to the makeshift living/dining room. When she entered the kitchen, she was greeted with a sight she had not expected: Cornmeal was doubled over, perched on a kitchen chair and holding a piece of parchment in her paw. Her body shuddered with sobs. “Cornmeal,” she asked shakily, “What’s the matter?” The young she-cat stepped over the shards of what used to be a serving plate; it appeared Cornmeal had thrown it at the wall on purpose. “Cornmeal, are you alright?”
“He’s gone!” The yellow she-cat looked up at Fennel, waving the parchment at her in distress. “Flax. He’s left us for good, Fen. He’s not coming back!”

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Art, Character, and Story is (c) to myself.
Original design adopted from Allizia
The-Grimalkin-Oath (c) KellzFire