ref sheet done by the amazing artist, stigmata <3

PERSONALITY

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Scumbag
Street trash
Badass
Very postmodern
Has a great taste is music
Loud/obnoxious
Probably a hipster

STYLE

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Punk
Hipster
Subtle early cyberpunk
Retro-futurism
William Gibson
Neon

ATTRIBUTES

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Right Ear

• 2 parallel stainless steel bars Industrial Piercings

Fur

• dark blue, light blue, bluish grey

Spots

• dark blue

Hair

• light grey

Tail

• longer/thicker than your run-of-the-mill hyena; i like big tails :3
• has spots
• darker at the tip

Muzzle

• darker fur

INSPIRATION

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Absurdism

Reveling in the ridiculousness of life
Noise is this idea in music form
Genuinely happy in a bleak sort of way; laughs a lot (aka like a hyena)
"I think it's really tragic when people get serious about stuff. It's such an absurdity to take anything really seriously ... I make an honest attempt not to take anything seriously: I worked that attitude out about the time I was eighteen, I mean, what does it all mean when you get right down to it, what's the story here? Being alive is so weird." -- Frank Zappa

Trash as Art

“A bird painted not with beauty but with all the dirt and wounds collected in a long hard life, in battle, in love, with torn feathers and a busted leg and a chipped beak and one of its eyes half closed; and yet a bird of deeper loveliness for all of that.” -- Jeff Noon

Postmodernism

“I am the twentieth century. I am the ragtime and the tango; sans-serif, clean geometry. I am the virgin's-hair whip and the cunningly detailed shackles of decadent passion. I am every lonely railway station in every capital of Europe. I am the Street, the fanciless buildings of government. the cafe-dansant, the clockwork figure, the jazz saxophone, the tourist-lady's hairpiece, the fairy's rubber breasts, the travelling clock which always tells the wrong time and chimes in different keys. I am the dead palm tree, the Negro's dancing pumps, the dried fountain after tourist season. I am all the appurtenances of night." -- Thoman Pynchon

"You abscond silently into the darkness of a rain-soaked metropolis. Neon lights flicker desperately from above, casting formless projections all around. Smoke escapes from your cigarette and merges with ghostly steam sublimating from some burning world beneath the street. Alone you wander, embracing the solitude of advanced society and absorbing the vibes that result. You consider how your data is encoded in this concrete and steel machine, but become further distracted by the idea of how the data of this consideration is encoded in your own neuron and synapse machine. Eventually, the rain drowns your thoughts, leaving you brain dead and uncertain of your humanity. Can you feel anything?"