COCAINE NOSE AND TRENDY CLOTHES — PRIVATE

chica strays away from the makeshift camp graveclan has dared to settle in, fighting back winter shivers as icy winds pierce her thin coat. hell, who's idea was it to move into the tundras? wolfgang's? she'll kick his ass. probably get exiled in the process but she'll be damned if her ban isn't for a good reason. "like knockin some fuckin sense into my friend." she raises her body temperature, feels a fire burn warmly in her tummy, and smoke pours through her nostrils and mouth as she treks through lacy sheets of snow, quietly griping over the cold.

chicagocrimes has never been one for change. she was initially against phantomclan merging with sylvanclan despite being one of the sanctuarys founders and later on, it's leader. she preferred the sanctuarys anti-clan habits, too, over the new ones that have been put in place. she has never liked change, preferring a stable and familiar foundation when it came to her home especially, but now that graveclans left it's marsh..

the large head of the lioness will swivel in his direction upon being addressed. shock doesn't arise as a stranger calls her by her pet name, and questions never surface either. chicagocrimes led the sanctuary for a long ass time, and she kicked up two wars during her reign; recognition is expected. lips tug back in a wicked, toothy grin, "yeah, not much of a fan..." not since she fell through the ice in the midst of winter and nearly drowned. "you?"