[Characters] Player Dossiers

[Eddas]

Here is where you can post your character application. Remember to secret anything you dont want the other players seeing.
You can edit your posts to update them as the game progresses, but please 1 post each to keep it clean.

[Blackfyre]

Arcturus Name/Primary Alias: Hugh Carter / Arcturus Metatype: Elf Archetype: (Mystic) Adept (Face) Description and personality: Tall, dark and handsome. A simple way to describe Arcturus, though given his elven blood maybe not a surprising one. His lean frame and graceful movements suggest a certain level of athleticism, despite it being unlikely that anyone would ever be intimidated by his stature. That effect, if he were to aim for it, would be something to achieve through other means: posture, mannerisms, self-assurance, words. And usually that would be enough. Of course, he's not above "cheating" with magic, if that is really what it could be called. The black-haired elf is fast approaching his middle-years and some lines have started to carve their path across his face. As of yet, there is no grey in his hair, though it is unlikely anyone would know if there were. Rather particular about his looks, he would likely dye the offending strands. His vibrant green eyes are usually matched by some green in his attire, though it is only ever an accessory or highlight, never the clothing's main color. As long as a job does not demand differently, he likes to pick elegant and well made get-ups, with most of them including a coat. Of course, such trappings of elegance require money and while he hasn't lost his abilities or skills, the casual and jovial self-assurance of the elf has been joined by a bitter streak that he does not always manage or intend to hide. Where he had been proud of his job, he now does what he has to, to make ends meet and at least attempt to sustain his former lifestyle. As a result, there is no passion any more in his actions, only cold efficiency. Background: Shhh! It's a secret, chummer! RP Sample: Hugh had finally tracked Rory down to his favorite bar. The Crusher looked decidedly like one an elf should rather avoid and he had shown up early enough that he could approach the troll when he arrived outside. Hat and high-collar helped to obscure his face from the casual observer, though he couldn't use all his options, or he was sure Rory would most certainly not recognize him. Hugh wasn't even so sure if the man's mental capacity would suffice to remember him even like this. He didn't have other choices, though. "Good evening, Rory. It's been a while." His voice was that of a man entirely sure of himself. No shred of the doubt and fear inside him could be heard, though the Irish accent was clearly there. The huge troll stopped dead in his tracks and before he could react Hugh found himself shoved against the nearby wall, one huge hand pressed against his torso, keeping him suspended a good half meter above the ground, while Rory's face came down level with his own. "What d'ya say, skinny?" he growled low and dangerous. "I merely wished you a good evening, Rory," he pressed out. The trouble to breathe urged him to go for his gun and throw any chance away this meeting held for the future. Not that he thought that the chances to do meaningful damage were high in the first place. "How d'you know that..." Hugh supposed that "name" was the word swallowed by late dawning recognition, followed by barely constrained anger. "If you're here t' finish the job, you're really botchin' it, skinny." This was it. The one chance he had to make this count. And still he couldn't just let the implied insult to his honor go. "I gave you my word, right? Never dare imply I'm not good for it!" The heated words did not help in any way to alleviate the mounting pressure on his chest that made his breathing more and more difficult. "The question is: are you good for yours?" I owe you! was the last Rory had said to Hugh back when they parted ways. And he sure did. If only he would agree. Black shadows were already creeping in on Hugh's vision by the time the troll finally made up his mind. He grunted and said: "It's Strand now." Abruptly the pressure on his chest went away and the elf found himself on his knees, gasping for air. "Such a pleasure." What kinds of runs interest you / your character: Whatever pays the bills and has an acceptable risk/reward ratio. Rumors He has strong ties to organized crime. The elf is a racist against anyone not of elven blood. He’s a wanted man with a price on his head. He has no scruples.

[AnotherDragoon]

Runner Dossier Name: Varg "Blitz" aka: Dash aka: Vicious V Metatype: Ork Arctype: Melee Adept (Athlete's Way) Description: Varg is big. Just shy of 2 meters and weighing 118 kg of pure muscle. He's a natural athlete though built more like a WWE champ than an American football player. His dark hair is kept short and more often than not a goofy smile can be found on his face. Piercing green eyes accentuate his smooth face and gleaming tusks. He typically dresses in whatever he can find at the second-hand store that fits. Personality: In two words: Highly Competitive. Varg is an unabashed adrenaline junkie who loves to show off and has a flair for the dramatic. Always gregarious and quick to laugh it can be hard to tell when he's being serious (Protip: It's pretty much never). He's far from the hulking brute stereotype usually associated with his kind. Sure, he's big and can snap some limbs if needed but really he's just looking for a good time. Backstory: The Barrens. Slum. The Stacks. Whatever you called Redmond its been Varg's home for the 25 years he's been alive. Pops bounced before he even remembers and his Ma said he's probably dead, least she hoped so anyway. They moved around a lot. Life comes at you fast in the ghettos of the Sprawl, you learn to be faster. Varg's awakening came when he was just 10 years old. He's nicked a couple of nukaritos from the Stuffer on the outskirts of the barrens and the clerk must've been having a bad day, or just had a thing for trogs, because he jumped the counter and gave chase with a bat. He remembered his heart hammering so hard he thought it would burst out of his chest and then everything went slow-mo. Everything except him. Young Varg easily dodged some cars, ducked down an alley, and ran up a wall laughing like a maniac before the clerk could even yell for the Star. This ork has been chasing that rush ever since. He made a name for himself as the fastest kind in Redmond as a courier called Dash. He would smuggle information and other things tat the local crooks didn't trust to the normal channels. During this time he started actually making some cred and passing it on to his mom. The plan was to get them a decent place, somewhere more permanent than couch surfing and squatting. Turned out she'd been blowing it on bliss and novacoke, Varg found out after she disappeared and he started asking around. So there he was 13, on his own, and too fast to think about tomorrow. At 16, Dash met an old oni adept who called himself Akuma. He delivered a few things to and from the oni who took a liking to the young ork. Akuma took Varg under his wing and started showing him how to harness and control his abilities. He also taught the young adept about the ways and schooled him in kenjutsu, the ancient art of the sword. Varg didn't take all the bushido stuff to heart but loved hearing the stories. Akuma became like aa father to Varg as they lived together for four years. The oni rarely talked about his past but it was clear he was hiding from it. From the small amounts that would slip out after sake Varg pieced together that Akuma used to be a runner and was the sole survivor of a double-cross possibly involving Renraku. One morning he woke to find his mentor gone, only a note and katana left behind. Alone again. But Varg was too fast for that to get him down. He joined up with the Seattle Screamers to find his fortune and fame in urban brawl. Maybe even find a way out of the Barrens. But, life comes at you fast in the sprawl. Five years later he's off the team. Something about being "Too reckless even for these psychos"... RP Sample:   A baby bird leaves the nest "Then I said 'Catch ya on the flipside' and did a backflip off the roof! You shoulda seen his face!" Varg spoke the last five words between fits of loud laughter that echoed across the old converted basement bunker they called home. Thwak! The flat of Akuma's blade rang out as it connected with the side of the younger ork's head. "Self-control is the eighth virtue of Bushido, you must learn to regulate your emotions and impulses." The oni flatly stated in his cool calm manner. "Frag me! You could warn me next time." Varg lamented as he rubbed the left side of his face, a red mark forming on it already. Thwak! Quick as lightning the sword connected to the other side. "I suppose your opponents will warn you before attacking?" Akuma asked with a voice like a raven gargling with gravel. "Ow! Damnit, I get it!" Varg shook his head to clear the ringing and blinked a few times. He put on half of his trademarked smile No need to push my luck "Chip truth, I think you enjoy that a bit too much. What do the virtues say about that?" Akuma chuckled low and rumbly. "Take your bokken and let us go over the stances again." The clack-clack! of Varg's wooden sword sounded for hours as he tried to land a hit on his master and failed. The oni moved like he had six arms and telepathy. After sake and rice, Varg fell into a deep sleep. He woke to find a folded note under a katana where Akuma normally sat for tea. ~ V- I have gone to take back my honor. It is time for you to find yours. -A The ork walked out into the early morning haze of smog and drizzle. He was greeted by the sound of three shots ringing out from less than a block away. Varg's adrenaline kicked in and he was wide awake when two more answered back from a few buildings down. A big human ran down the street with a large fluorescent rubber ball tucked under his arm. An ork came bounding over a derelict car with a heavy pistol. "Where the frag did you come from? They said they cleared the area last night!" He turned and fired back over the roof of the car. "I live here. Hey, wait a minute. Is this urban brawl chummer?" Varg asked the other ork, aa smile spreading across his face as his heart started thumping double time. "Of course it is! You trying to get geeked? Do it somewhere else drek head, I ain't losing points because of you!" Varg started laughing there in the street as he drew his sword "No, I'm trying to feel alive!" He jumped over the car and took off running in the direction he heard the gunshots coming from still laughing like a madman. Rumors: He's constantly on stims He was kicked out of urban brawl for throwing games He quit urban brawl because the Vory wanted him to kill a teammate and now they're pissed He goes out of his way to put himself in dangerous scenarios What kinds of runs interest you / your character: I like the idea of mirrorshades in and mohawk out. I'm new to the system as well so published runs are new to me too. Stealing from or generally sticking it to Big Corps is always good. Varg will tend to be more pink mohawk about things and look for dangerous runs. Anything to get that rush of adrenaline.

[SalmonMax]

Character Name: Death Otter
Metatype: Human
Archtype: Technomancer
Physical Description: Skinny, almost scrawny, human metatype young woman with bright colored, unkempt hair and wild eyes.

Personality: Otter typically behaves as someone who has their filters stuck in the 'off' position, saying or doing whatever she feels like in the moment. This is to some extent artifice, as she's capable of restraint in pursuit of a larger goal, but she loves obfuscating the 'signal' of her real motivations with copious 'noise' of impulsive and whimsical misbehavior.

Backstory:
Death Otter's debut was about three years ago, and she was clearly raw green when it came shadowrunning. She made some rookie mistakes, but managed to keep her head intact long enough to learn from them. In '73 she was on a run that went bad and for awhile it looked like she might have been killed on it like most of the rest of the team. Several months later however, Otter reappeared on the scene, sporting a new look and some shiny new gear...and hungry for jobs. This tendency Death Otter has to 'reinvent' herself has some wondering if this is the first time she's pulled this trick...even as a 'newbie' she had serious Matrix skills, the kind you don't pick up in school or at a desk. Of course, as a technomancer, those skills could well come with the package. Of her life before the shadows, very little is known. New or not, she's managed to keep her past obscured. In the end, the reality is that she's still too small a name for anyone influential to care much. For now.

RP Sample:

 

Death Otter doesn't realize it in time, but she's made a mistake. Somewhere in her code she forgot a semicolon or else put a 1 where she should have put a 0. The icon of the train's lighting control is suddenly glowing red-hot and shaking in her claws. A blast like a train whistle makes her release it and she knows immediately that she's in danger.

"Here! It's in here!" From two cars down there's a flash and a voice calling out in alarm. The icon of a nondescript man wearing a Transit Authority uniform can be seen through the 'windows,' directing the beam of his flashlight at Otter. No matter how she moves, that beam remains locked onto her. A mark.

The host knows she's here.

A choice profanity utters from Death Otter's avatar, and she scrapes a circle in the floor of the train car.

"Crack Horror, get over here!" Death Otter shouts. "Mama's got work to do!"

Concentrating on that circle, she begins to snatch at random bits of code, tugging at the 'fabric' of the Matrix itself. The illusion of the train car warps and distorts, revealing its true nature before rubberbanding back to its artificial appearance. Something begins to form in the circle. A hunched figure, swathed in a cape or cloak or something. What lurks inside is shadowed, but has a disturbing silhouette and exudes an aura of menace.

The patrol IC is wide-eyed when he sees the crack sprite materialize. He takes a step back, though the light never wavers from Death Otter.

The technomancer chuckles wickedly at the Patrol IC's response. Agent software never took input from outside their parameters very well, and IC were basically just very specialized agents.

She gestured at the Crack Horror and said, "Run silent and lock this system down. Freak the normals!"

The sprite rose up from its hunched posture, showing a silhouette that was considerably taller and more emaciated than it appeared to be at first. Its tattered wrappings moved restlessly, as if it was in a strong wind, or underwater...then began burrowing into the floor and walls of the 'train car' of the host. From those spots, corruption spread. Pools of blackness, with fitful flashes of 1's and 0's and random flickers of images constantly changing deep within. Shadows converged over the sprite as well, and its existence became ephemeral...ghostly.

The Matrix was wrong here, and the disembodied presence of the Host hesitated at it. Had it launched the IC already? Was everything all right? It needed more data, but the data coming from that area was not easily interpreted. Doggedly it repeated the launching of its intrusion countermeasures...and just as quickly lost track of the process again.

This would continue for some time, while the Horror worked her wicked will.

With any luck it would take the spider on call a bit longer to jack in. But Death Otter wasn't trusting luck today. Not anymore.

"ARE YOU READY FOR SOME FUTBOL!" she shouted...and a massive presence began to manifest behind her. Barrel-chested, with long gorilla-like arms and ludicrously stubby legs. Clad in shiny greenish, high tech armor, with a face devoid of any features except a pair of glowing, perpetually angry eyes.

One of the sliding doors near the back of Death Otter's car opens and an icon steps through. He's in heavy riot gear with a ballistic vest and combat helmet - all of it black. He lifts his shotgun, ready to put a slug into Otter, when the crack sprite's corruption surges up his feet and legs. He stumbles and fires wide, shattering a plastic window behind Otter. "What the hell!" The corrupted code coats his body, locking him down. When he screams it sounds like the wail of an old-time dial up modem.

Black IC. This is the heavy stuff, the stuff that can kill someone through biofeedback. Not just nuke your Matrix persona - your actual meatbag. A little surprising a subway transit host would have that, but the possible use of a hijacked subway train in a terrorist attack has likely made IC of this kind standard. Otter's very glad she kept Crack Horror's number on file.

Death Otter glances at the displays she'd summoned around herself, including the feed from her team's gun cameras. Things didn't look particularly good. Stealth suit or not, if the car got rushed she'd be in danger. But Black IC meant this host's security response was jacked up too. Unless their spider was a slacker, he'd be in any time...and letting him take the initiative would be very dangerous indeed. If he could link-lock her, this whole op became very VERY messy.

"You guys are gonna hafta hold just a biiiiiiiit longer," she muttered to the meatworld team, then whirled to fix FUTBOL with her gimlet gaze. "Alright, ten HUT!"

The sprite hunched down, and its blazing eyes narrowed. Its skin was grey and leathery and kind of...corrugated, like a rhino's, under the armor.

"Here's the play. Wait here, until a new persona shows up, then KILL IT and anything else I point at! Target priority is my designation, then target threat level, then anything you want." She patted its cheek, and it rumbled angrily. "HIKE!"

The IC suppressed, the spider trap set, Otter could finally turn her attention back to the actual TASK at HAND.

Saving their collective butts.

A quick glance at the gun camera feeds showed the meat-baddies still one car away. Right. She grabbed the icon for the team's car's coupling mechanism and augered her personas claws into it, and tried her trick again...commanding it in the system host's 'voice' to unlatch the connection between cars all the cars, both ahead and behind. Where they'd be going, they didn't want to take anyone else.

Through the team's cameras Otter watched the fracas devolve. A pitched gun battle between train cars, as commuters shrieked and took cover, or more presciently, fled the car entirely. Then the mage got crazy and summoned a frakking fire spirit right in the middle of the car, setting the upholstery alight! And THEN the spoofed order took hold, and the car with the gunmen...decoupled from theirs.

She laughed in spite of herself at the spectacle. Dear god, this run was so frakked up right now! It was cosmic, and would make a hell of a story if any of them survived. She didn't thiiiiiink fire would spread between cars, but there wasn't really time to work out those details.

The flick of her cyberpaws brought up the speed controls again and she cloaked her MatrixID with the aegis of the host once again, instructing the cars behind the runners to start slowing down.

It was a little tricky. She wanted them to be an obstacle for the pursuers, but didn't want there to be a giant trainwreck in the tunnels. If a train left the station traveling at roughtly EIGHTY KAJILLION miles per hour, and hit another train that had STOPPED and was full of COMMUTERS, how much salsa would you get? Lots. Lots and lots.

She'd always hated word problems.

Well...it wasn't rocket science. Time to 'best guess' it.

Back in meatspace the runners heard the shrill squeal of brakes, and the cars with the train security team began to recede, as well as the cars behind it. As it exceeded the mage's range, the fire spirit exploded memorably, but there was no way to assess the damage, it was already too far back.

Meanwhile, Otter caught sight of the frozen Black IC icon again. Man...ticktockticktock...she glanced at the display she'd created that showed the system response rate. She was doing pretty well, all told. Ahead of schedule. That made her nervous.

So, just three major bits left to do. Jam the sensors, turn the car, and slow it down to arrive at a station. And jack out, of course. She had roughly enough time to do it all twice over. And so far, no spider to interfere with things. It was seriously messing with her paranoia. What had she missed? Sure, it hadn't been all ponies and rainbows...that botched hack that let the system finger her early had really forced things along.

Gift horse. Mouth. Looking. Get the job done.

The train car had its own little dedicated sensor array and controlling processor. It handled everything from the little contact sensors in the couplers that told it when it was or wasn't connected to a car, to the SIN monitors in the doors...to the GPS uplinks that let the Big Momma host way over in central control know where each car was at any given moment. And those suckers had to go, or else Knight Errant's response time would be considerably shortened when they stopped. Without that feed, they'd have to check each station's feeds individually to see if it had come through. They could narrow the search based on where they were when they went black, but...every second counted when making a getaway.

Quick doublecheck. Crack sprite hidden and crudding up the system, delaying the IC response. FUTBOL huffing and glaring around, waiting to eat some spider stew. GOD on His throne, and all well with the world.

System diagnostics required, the 'host' informed the sensor processors through the vessel of Death Otter, shut down all feeds and begin self-tests.

As the train car's sensors shut down, another IC icon burst in and was immediately enmeshed in Crack Horror's...well, horror. A quick scan told Death Otter everything she needed to know. Tar Baby. Ugh. Where was the worst place to be link locked to? A host with angry killer IC. And the sprite's suppression wouldn't last much longer!

She turned her attention to the tracks and called up a route map. She needed to direct the car to switch tracks; get off the line they were on now.

Death took a deep digital breath and sent a spoofed command to the car's engine controller, telling it to bring its speed down in anticipation of the upcoming turn.

Once again, the train's controller listened, mistaking her voice for the host itself. One more thing to take care of then.

"Hey, Crack Horror," Death Otter said. She felt rather than saw the hidden sprite glance slightly towards her, acknowledging her.

"Once the host breaks your suppression, keep running silently and slow down the first two cars that used to be hooked up to the train here. Then take control of this car's speed controls. Don't let anything change them. Once this car's stopped and we've gotten off, you can head on home."

And...now that the WORK was done...maybe there was time for some fun.

She paged through the icon index quickly, and paused over one. Ah yes. The recordings made by the internal cameras. The train company and Knight Errant would DEFINITELY be interested in finding these.

Death Otter grinned.

It was just a shame she wouldn't be around to see it when they did.

Her icon's digital claws pierced into the file, and red-tinged malware surged through them into it. The kind of virus that wouldn't just destroy the file when it was accessed, but would release enough bad Matrix-mojo to fry someone's deck along with it. The file rippled, swelled...then returned to normal. It was now a final double-middle-finger when the investigation was conducted.

Her traps laid, her orders given, it was time to boogie. She glanced at her orbiting displays and her mouth fell open in dismay.

Well just LOOK at the time!

She was going to have to jump out of the Matrix like the hero of an action-trid...sailing out a window as the building exploded behind her! And she wouldn't have it any other way.

Death Otter broke into a full sprint as the Crack Horror's corruption started to recede. The system Host reasserted its authority over this demesne, but too late...too late. She ran straight at the wall of the train car, wincing and laughing as the Black IC and Tar Baby started to unfreeze behind her. A few more steps, and she was singing as she ran.

Is this the real life? Is this just fantasy? Caught in a landslide, no escape from reality...

She hit the wall.

The Black IC awakened and lurched around, its ridicu-huge digital weapon coming to bear.

The wall exploded, and she crashed through it. Out of the system, into the world.

Dear god it hurt. But it hurt so good.

Rumors:
- "Two words. Fragging nutz. Best thing to do is hire her, wait for the job to get done, pay her and never ask how it went down. In fact, just avoid talking to her at all."

- "Maybe crazy, maybe not, but I heard she took down the whole Mitsuhama grid with some kind of wild DDOS sprite swarm. Why? I don't even know if she knows."

- "So a run went bad and, without pay, she has to take a dive and cool off...then comes back with a suitcase full of shiny new gear? Yeah. A loot fairy didn't put that stuff under her pillow, choomba. She owes someone big."

- "When 'death otter' joins a run, God flips a coin. If it comes up heads you get some kind of ex-black ops ninja hacker whirlwind. If it comes up tails you get a freaking useless giggling trainwreck that'll blow a whole run just to spite your Mr Johnson. Do you feel lucky?"

What kinds of runs interest you / your character:
Death Otter loves 'corp on corp' ops, or even just 'whoever on corp.' She relishes jobs that let her humble the mighty, jam the cogs of polite society and industry, and ideally get paid to do so. Her 'dream job' would be something out of the old show Leverage, where ordinary schlubs that had been wronged by people the law can't touch hire her to exact poetic justice that also nets a fat payout.

[Tahril]

Application for Adora Character Name: Sofia "Adora" Valentia Metatype: Elf Archtype: Mage (Summoning, Spellcasting, Dispelling), off face Physical Description: Personality: Adora is a young and slim Elf that has left the chains of Aztechnology behind to indulge in the freedom and liberty that unrestrained magical use can bring. She was raised in an environment of socialites and high ranking officials and, despite her rebellious nature, still tries to maintain her sense of fashion and appearances. The Adversary took her under their guidance at a very young age and has been instilling rebellious thoughts and hatred of authority figures in her for years. She now has deep authority issues and will only follow orders if they go against a larger source of authority or otherwise align with her wishes. Despite her looks and fashion sense, Adora is sometimes prone to bouts of cruelty. Adora can be manipulative and spiteful, but she believes her actions are justified as long as her cruelty is directed by the Adversary against the forces or order and oppression. She enjoys using her magic to control people and forcing them to do her bidding and serve the Adversary. A follower of the Aztec magical tradition, Adora believes that the Adversary is her animal twin, and acts to incorporate them into her spirits and her spells. She seeks to help the downtrodden and oppressed, seeing them as much like herself before she was free, She often espouses the benefits of the freedom she enjoys and hopes to convince others and bring more people under the sway of the Adversary. Backstory:   Born in Aztlan to a well respected mage family of Aztechnology, Sofia was essentially minor Aztechnology royalty. Raised in an almost aristocratic culture of high class Aztechnology society and corporate politicking, Adora learned quickly the value and importance of appearances, She was quite young when she first initiated. Her parents were delighted when they found out their only daughter was magically capable. Sofia was given all manner of magical instruction that Aztechnology is famous for. While she relished using her magic to turn invisible and set targets alight, she did not enjoy being monitored and controlled, or being told what spells she could and could not cast. As she grew older, she became harder and harder to control. She cast spells at much higher force levels than she was authorized to and the nature of her magic became far darker in nature. Her spirits went from tall proud Aztec warriors to bloodthirsty berserkers. Punishing her for these actions only made her act out more. Her disobedience was no adolescent phase, for the Adversary had taken a liking to her magical powers and rebellious nature and had been whispering in her ear for years. He told her of her great potential, her powerful abilities, the things she could accomplish...if only she wasn't bound by corporate law and regulation. While she wanted to escape the restricting bonds of her corporate life, she was unsure how. The world of Aztechnology was all she knew. While she pondered how to do so, she got her opportunity when a Shadowrunner team crossed her path. Their job was to extract her father, their employer or their reasoning were unknown to her. What she did know though was that this was her chance to escape. The runners, though skilled, made some errors in their timing and forced their way into Sofias family home when she was the only one there. They had to retreat if they wanted to survive but Aztechnology security was in close pursuit. It was at this point Sofia took a gamble and left the panic room she had been advised by the house AI to enter as soon as the Shadowrunners were detected. She approached them with her hands raised. She offered to get them out alive if they took her with them. Neck deep is Aztechnology territory and no other options being presented to them, they agreed. Sofia used her knowledge of the local security and layout to lead the runners to safety but found their final exit blocked. The runners and Aztechnology security exchanged gunfire and she realized this was her chance to be free. Finally, a chance to let loose all the power she had at her disposal. She unleashed a powerful lightning ball towards the security forces, not quite knocking them out but blasting them with enough force to disorient them while the other runners gunned them down, She had proved herself to the Shadowrunners, and was now able to escape the suffocating bonds of Aztechnology. With the fresh taste of freedom on her lips, Sofia had no intention of returning to Aztechnology but knew that the Megacorp would not simply let her go. The Shadowrunners were kind enough to help her get set up with the basics, a token of thanks for saving their lives. They helped burn her SIN after she withdrew as much Nuyen as she could and pointed her in the direction of several options to get out of Aztlan. The next few months after the run were a blur of running, hiding, and fighting. Aztechnology security knew she had escaped alive and were given a high priority capture or kill order. Someone of Sofias magical prowess, not to mention knowledge of the inner workings of the Megacorp was not something that could be written off. Running out of places to hide, Sofia was surprised to be approached by the infamous David Cartel, offering her protection and passage out of Aztlan, for a nominal fee of course. Hoping to finally be able to enjoy the freedom she left her whole life behind for, she agreed. The Cartel had ulterior motives for their uncharacteristic charity though. Unbeknownst to Sofia, her father had been keeping track of the hunt for her. He was still convinced this was just her acting out, and she could be rehabilitated, but he could not undo the capture or kill order from Aztechnology. Pulling stings and calling in favors, as well as working in the margins of Aztechnology law, he convinced the David Cartel to take her in and keep her safe, hoping that the fallout from her escape would eventually simmer down and he could take her back into the fold in time. The Cartel agreed to help, for a significant Nuyen advance (along with the money they secured from Sofia herself). Unable to stay in Aztlan, Sofia was then smuggled to Seattle, a city she had no knowledge of. Sofia, now going by the street name "Adora", runs the shadows, as well as working for the Cartel, She works against any corporations that would oppress their employees and citizens, not allowing them to flourish in the freedom and power that Adora now enjoys to its fullest. RP Sample:   The poor Troll lay limp, unconscious in his chair. His hands and feet were bound and a thin trickle of blood was running from his nose and one ear. A large flaming serpent with blazing blue fire for eyes sat coiled at Adoras feet as she pulled her hands away from the Trolls head and turned to face the David Cartel goons and the boss. "That's all the information you'll get from him. Bastard was just trying to sound cool in front of his friends, he didn't even know the Cartel actually operated in Seattle" She let out an annoyed sigh, the serpent at her feet hissing in frustration as it mimicked her emotional state. Mind Probing people for the David cartel was nothing new to her but she didn't like having her time wasted by braggarts, especially when she had called on one of her spirits to help. The short well dressed Aztlan man shared her annoyed sigh and turned to his much taller and stronger men behind him. "Alright then, clean that Drek up. 15 minutes and we're out of here." He then turned back to Adora, annoyance still in his tone. "You know, if you started with the mind probe before leading with that Agony Bulldrek we could have been done here by now." Adora was used to being chastised for her magical methods. She heard it from her father, from her mother, from Aztechnology wage mages. But hearing it from Cartel Mundies was a particularly insulting barb. "Listen Omae, I don’t tell you how to sling Beetles so don’t tell me how to sling magic!" Her serpent reared picked up on the irritation and agitation in her words and reared up, exposing its fangs dripping with molten metal as it hissed at those opposite her. The goons moving to deal with the body reared back and moved to draw their guns before their boss made a strong silent hand gesture to back down. Adora turned to Chantico, her spirit of fire, always so loyal and protective. She reached a reassuring hand and calming astral presence out to her, not being burned by the flames that scorched the ground near her. With a few fluid gestures, she allowed the spirit to leave, its assistance no longer needed. The other Cartel members stared daggers at her and she knew her best bet now was to leave as well. She then stormed off in a huff, leaving the others to clean up the mess she had made. As she rode the subway back to her home, she wondered if perhaps she had overdone it with the agony. But just as this thought entered her mind, she felt a warm smoothness begin to wrap her thoughts....of course....he deserved it...he was Lone Star...he was....Authority.... Her animal twin was comforting her, her mentor spirit that had never steered her wrong. They were always with her, and she always welcomed their presence. Her mentor’s presence also helped to calm her raging nausea that Seattle public transport always wrecked on her stomach, and she was all too happy to get home and relax. She had barely sat down though when her commlink chimed. It was her fixer… Rumors: Magic girl from Aztlan shows up here, no story and no SIN? You just know blood magic was involved… Im telling you! Ive seen Aztec spirits before, what she summons are no Aztec spirits…. I have it on good authority that that Aztlan mage is starting to turn toxic.... Word is, that chick gets off on throwing agony spells at people and seeing them writhe in agony at her feet... What kinds of runs interest you / your character: Sofia despises authority and so loves running against the AAA corps and their servants as well as law enforcement. Anything to take the man down a peg!

[Alyfox]

.

 

Consider it to be somewhat stylized, as she obviously wouldn't look exactly like an anime character. When I first saw it I just knew I had to use it for her, though <3

Character Name: Taylor Elisabeth Harukana, aka 'Wraith'
Metatype: Elf, mixed ancestry, changeling?
Archetype: Infiltration (not-Social), Scout, sniper

Physical Description:

 

At 165cm Wraith is short for an elven woman in the 2070s, long-legged and nimble; she appears to be of mixed heritage - likely something European-descended North American and something east Asian, by the shape of her eyes especially and mild accent. As an elf Wraith is by default pretty, though she does not usually seem inclined to put much effort into 'looking good', as if not particularly caring; the young woman does pay attention to good hygiene however, and also appears to care a great deal about maintaining her health. Wraith does bare a few blemishes that she doesn't bother to hide, such as a notched left ear, several thin scars on her forearms, and a similar scar cutting at an angle through her right eyebrow.

Typically Wraith wears her white hair long, almost to her waist, and lose unless 'at work', for which she will pull it back into a ponytail or braid it. The young woman's eyes are a crystal-clear amethyst hued, while her skin tone is pale despite her heritage. There is an odd sigil/rune-like symbol tattooed on the inside of her left forearm, the same colour as her eyes (OOC note: the Kitsune tribe symbol from WoD).

Although a heavy for her height (approximately 62kg), the mass is due to the bioware bone density alterations - Wraith has the lithe, nimble figure typical of elves, a narrow waist and average hips, but a generous bust for her frame. Additionally Wraith possesses a tail as well as animal-like ears atop her head (separate from the typical elf ears, giving her four total) - all three features are fox-ish and black furred, with the ears having a splash of ultramarine blue at the tips. The elf has not stated outright whether or not she is a changeling, but has occasionally dropped hints that she might be.

Personality:

 

Guarded and cautious, Wraith's demeanor of being cool/detached isn't far from the mark; the teen seems like the sort who 'has seen a lot', despite her age. Sober and a taciturn are also traits that can be attributed to the young elf, although she is not rigidly so - when around people she trusts, the standoffish demeanor will fade to show a surprisingly warm person beneath, capable of humor, playfulness and even on rare occasions affection. The young woman has been known to occasionally become mildly flustered while interacting with 'conventionally attractive' women; between that and a growing reputation for rebuffing men who come on to her the foxelf is generally accepted as being gay. As a native speaker of both English and Japanese, the foxelf has a tendency to switch between the two languages seemingly at random, though it appears to be an unconscious habit or quirk.

While 'at work', Wraith is usually quite professional in attitude, avoiding extremes in emotion; indeed, she shows signs of professional training rather than DIY 'school of hard knocks'. Surprising to some, and a point of contention for others, Wraith has no qualms with using lethal force, though so far not to the degree as the infamous Rigger X, and has show to be capable of wet-work.

Despite her generally reserved, clinical behavior there are some things that can trigger a passionate response in her, most notably dealing with orphans especially young women, as well as missions working against drug or meta-sapient smugglers, as well as the AA corporation Monobe International. It is important to note that Wraith has shown herself to be a capable teammate and cooperative when working with other Shadowrunners - while her usual missions involve infiltration and scouting, the elf is not a Lone Wolf sort.

Backstory:

 

Wraith appeared on the Seattle shadow-scene roughly 8 months ago making claims of having come from 'back east', although to the surprise of few she has been evasive on exactly where. Thanks to her apparent youth and being a 'newbie' on the scene it took some time before she was finally hired on, but proved herself as steady and skilled on that mission. Since then Wraith has participated in several other actions around the Metroplex itself, as well as a few beyond its borders, and has not yet had any truly negative reviews.

Wraith has displayed a skill above 'competent' in her roles as well as calm professionalism in the field, both uncommon traits in a Shadowrunner of her apparent age. This has led some to speculate that the teenaged foxelf has far more 'in the field' experience and/or training under her belt than she lets on. Stealth, athletics, experience with defeating security systems and many locking systems at above-average level, along with qualifications at SCUBA and related activities. Additionally, Wraith has shown solid practical knowledge on squad-level tactics, as well as skill in the use of firearms and close-quarters fighting. Finally, the elf has shown proficiency in a handful of languages including German, Spanish and, perhaps most strangely, Inuktitut; English and Japanese appear to be her natively spoken languages.

Where Wraith seems to lack are in more mundane areas such as history, classic literature (though yes, she is literate in several languages) as well as a surprising number of 'everyday' things such as cooking, doing taxes, driving ground vehicles (though she can apparently pilot small watercraft) and on occasion stumbles in more social situations; if the rumours are true, the teen needed help figuring out how to apply for an apartment rental, though that was nearly a year ago. Sheltered?

Probably not very surprising, Wraith is pretty tight-lipped about her past - as mentioned, she's implied that she is from the eastern portion of the UCAS; there is evidence that she has travelled off the continent in the past, such as use of slang/lingo or loanwords and street-level knowledge of several cities in Asia. Additionally it was let slip that Wraith has lost family in the past, and may not have any left; perhaps related, she seems to hold a strong grudge-level dislike for Monobe International, a AA-level corporation out of Japan.

Eddas: I'll stick the secret stuff down at the bottom, which includes the full story of her background, rather than the publicly known

Some observations that have been made:

 

- Based on her command of the language, Wraith's Asian heritage is most likely Japanese. She'll show a hint of a Kansai accent (Kyouto specifically) when overtired, but otherwise typically speaks standard (Tokyo) Japanese.
- Has been seen associating with an ork woman (Native American heritage) named Dezka (part-time bouncer/part-time 'runner); Riley, a human teen (Germanic or Nordic ancestry) who works as a courier for legit small businesses; Markus Reinberg, an older human (German or Austrian) street-doc in the industrial section of Auburn; Alexis Boseman, an elven (NA Anglo) woman in her mid-20s who is a graduate student at UW (and appears to share an apartment with Wraith, under the alias Elisabeth Gibbs); and Shiori Ishikawa, a human (Japanese) woman who on the surface works as a mid-level employee for the local Parashield branch (but there are plenty of rumours that she moonlights as a fixer and black-market hookup, with possible Shotozumi-gumi Yakuza ties).
- When violence is called for, Wraith favours dual-wielding heavy pistols (matching matte black Savalette Guardians) or a Remington 950 shotgun in a firefight; in close-quarters she'll switch to a sword (modeled after the classic ninjatou) or extendable baton, but has also shown some skill in unarmed combat (usually wearing hardliner gloves) and throwing blades.
- Has a fairly basic/plain fashion sense, tends towards darker colours in clothing - blacks and greys, blues, greens and purples especially. Jeans or cargo pants most commonly (the latter olive green, black or dark grey), t-shirts or loose blouses, the odd tank-top. Rumour has it the foxelf was once spotted wearing a skirt, though that has never been confirmed to any level of satisfaction.

RP Sample:

 

Wraith moves from the left side of the taller girl to stand behind, her hands moving to the blonde's shoulders; after correcting the human's upper body position, the elf slides her hands down to her hips, carefully shifting the other girl's stance. "If you're in a situation where you must defend yourself, you may not get the opportunity to get into a proper shooting stance, but while we're here on the range I'd prefer you to practice it. If you can train your body to take that stance by rote, it will help in most situations." Wraith explains in a low tone, doing her best to avoid being distracted by her companion's attractive figure; the quick side to side swish of her fluffy, black-furred tail gives her away though.

Riley nods, glancing over to try and eye the elf out of the corner of her eye, a slight smile touching her lips. "Right. So is my stance correct 'Beth, or do you want to touch me some more?" she asks, just a hint of teasing in her tone that draws a blush from the shadowrunner, the triangular fox-like ears atop her head giving a twitch sideways.

Clearing her throat, Wraith draws her hands back from the younger girl. "You're fine. Don't forget also to relax your muscles - you'll find both aiming and controlling recoil to be easier if you're relaxed. When tense or rigid, your body will tremble which not only makes dealing with recoil more difficult, but will waste energy." 'Tiring you out will be my job later...' the elf muses to herself, trying not to grin.

Turning her gaze to look back down the makeshift range, Riley nods. "Alright. Relax. I think I'm relaxed." she replies, before bringing up the Walther PB-120 light pistol, sighting down through the older-style red-dot reflex sight. Sensing her friend taking a step back, the blonde lets out a slow breath before squeezing the trigger.

As the sound of the pistol's retort fades away, both girls smile. Wraith steps forward to stand beside her friend, peering down the range at the jury-rigged target 30 meters away. "Nice, you nearly hit the bullseye. Have you been practicing without me?" she asks, looking over to the human while offering a faint grin.

Before Riley has a chance to reply though, there is a sound behind them; Wraith whirls to face the sound instantly, with the human slower to follow up, a startled look on her face particularly when she notes the elf's hand already on the grip of her own firearm. Letting out a soft growl, she settles into a guarded stance, that tail going quite still.

Nearby, a pair of rough-looking humans stand nonchalantly - a woman with a heavy pistol and a male with a battered combat axe. Neither wear armor, but sport Disassembler gang markings. "Nice shooting, girly." the male jeers, the woman following up with a chill cackle.

"All the practice in the world won't help you now, lovelies." the woman exclaims, fingering her battered Predator III.

Wraith's brows furrow as she assesses the situation, instinctively moving to stand in front of Riley, left hand reaching back to rest on her friend's arm; she can feel the younger one trembling, clearly nervous, but doesn't argue with her more experienced friend. In the span of a few moments, she switches from her normal vision to thermal, then back after an almost imperceptible glance around. 'Only the two. Good.'

"I'll give you two an opportunity to withdraw, now." the elf states in her own cool tone, right hand caressing the grip of her Guardian; unseen by the gangers, the left tugs a pair of throwing knives from a sheath on the back of her belt. 'Damn, it's times like this that I wish I had wired reflexes...'

Confronted by what they take to be a pair of teens, the two gangers merely snicker in response. Taking a few paces forward, the male hefts the axe while the female slowly brings the Predator up. "I don't think so. We've been looking for fresh meat, and you two fit the bill perfectly." the male growls.

Knowing that she had to act *now* Wraith whips her left arm back around, launching the two knives towards the female ganger - the position is awkward but the throw is accurate. One of the knives buries itself into the ganger's right upper arm, but the second knife hits at a poor angle and deflects off of her makeshift shoulder pad. The results are enough to draw a yelp though, the woman turning partly to the side while grabbing at her arm, the barrel of the pistol dropping away from where it had been aiming. Briefly, Wraith feels a tingle of pain coming from her tail, having accidentally clipped it with one of the blades.

The quick attack distracted the male, but only for the span of a few heartbeats before he charged forward with a roar, causing Wraith to backpedal while pushing Riley further back. "Take cover!" she hisses to her younger friend while drawing the Savalette Guardian. By this point the male ganger is close enough that Wraith doesn't want to risk taking a shot, which would put her arm at risk of being a good target for the axe. Instead she drifts to her right, so that the axe-wielding Disassembler is between herself and the other ganger, then darts forward. 'He's got reach and mass on me... this is a bad idea...'

-----

Wincing, the elf closes her eyes. "Do you need to press so hard?" she grumbles, trying to keep her tone steady while Riley dabs at the wound along 'Beths' scalp, cleaning the dried blood away. Shifting on the bed, the elf adjusts the ice pack she has pressed against the massive bruise covering her cheek and jaw, wincing again, the fox-like ears folding back.

"You're lucky it isn't worse, Beth." the blonde human replies gently, looking at her friend with concern, affection and even a little wonder. "When the guy bashed you in the face with the shaft of his axe, I was sure we were done for. Your wounding the chick is probably the reason we're both still alive."

The elf tries to grin, then flinches at fresh pain across her jaw and cheek. "Hey, you helped by suppressing her... and you did hit her once. Not a bad shot given the illumination and the fact that she was moving." she points out, the tip of her tail twitching side to side.

Riley grunts softly. "I was aiming for her chest, and hit her in the lower leg."

Beth' shrugs, then gives the other girl's arm a squeeze. "It's still something, and it gave me time to deal with the male..." she replies, wiggling her fingers slowly, the right ones stained with dry blood. "I don't suppose you can fetch me some water and towels so I can clean up?"

"Alright, just hold the gauze to the wound..." Riley trails off as her friend does just that, winking to her.

"I know, this isn't my first time doing this." the elf replies, giving another shrug.

Raising her brows, the blonde nods slowly. "I got that, the first time you helped me with gangers." she starts, then manages a flustered smile as she stands. "I didn't realize you had claws, though."

Wraith wills the cyber-implanted climbing claws to extend from the fingers of her right hand. "They're not exactly made for combat, but they'll do in a pinch."

Riley eyes the claws, a slight shiver rolling down her spine. Clearing her throat slightly, she nods then turns away. "Oh, later we're going to go to the clinic and make sure you don't have a fractured cheekbone, or worse." she states, firmly.

The elf hesitates, then lets out a slow sigh before nodding once. "Yes ma'am." she replies, resigned.

Rumors:

 

1> Wraith was orphaned when the Ring of Fire blew up in 2061, taken in by a Yakuza clan who trained her to make use of her size and agility to be an assassin. Somewhere along the line, she divorced herself from the clan and is currently laying low to avoid their gaze.
2> While providing hints that she is a SURGE changeling, Wraith's animal-features are actually bios-sculpting, part of her plan to avoid detection by radically changing her appearance.
3> Wraith is much older than she looks or alleges, and has in fact undergone Leonization treatment to restore her to a youthful appearance.
4> Was responsible for the death of a Golden Skies exec in LA three years ago in what was most certainly a paid hit. The exec and his bodyguards were taken out by a small team, so there is some uncertainty on who did the actual assassination. Rumors abound that the exec was 'retired' as revenge over one of Golden Skies 'talent', the teen daughter of an upper manager at the regional Shiawase Envirotech branch. (Golden Skies is a skeevy producer of barely legal/illegal content CalHot sims)

What kinds of runs interest you / your character:

 

(IC)
- Will actively seek out work against Monobe International.
- Will avoid work that involves drug or metasapient smuggling (and will actively work against them).
- Likely to accept work that involves protection detail, if it involves younger people (children, teens). Seems to have a white knight streak in her when it comes to them.
- While not refusing to work for (or against) the Shotozumi-gumi, she'll put them at a rather low priority.
- Has no qualms about accepting wet-work (especially if it pertains to some of the above, ie Monobe International or drug/metasapient smugglers, though would be unlikely to accept contracts on anyone under the age of majority).
(OOC)
- Missions that include some need for Wraiths preferred skills, ie sneaking around, B&E, scouting/surveilling, etc.
- Backup skills as a long-arms user does allow Wraith to function as support/overwatch, but its not preferred
- side-missions that can advance Wraiths vendetta
- Missions that allow for inter-party RPing!

[Yamaneko]

Character Name: David Cardinal aka Rook

Metatype: Human (Lakota Sioux Nation)
Archtype: Private Investigator (mundane)


Physical Description: He's in his mid-twenties, stands just shy of 1.8 meters and weighs in around 100 kilograms. His skin is weathered, almost tanned if Seattle ever got enough sunlight. His eyes and ears look almost normal but close inspection shows that they are cyber. His pupils are dark brown but seem to be surrounded at times with a gold ring reminding some of a wolf's eyes. His long hair is black, straight and tapers to an end just past his shoulders. He never goes anywhere without his battered brown armored jacket. The jacket had shoulder patches at some point but those have been removed.

(I don't have a picture but he looks like a young Lou Diamond Phillips.)


Personality: Rook is stolid and reasonable rarely prone to rash action.


Public Backstory:
David Cardinal showed up in Seattle late 2072 and by the end of the year had established Cardinal Investigations, a business in Touristville. For most of 2073 he worked low-profile cases barely keeping afloat. Living out of his office, public washrooms, gyms, and the back of his car. It was mostly muggings, robberies, missing persons cases...stuff the cops wouldn't touch, desperate cases for a desperate man.

But in 2074, he caught a couple of breaks, solving two high-profile cases and aiding the police in rescuing the son of an elite outrider on the Seattle Screamers Urban Brawl team. The son had gone slumming and the kidnappers saw a chance to fix the game. The outrider retired after that but David had gained money enough to rent a second office beside his own and turn it into an apartment.

The second case had to deal with a local street doc, <red-acted>. No one knows exactly what David did for him but <red-acted> talked him up and sent enough business his way to keep him slightly above his means. David even started taking better jobs because of it but the work wasn't enough to pull him out of where he was and he had no plans to stay there.

That's when the doc introduced him to his current fixer <red-acted> at the end of 2074. David wasn't sure exactly how he feels dipping into the shadows but his first few runs have been closer to what he does for a living. He pounds the pavement, getting information, doing the legwork in the Barrens where these teams don't know the lay of the land. In some ways, he feels like an imposter, but the money has helped and he knows only time and building his network will give him what he needs to be a better P.I. and build his network. The fixer gave him the street name of Rook but left David wondering whether doing these jobs will take him so far over the line he'll never come back from it...or whether he can find a way to walk that line?

<Non-public Background I will send in a PM.>


RP Sample:
“Look, sir,“ Rook kept his voice calm and his features mostly expressionless, showing just a tinge of sympathy, “I know you want to go in there to confront your husband. But that, pea-shooter,“ Rook glanced down at the Lightfire in the man’s hand, “isn’t going to do anything for you but escalate the situation where it won’t end well for you.”

The man, dressed in a suit that had clearly seen better days and had food stains all over it, desperately glanced toward the door then down to the gun in his hand. He tried to calm his shaking hand wisely, at least, keeping his finger from the trigger as he combed his other hand through his thinning hair. Thinning hair was generous, gracious even, balding with strands used in an embarrassing comb-over more accurate. He sputtered but didn’t try to push past David Cardinal, instead he pushed out past clenched teeth, his voice a whine that would set most others on edge, “But he’s in there with a woman! I have to do something.”

David looked down at the man, in his fifties, if but a day, his client’s glasses fogging up, “I get it George. You’ve been betrayed and you are hurting. But he’s shacked up with Big Bertha. She just finished doing a dime and she’s clearly working off some steam in there as you can hear.

“Your husband may be more in pain than pleasure. He’s human. She’s a troll and that Lightfire is just going to tickle her from what I know of her. But you go in there and interrupt her pleasure and you’ll be adding another cyberlimb to the one you have.” David glanced toward the hand George was using to run over his head.

David managed not to wince as a particular string of sounds and words came through the door but George was not so lucky, paling further and adding a new layer of sweat to his forehead. The man was getting rather pungent but he had paid David to bring him here so he could see and hear it for himself.

“George, Tim clearly has a thing for Troll women that have done time. His browser history shows that. Clearly you two need to talk but now is not the place or the time. Give me the gun and that spare clip you have in your pocket and go home. Talk it out. Then come by my office tomorrow and pay me the remainder of my fee, I’ll return your gun then or we can see about disposing it.” David stated calmly keeping his tone reasonable, reassuring as he gestured toward the gun.

George looked at the gun but clearly didn’t even see it as David gently took the gun from his hand. Numbly his client looked up at David and David gave him a brief smile before pocketing the gun and turning his client around toward the stairs and the door. “Now remember go home. Talk it out. Get counseling and come see me tomorrow.”

David knew it wasn’t good firearms discipline but if he had practiced it right then it may have snapped his client out of his fugue and started things all over again. David was known to be stolid and reasonable but even he had his limits and George was a Drama King if he’d ever met one.

Nonetheless now was not the time to ask for payment instead he walked George to the top of the stairs and watched until the man walked down them and out the front door. David turned back, walking down the hall as he pulled out his Commlink, dialing the man who had named him Rook. The name he was known for when he ran the shadows. The man, the fixer, who had wanted him to find Big Bertha because he had a team that wanted to have a word with her. She knew something that would help them with a job. David smiled, she’d been a treasure, a trinket, a shiny …. He loved it when his two worlds intersected allowing him to be paid twice.

This time he did wince as he heard the sounds coming from behind the door as he passed it. His call connected and he paid no more attention to what was behind the green door.


Rumors:
- Rook's an orphan that's why he has a soft spot for kids.
- Rook's mother is a high-ranking member of the Lakota Mafia.
- Rook's actually a clone.
- Rook is a member of the Human Nation.


What kinds of runs interest you / your character:
- As a player I am not opposed to any type of run though most of my characters do tend to be hooders.
- While Rook isn't absolutely opposed to Wetwork, he'd have to be highly incentivized to do so as he prefers to keep a low profile and murder usually isn't.
- Same with ruining a person's life/rep not because he can't do it...doing it is easy but because he doesn't want to get a rep as a scumbag lowlife that takes the sleazy jobs.
- He won't take any jobs that involve hurting kids or placing them in a worse position in life
- I am more of a Mirror Shades with a lean in toward Pink Mohawk (this time).