Name:  Moss 

Age:  18

Appearance: Moss is a ratty child. She’s just below average height and slim as any hunger-borne kid could be expected to be. Being an Irish immigrant hasn’t afforded her much in the way of a healthy living, but it has given her a lean layer of muscle hidden beneath her scrawny form. Red hair so dark it might be blood is chopped short upon her head, and usually sits beneath a rugged old bolero that’s seen its share of fair and foul weather. 
The most striking thing about her physical appearance is doubtlessly her eyes; two nearly reflective icy-blue orbs often give people the impression that she’s always sizing them up. 

Occupation: Con artist   

Personality: Moss is a bit cheeky in all of the things she does. She’s a fair share pugnacious and a fair share diplomatic, but whether she’s playing you in a game of cards with a cold deck or getting ready to go fist-to-fist, it can be said for certain that she’ll be doing it with a silver tongue. Well, as silver as something can be when it’s tarnished with cursing and other such vile. 
All in all Moss is a bit of a bitter pill. She doesn’t take much seriously, and when she does it’s hard to tell whether she’s being patronizing or sincere. And though “loyal” is never a word that could be attributed to her, when she does happen to hold someone close enough to be considered a “friend”, she’s loathe to see them hurt to any serious degree. That doesn’t mean she won’t lie or cheat or steal from them, but she might feel a bit bad about doing afterwards, and might slip a few coins their way later on.

History: Once upon a time Moss ran with a caravan of gypsies, comprised mostly of Irish, Spanish, and Slavic immigrants. As with most of the children in the caravan, they were parented by more or less anyone who would give them the time of day. This led to her having to get a loose grasp on a few languages, which never really stuck, and in the end most of her time was spent around an Irish boxer and a Spanish “magician”. 
As far as parental figures went, the boxer made a good enough mother, and for the brief time that the Spaniard was around he at least gave her a few tricks to build on. 
Had she herself stuck around for long after her sixteenth birthday, she might have wanted to follow in the Irishwoman’s path. After all, scrapping was fairly common in the caravan, and Moss had gotten into her fair share of brawls with some of the other kids. But in the end she just couldn’t keep still, and somewhere in the mess of the California gold rush she broke away from the caravan and made a home for herself in San Francisco. 
Home here meaning that she spent the following two years scamming fools from their gold with little more than her wit and a deck of cards, which never, ever left her person.