Forgot, I was on the wrong tab.. ^^"

I think I’ll throw My Hat in as Well, [i]Monsignor[/i]. 

[hider=Pisatel']

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[h3][u][b]Name:[/b][/u][/h3]
Violetta “Viole” Alekseevna Pushkina

[h3][u][b]Age:[/b][/u][/h3]
25

[h3][u][b]Alignment/Position:[/b][/u][/h3]
Smalltime Gang Leader

[h3][u][b]Preferred Dialogue Color:[/b][/u][/h3]
[color=DC381F]GrapeFruit DC381F[/color] 

[h3][u][b]Height:[/b][/u][/h3]
5’ 6”

[h3][u][b]Weight:[/b][/u][/h3]
145lb

[h3][u][b]Appearance:[/b][/u][/h3]
A slender woman of lithe build, Violetta could easily pass as one of the streetwalkers that plagued the streets in the Commercial and Political Districts, yet the scars that decorated her body would be a turn off to anyone but the darker side of the rotting city. Well groomed and polished, her dark amber eyes are a hardened contrast against the soft peach lips and rosy cheeks that adorn the rest of her face. Her dark chocolate colored hair is cut in a short shaggy manner as if someone took a pair of rusty scissors to it and left it as it was. The rest of her body, her long slender arms, her lean legs and slim fit torso are decorated by winding scars some deeper than others. The sharp knife and steady hand that crafted the rest did not find its way up past her collarbone leaving her face unmarred. 

[h3][u][b]General Apparel:[/b][/u][/h3]
Nights in the city get cold so Viole prefers a hooded leather coat padded with sheep’s fur, a rare treasure she found while exploring her new home. Besides that she sticks to basic leather boots, a variation of combat boots that allow her easier movement and do not carry the full weight of their predecessors. Plain brown khakis adorn her legs happily riddled with pockets, matching in color her gloves and the band of her goggles, the lens of those gleaming a happy purple a stark contrast to the monotony of browns. 

[h3][u][b]Lifestyle Notes:[/b][/u][/h3]
She owns a small parakeet named Glazki. 

She uses him as a second set of eyes and as a warning system.

She lives in small abandoned loft in the middle of the warehouse sector of the district, it doesn’t see much traffic often it’s just a safe place for the city’s major players to store and ship their wares. Scantly furnished, with little possessions it looks and has the feel of a place left to rot in its decay, the only thing that would hint at life was a stack of journals and notepads scribbled in with half English half Russian phrases and a small window seal holding a tray of bird seed and water.

[h3][u][b]Location:[/b][/u][/h3]
Industrial Zone

[h3][u][b]Afflictions:[/b][/u][/h3]
Severe Claustrophobia 

[h3][u][b]Likes:[/b][/u][/h3]
Her Bird, Open Spaces, Catwalks, Nightlife, and Coffee

[h3][u][b]Dislikes:[/b][/u][/h3]
Closed Doors, Daylight, Men, Dead Ends, and Dogs 

[h3][u][b]Fears:[/b][/u][/h3]
Being locked up as Someone’s Pet again

[h3][u][b]Superhuman Ability and Description:[/b][/u][/h3]
Pisatel’

Russian for “The Writer”

A curious ability, any that Viole writes down, on any scrape of paper or any forgotten napkin breathes life into it allowing it to take the form of what’s written. A paper unicorn, a shield, a sword, anything within the confines of her imagination, She can use it both offensively or defensively and often uses it to entertain the orphans that run the streets. Though it does have its draw backs, it’s only paper after all. It’s only as strong as she writes it out to be, and fire can easily destroy it. Her writing speed is rather remarkable but in a rush she can’t produce the stronger creations she has brewing in her mind.  

I.E.: [i]A large black dog with razor teeth and claws.[/i] 

It would produce a paper replica of those exact words, if she left off the ending clause giving the additional aspects to it’s teeth and claws it would only have that of a normal dog, or if she left of an adjective clarifying the size of it could range from small to gigantic. 

It’s fickle.

[h3][u][b]History:[/b][/u][/h3]
[hider=Bio]
Born and raised till the age of 14 in the motherland, Viole lead a happy childhood and was a blessing on both of her parents. She was a ray of sunshine to the poor farmers, their little violet; it wasn’t until the taxes got to be of heavy of a burden that her parents turned their eyes towards the east, towards the promise of a new freedom and start. It was on her 15th birthday when most girls her age were to be wed off and used to gain new lands or livestock that her parents excitedly told her they had secured passage on a freighter to America. They were going to this new city built out of the ocean, she didn’t quite understand what they had meant until she first saw the city but that was many years later. Back then she was a happy girl filled with joy and excitement at the idea of a bright city, anything was better than the desolate farm she had grown up on. 

They packed up what little belongings they had and where stored away in the bottom of the freighter, stowed away with other families like rats in a cage. There we’re many other young girls varying in ages but none looking old than sixteen, that was the first tingling Violetta got that something wasn’t quite right, but she chalked it up to nerves and fright mingled in with the excitement thickening the air. The voyage was longer than any of them expected as bouts of seasickness and illness soon began to spread through their small holding, claiming the lives of the smaller girls. The light of excitement soon began failing from the eyes of the passengers as they started to moan and despair praying for the long trip to be over, but the bright eyed girl with long curly locks continued to look up at the opening above them gazing fondly at the stars.

Though the journey only took a few short weeks it felt like an eternity to their small band, and as they heard the men above shout out orders and beginning to make preparations for docking they let out a ragged cheer of rejoice, long tired of eating stale bread and half rotten fruit Viole’s stomach let out a mangled growl begging for something more something new, her beating heart echoed her desire as she began to tug lightly on her mother’s skirt whispering softly in excited Russian, mingling in some of the broken English she picked up listening to the sailors. It wasn’t long before they were shuffled off the boat and lined up. A fat man in a too tight suit was waiting a small throng of nothing but street rats circled around him in a half moon looking over their small group approvingly, a strange rat faced man motioned lewdly following it up with a crude comment in English. Viole wasn’t able to understand his words but the motion brought a sharp blush to her cheeks as she took a step back behind her father, that sickening feeling that something wasn’t right returned settling in the pit of her stomach. The man, Marco Malikane, was a smalltime gang leader with a taste for young flesh and a deep enough pocket to buy and sell his young stock to the corrupt politicians of Vale City. 

This was just another day for him as he walked the line inspecting the surviving girls, having some turn around and others giving nothing more but a curt glance stopping to linger looking over Viole curiously a dark lewd look flickering in his eyes, as a cruel grin spread across his face. The rest of the girls he eventually sold after having other gandlord’s break them in hoping to gain their favor but her, her he kept. 

That was the end of one life, and the beginning of another.

If it was one thing Violette learned over the years of being the private pet of Malikane, that it was people would pay ludicrous amounts of money for the things that they wanted. It wasn’t something she was used to in the beginning years, most of those memories are still deep wells of pain for the young woman, memories of her tied taunt to his bed as his knife carved its way across her skin, each month was a new scar, a new lesson in the cruelty of man and a world she was never exposed too. 

By her eighteenth birthday, not much of Viole’s soul was left, she was a walking corpse all life and spark gone from her eyes, they only thing she had going for her was the old man was kind enough to grant her request to learn English, sometimes even supplying her with little children’s book in Russian and scraps of paper for her to practice writing and drawing something to take her away from the iron bars that had surrounded her for the past four years. As the world around her got darker and darker her writing turned to happy times and written memories of her childhood, easily blown out of proportion to try and combat the cold emptiness seeping inside her taking hold of the once happy twinkle turning it cold and haggard, into the eyes of a survivor like so many other of the cities lost and dying souls.

Eventually the broken girl grew too old for the old man's taste, and was thrown out of his little version of sanctuary giving her away to the whims of the rest of his men, many of them had been kind to her the past years bringing her books as well or small trinkets to make a sad girl smiles briefly. The younger ones knew little about her just rumored whispers and frightened tails that their leader kept a scarred girl locked away in a cage. The bright jeweled collar no longer hung around her neck but the imprint it left gave live to those stories and that was all that was needed for even more wild tales and false truths to be whispered about her. 

Many a night Viole spent sleeping curled up in a small ball in the back corner of a dirty closet away from the eyes of everyone else; during the day she scrambled after everyone else cleaning up or running small errands something to be useful or gain approval without Malikane taking care of her she had to fend for her own food and drink. 


For months the small woman got thinner and weaker often clinging to a small tattered journal with all her hopes and stories written in them as if they would give her some reason to live. It was on one of her aimless walks through the district, never far from their base too afraid she'll get lost and not able to find her way back, if nothing else she had come to think of that place as a twist form of home for the past several years and knew little else of this new world she had found herself in, that she heard the sound of a small bird singing happily; it's cheerful sound cutting through the gloom surrounding her brain drawing attention from the lifeless doll as she found her feet dragging her towards the sound. There was another girl around her age dressed like all the others she had seen, a stark contrast to the white dress clinging to her slim frame, playing with a small bird feeding him seeds in exchange for his song. The soft clattering of a pebble dancing across the road gained her the attention of the two a soft gasp escaping her lips as she tried to scamper backwards a broken harsh sorry echoing after her as she turn and ran back home. 

That night she laid there holding her chest wondering why her heart seemed like it was trying to beat out of it; as thoughts rushed through her head about that strange girl, how could she be happy and cheerful in such a desolate place. Violetta couldn't understand why she smiled when thinking about the birds singing the movement of her own mouth so foreign to her wondering when was the last time she truly smiled. She laid there whispering sorry to herself grimacing at the harshness and the strange sound of her own voice, she thought she had lost it during the earlier years, her left hand tracing the visible scars dancing across her right arm, the memories of each night coming back to her. Her smile soon turned into a whimper as she curled farther into a ball holding her head hoping to banish the flooding memories, the tight space of the closet slowly started to suffocate her forcing her to seek solace somewhere else, moving aimlessly she found herself on the roof of their building staring up at the polluted sky wondering what the stars behind them. The soft crackling of roof tiles alerted her to someone intruding on her solitude, as cheerful voice greeted her and the strange girl from earlier plopped down beside her. 

Her name was Catalina, her and her nameless bird.

It was this strange girl that gave Viole a purpose and who taught her how to survive in this world. She took her to the pier and showed her the ships and the beauty of the ocean, how to climb cranes and buildings to escape the mundane of the ground below, to the park and the resident district where life seemed so much happier but she knew the truth that the decay lied right below the facade. The next years went by in a blur as the broken girl shifted into a stronger woman, following the pair like a shadow learning what she could and even more so learning how to laugh again and see the opportunity of her new home, a home she never wanted to learn. There were still rough nights in the beginning as she failed to grab the hand offered to her, sinking back into her own depression and decay adding a few scars to her collection on her own accord when the pain and the memories would take over again. Each time Catalina patiently waited and helped pull her out, she told stories of how they were a lot a like, but she also told a lot of stories, about her secretly being a pirate captain and that's why she had a bird. 

In the end Viole knew little of her friend when she knew little about lying and deceiving  people, placing too much faith and too much hope in her new mentor and friend. 

By her twenty-second birthday, Violetta was but a shadow of her old self, no longer a broken doll but just as good if not better than any of Malikane's lieutenants; she had spent the past two years shadowing the old man and his ilk learning just what it was that he did and how no one had stamped him under their foot all these years. He had noticed her interest and had noticed her friend as well, he had little desire for one of his discarded pets to become a threat to his reign nor did he like the idea of someone fixing what he had spent years patiently breaking. He disliked that this one hadn't killed herself like all the others, that he had yet to throw her rotting corpse back into the ocean to be fished out to mangled for his handiwork to be recognized. 

It wasn't long before his dislike and annoyance turned to hatred and spite.  

The week before her birthday, he called her home and told her to bring her friend, little did they know that far away in the museum they had started the process of trying to open the strange vase, that he told them he had a change of heart and wanted to apologize for all that he had done to Violetta. She had nothing but distrust for the man and refused to go but Catalina refused to believe he had no good in him and that even he could be turned to the light and be saved just as she was. Begrudgingly she followed her friend back to the godforsaken place never falling more than a few paces behind clutching her small journal in her hand always stepping in the small birds shadow. She hesitated outside the building, as a few of the younger members greeted her with a wave, in the later years the rumors had died and she had even made friends with a few of them, not all of them she learned where as bad as the ones who ran their small ragged band. Following the happy footsteps of her best friend clinging slightly to her hand as haunted memories began to drag themselves awake the closer they got to his room. The soft gentle squeeze of her hand brought her back to reality as she squeezed back reassuringly, and there he sat on his pompous self-entitled thrown, the cage that haunted her living and sleeping dreams gleamed behind him smiling happily as if calling her back to it causing her to take an involuntary step back not far enough that she had to let go.

He welcomed them cordially and smiled that slimy smiles that still had enough power to send shivers down her spine as she tried to keep her composure and not give into the desire to run. He offered Catalina a place in their small happy family and talked about how we all need to take care of each other. Neither of them noticed the bladed cane in his hand as he walked talking with his hands, Catalina was too trusting to think betrayal and Viole to paralyzed by fear to take her eyes of the cage as his words rang empty in her ear. The small birds warning came too late as the warm sensation of blood hitting her face and soaking her journal alerted her that something was severely wrong. It was all so surreal as she watched her friend's dying body hit the floor blood pouring from her as the small bird circled around her crying out in sorrow, she felt her own knees hit the floor as she shook her friend, her voice sounded so far away as she shook her begging for her to wake up to get up. All along his cold laughter rang in her ears like it did for years before, when she finally regained her sense of self she found herself down by the pier, the small little bird clinging to her shoulder refusing to make a sound or move, warm tears streaming down her cheeks.

The next few months saw her sadness and betrayal turn slowly to a deep burning hate, as she slowly started to write down different ways for the old man to die, or perhaps burn down his precious building and possessions. Something to make her feel better in truth, the thought of revenge started to consume her as miles away the vases seal was shattered unleashing its powers on unsuspecting souls. She only became aware of her own power when she was writing a small poem about a happy little bird in Russian and it the paper took on a life of its own dancing and taking the form of a small bird that took flight with the one Catalina had left behind. She had titled the poem Glazki and by the way the small bird danced with the paper one she decided that would be his name. Taking a few weeks to explore and learn what she could of this new strange glorious power of hers, her original thoughts of revenge started to seep into her mind, and not just against him but of being able to twist and bring down the sick bastards who run the city, to have them under her thumb just like she used to dance under the old mans. 

[i]'And that the crows of the night would carry coals of dark flames to scorch this building from existence and that the wolves of the moon would rip the man from his home and from his bones to scatter them to the for winds.'[/i]

A simple line from a poem that allowed her to destroy the man who destroyed her and all that he had worked to build. 

Unknowing that by doing so that she would take command of the rest of them, her first few years as a gangleader saw her redo their entire infrastructure and how they made money. Turning them from selling people and good to stealing them and blackmailing turning them into a band that could disappear with no set headquarters, recruiting and bribing other gangs to do their dirty work, to appear small and nonthreatening while constantly sharping their fangs.


By her twenty-fifth birthday Violetta was a whole new person with a purpose and an iron will that gave her an edge of confidence and an aura of amusement that none of the older members had seen in her. She was ready to make her mark on this city, though it might not be ready for her.  
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[h3][b][u] Follower/Gang Information:[/u][/b][/h3]
The Knives, formerly The Liberated

[s][b]The Strongest Rules [/b][/s]

It was the old motto of her tatter band that allowed her to assume command, that and the artful way she dispatched of the old man.

When Violette reluctantly took control standing in the blood of her former captor’s blood she erected a new motto.

[b]We Are Always Free[/b]

The Knives no longer work in smuggling in goods for the ill and perverted of the city, she had them turn their eyes towards a different way of bleeding the riches pockets. By stealing jewelry or papers, emails, photos, anything scandalous they can get their hands on or anything that be of value; things that the masters of the cities would pay good money or trade to keep secret. There have been a few times when rival gangs have tried to destroy her small band, but it’s hard to catch the ones that know the back alley of the warehouses or how to disappear into the roofing or slip down a sewer. The need for speed and agility is always in high demand so Violette is always looking to recruit young street rats for small running errands and to map the city for her own uses.

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