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[b]Name:[/b] Valorie Pierce

[b]Race:[/b] Human // Necromancer

[b]Age:[/b] 20

[b][hider=Appearance:][center][img]http://im2.peldata.com/bl9/82548/16th.jpg[/img][/center][/hider][/b] Valorie is shorter than most human women, barely breaking five feet tall with shoes. A passing glance would make the woman appear aesthetically skinny, but underneath her clothing she's unhealthily scrawny with barely any feminine curves and nearly non-existing muscle thanks to a choice diet of cigarettes, straight liquor, and hard drugs. There are a number of cut-sized scars on her body due to her “studies”. A careful application of makeup hide the numerous blemishes and gives color to her pale skin, draws attention away from the bloodshot veins in her light brown eyes, and keeps the bruises out of sight. She tries to take care of her teeth, but her smoking and coffee habit try harder to stain them. When she smiles she does so with closed lips, although her resting expression is an unintentional one of a muted, disgusted frown. The girl has a definite oral fixation, and always is either smoking, chewing on something, talking, or a gross combination of the three.

Her clothing choices can be best described as “secondhand preppy chic” or “try hard twee poser” depending on the person. She dresses in layers to hide her lack of curves, and favors longer sleeves to cover up the track marks. The paint on her fingernails are red and chipping. Her blonde hair is rarely without an accessory and she always keeps a pair of sunglasses handy so she can pull off her best Corey Hart impression. She rudely keeps her stock white earphones plugged in unless with friends. When she talks, her voice is almost always one level louder than it should be and squeaks with sickening shrillness. As well, she talks with a manic pace and large gestures, and tends to stand with good posture and an open appearance.

[b]Personality:[/b] On the outside, Valorie is the primo example of wasting youth on the young. She cares about vapid, useless things that offer little satisfaction at a heavy price. When she's with her fellow Rats she's the first to slam a shot, jump in the mosh, suck a face, get high, and throw a fist. Her energetic, flirty, and outgoing nature makes her both the life of the party if the highs mix right or its slow, hemorrhaging death if the lows hit harder. It's clear that she has not fully grown-up. She's opinionated and can be an insufferable brat when she does not get what she wants. She's the kind of girl who seems like she thought people were serious when she was called princess as a child. Ask one of Valorie's friends, however, and you'd see the woman behind the party girl. She's cares deeply about her peers, and would drop anything to help one who was in need. Valorie may bite the head off of a stranger, but would be the one to extend the olive branch after a fight with a friend. She invites people who'd be too shy to normally speak up into conversations, and keeps the conversation moving without dominating it.

On the inside, Valorie is extremely motivated and dedicated to her studies, but struggles with finding a proper balance between her work with the Rats, her work as a rat, and her own interests. She's excited about having a group of friends that seem to enjoy her company, and often loses sleep by worrying about what would happen if she was exposed. She's disorganized, confused, and anxious. Her smoking habit has nearly doubled to two packs a day since moving to Santa Somabra. She's naïve, she knows it, and that scares her. Sometimes, Valorie thinks about packing up her bags and running home. Other times, she considers coming clean and taking responsibility for her screw ups. Mostly, though, mostly she daydreams, convincing herself that this will all be worth it when she's a super badass lich with a skeleton horde and zombie underlings.

[b]Bio:[/b] Valorie's childhood was spent moving around the country every year or so. When she was five her parents bought her a beagle to keep her company and also to shut up about getting her a sister. She named the dog Samantha. It was a boy dog. Again, she was five. Valorie and Samantha grew up together. They played together. They slept together. They went to the bathroom together until the neighbors alerted her parents about it; it became one of those embarrassing memories Val's mother would bring up to embarrass her in front of her friends. Simply put, the two were inseparable. For a decade, Valorie palled around with her pup; Samantha, or Sammy as she mercifully started calling the dog, was her best friend. So of course, like a family movie that wants to easily tug at your heartstrings and leave parents with an uncomfortable discussion after the credits roll, the dog died. Hit by a drunk driver. Real graphic. Blood and guts everywhere, kind of where the family movie plot falls apart.

Valorie was wrought by guilt. Not that kind of lame, self-blaming guilt where she it was her fault Sammy got smeared because she didn't lock a gate or left the door cracked ajar or something innocent like that. No, it was more of the kind of “oh shit, I hit my dog while going for a joy ride in my dad's Bentley after getting smashed after three Bud Lites I'm going to be grounded forever also my dog's dead” kind of guilt. So, she did what any responsible underage teenager would do in that situation: she packed a cooler full of ice, scooped her dog off the pavement, picked the tufts of blood and fur from the car's grill, and turned to the Internet. About a dip into the deep web, several restless nights of reading and practicing, a few dozen energy drinks, maybe half a pint of blood drawn into a pentagram, a fair amount of amateur needlework, some low-light candles and atmospheric music to set the mood, and an incredible amount of good luck later Sammy was back. Oh, and Valorie was now, technically, a necromancer and would probably be in a real “not cool” position if people found out about it, but hey, dog's not dead. A little mangy, smells kind of bad, missing some fur, ear isn't quite right, obvious stitching, but alive-ish.

Despite knowing the inherent dangers, Valorie becoming unhealthily obsessed with necromancy and all sorts of other fun, dangerous, blood magic things. The fancy for the weird did not fade away as she went to college in Colorado, and she soon became “that” roommate who never went to class, never went to parties, barely left the room to eat, and had extremely questionable hygienic practices. College wasn't a complete waste, though. The nearby cemetery gave her plenty of opportunities to practice on things a bit more complex than beagles. She managed to raise a human once, although her spell only lasted a minute. Still, it was perhaps the most unpleasant minute of her life. He just complained so much. If she knew now that this was how most conversations with the deceased went, she would have switched her personal studies into demonology or something. At least devils try to be charming.

Not going to classes was a pretty good way to fail out of college. Still, Valorie hadn't fully wasted her tuition; her talents and interests just happened to not be part of the curriculum. She was confident enough in her skills to be able to temporarily raise humans for a few minutes with a regular success rate. Now, she just needed a way to use that talent to pay for food and board. Colorado didn't have many opportunities for an illegal necromancer, and she felt her parents would become suspicious upon seeing Sammy if she went home. She decided to take her chances in Santa Somabra.

And what does an illegal, amateur, naive necromancer do in a city that was currently plagued with an undead problem? Does she join the Brotherhood of Rot to be closer to likeminded individuals? Does she take what she calls the easy way out and join a vampire family with hope for that cool sign-on bonus of eternal life to give her plenty of time to research? Nope. She gets arrested for maleficence after being caught drawing runes at a graveyard. Her arresting officers, who Valorie suspects to be much like the majority of the cops in Santa Somabra, are on the take. She gets an offer: either work for them as an undercover agent to aid their “superiors”, or enjoy a nice campfire where she served as the kindling. 

And so, the dog-loving, amateur necromancer became a Rat.

[b]Other:[/b] Valorie has a tiny studio apartment that that she shares with her zomb-dog, Sammy. It's fully feature complete with loud neighbors, thin walls, poor pest control, a terrible view, and a dangerous neighborhood. She sleeps on her couch both because it's comfortably and because it's her only furniture. Internet she “borrows” from her neighbors. The electricity's been out for a while. She's behind on rent. It's great!

Her necromancy is self-taught through whatever reading she can find and trial and error methods. She's strictly forbidden by her contact within the police from using her magic, and generally prefers to keep it as a secret from her fellow Rats and friends. Her magic is rather weak for a necromancer, meaning it is still greatly reviled and potentially dangerous. The longest she raised a human was for about four minutes using her own fresh blood; the length of their undead vacation greatly shortens when the blood is either not fresh or not hers. Animals she can command for maybe an hour before they turn to ash, although the time rapidly diminishes with the more she tries to raise and the quality of blood she uses. Valorie hasn't been given the chance to raise any already fantastical creatures and could only guess with where she'd start.

She commonly carries her phone, earphones, sunglasses, key, a perpetually almost-empty wallet, at least one pack of cigarettes, gum, a knife, a flask full of slowly congealing Type O, mace, various personal goods, and a stolen gun with about five bullets left that she's afraid to touch.