[Hider=Cassidy Creed]

[B]Name:[/b] Cassidy Creed
[img]https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/564x/9a/5d/b5/9a5db546009c2284188f9ef6bbcec764.jpg[/img]

[B]Age:[/b] 26
[B]Gender:[/b] Female
[B]Ethnicity:[/b] Caucasian
 
[B]Physical Description:[/b]
[INDENT]Cassidy isn't waifish, willowy, frail, or any other synonym for the word delicate. She stands at a respectable 5'9" and has the sort of figure indicative of a woman who spends an inordinate amount of time training, meaning she is quite solidly built. When she walks Cassidy carries herself proudly, standing tall and never slouching, though the occasional hitch in her step betrays the injury that prematurely ended her street fighting career. Her complexion is fair, with only the random splattering of freckles marring her pale skin. This, along with the sectoral heterchromia that gives her right eye a blotch of brown coloring, are traits that Cassidy is somewhat self conscious about, though she'll never admit it out loud.

A childhood in deep East Texas has permanently left it's mark on this young woman's speech patterns, her syllables soft and drawn out in the tell tale style of a southern drawl. Her only tattoo is the peacock that spans the entirety of her right arm and she has a gnarled scar on her upper left thigh from a gunshot wound. She actually has a myriad of other, more minuscule scars from the errant knife or broken beer bottle, but they're mostly to her torso or arms and aren't readily recognizable on first glance.
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[B]Skillset:[/b]
[indent][i][u]Made of sterner stuff[/u][/i] - It takes a lot to damage Cassidy's calm. Her years fighting in the streets where anything goes and her time working as an ER nurse has made it so this little lady stays cool under pressure.[/indent]
[indent][i][u]Come at me, bro[/u][/i] - Cassidy can handle herself in a fight and isn't afraid to play dirty to make sure she comes out on top. That being said, her leg isn't as strong as it used to be and is her weak spot.[/indent]
[indent][i][u]If you ain't dead, I'll keep you that way[/u][/i] - Cassidy is not a doctor by any stretch of the imagination, but she can patch you up or keep you from bleeding out until you find someone to dig that bullet out of you.[/indent]
[indent][i][u]Iron Gut[/u][/i] - This one isn't the most helpful, but she considers it a skill none the less. A childhood of eating burnt hotdog and bologna meatloafs has groomed Cassidy to be able to scarf down pretty much anything without getting sick.[/indent]

[B]History:[/b]
[INDENT]Cassidy isn't the [i][b]exact[/b][/i] definition of trailer park trash, but she's not far off. Born in smoggy Beaumont, Texas and reared in a beat-up, rusted out airstream, the little girl never had much in the way of materialistic things or other comforts, but her mom always made sure she got three meals a day (if you can call fried spam a meal) and new shoes every winter, so she really couldn't complain. When Cassidy started sixth grade, Ms. Creed finally gave in and let her daughter bike the mile and a half to the local intermediate school, a fateful decision because it was what allowed the young girl to witness her very first street fight.

As she watched one middle school girl rip the earrings straight through another one’s ears while surrounded by a ring of their cheering classmates, Cassidy knew she had found her calling.

From then on fighting was all she ever thought about and soon the young girl found that if she was good at it people would actually pay her to beat the ever-loving shit out of other kids. She began staying out later and later after school and would come home covered in a litany of cuts and bruises. This was a point of contention between Cassidy and her mother who understandably found the change in behavior to be more than a little unsettling, but the extra cash meant they didn't have to struggle so hard to make ends meet, so she turned a blind eye to the whole thing. “Just don't get caught,” Ms. Cross would advise while she cleaned a wayward cut or applied a frozen bag of peas to a swollen eye. “And for the love of God, try not to get shot!”

Cassidy managed to heed this advice all the way through high school, but her luck ran out one evening while going a round with another fighter in the basement room of some seedy bar. Her opponent had played a clean game for the most part, only whipping out a switchblade at the very end, but Cassidy was still able to disarm and wrestle the other woman to the ground without getting herself stabbed. She was declared victorious and the man in charge was in the process of handing over the cash prize when someone in the crowd who had placed a losing bet opened fire.

One of the bullets caught her in the thigh and shattered her femur completely. It took a year of physical therapy to regain most of her former range of motion, but it never healed up quite right and no one wanted to fight or put money on someone as busted up as her, so the work dried up. Her mother's job at the paper mill offered Ms. Cross a promotion at their corporate office across the country in Brighton and she took it with out so much as the bat of an eyelash, hoping the move would help straighten out her somewhat rowdy daughter. It actually worked for the most part and Cassidy enrolled in community college to study nursing that same fall. In two years she graduated and landed a job at the local hospital, and everything was finally starting to go smoothly when her mother died suddenly at the age of 48 from a brain aneurysm.

And then Cassidy was alone.

She pondered moving back to Beaumont, but there wasn't really anything for her there either. She spent a year pulling double shifts at the hospital and avoiding her sad little two bedroom apartment like it was a plague. It was incredibly lonely and Cassidy missed having a family. Three years later and just when she was starting to feel utterly lost, fate or luck brought one David King into her emergency room. He wasn't banged up much, just a stab wound to the bicep he'd got in some bar fight, and they chatted about their different battle scars and how they got them while she stitched him up. The next day she was surprised to see Dave waiting for her at the hospital when her shift started with a proposition; to come work for the H10 Crew as a back-up enforcer and sometimes medic. Naturally she agreed and never looked back. The gang was good to her and it wasn't long after she got the hang of things that they sent her out on some of their shadier dealings, usually paired with another enforcer as backup.

Cassidy has been a part of the gang for two years now and couldn't imagine her life any other way.[/INDENT]

[B]Psychological Profile:[/b]
[indent][i][u]I'm your Huckleberry[/u][/i] - While she isn't necessarily looking for a fight, Cassidy isn't known for shying away from one either. This coupled with her naturally hot headed nature has earned her the reputation of being somewhat volatile and gets her into trouble sometimes.[/indent]
[indent][i][u]I'm a motherfuckin', goddamn lady, you sorry son of a one-eyed prairie dog[/u][/i] - Cassidy has a penchant for stringing some really, ahem, [i][b]colorful[/b][/i] sentences together. Along with being crass, sarcastic, and blunt, she isn't really the kind of girl you take home to mama.[/indent]
[indent][i][u]Think of the children![/u][/i] - She has a soft spot for all the younger, smaller, and defenseless crew members. She will bend over backwards to keep them out of harms way and loves helping them out with everything from homework all the way to boy or girl troubles, though her dating advice usually leaves a little something to be desired.[/indent]
[indent][i][u]Can't read my pokerface[/u][/i] - Well, in all actuality you most likely can. Cassidy can't keep a straight face when she's bluffing and as a result is a shit liar. She's an open book of sorts and it isn't hard to guess what she is feeling or thinking at any given moment, as it is probably written all over her face. [/indent]
[indent][i][u]...Are you, um, hitting on me?[/u][/i] - Completely oblivious when it comes to matters of the heart. Short of someone point blank saying, "Hey, I think you're cute. Wanna make-out?" she will absolutely not get the message they're flirting with her. Her own seduction skills are also somewhat lacking, as she thinks sparring matches and biting are far more romantic than roses or wine could ever hope to be.[/indent]
[indent][i][u]You're all I've got[/u][/i] - In many ways Cassidy sees the H10 Crew as the surrogate family that fills the hole her mother left behind when she passed away. Whether or not she likes you is irrelevant, if you're part of the gang then she's got your back.[/indent]
[B]Powers:[/b] 
[indent][i][u]Miasma Breath[/u][/i] - Under the influence of neon Cassidy is able to produce a colorless, neurotoxic smog from her mouth that has the cloyingly sweet odor of honey and sunflowers. In a big open space and at a distance it causes disorientation, headache, and severe nausea, but at a closer range and blown directly into the face it inflicts limb paralysis for a short period of time. In a closed space like a closet or sealed car and administered mouth to mouth it can prevent the victim's internal organs from functioning properly and may result in death. Symptoms will wane with time or can be treated by, surprisingly, coral snake anti-venom. 

While Cassidy is immune to her miasma's effects, the same can not be said for the other member of the H10 Crew, which is why she is reluctant to use it when one of them is nearby. Poisoning a fellow crew member would just be embarrassing, they'd never let her live it down![/indent]
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