[hider=Sandra Claire]Name:[hr] Sandra Claire

Age:[hr] 25

Sex:[hr] Female last time she checked.

Height:[hr] 5'1

Build:[hr] A slim, but brutish looking woman with clear growing muscles in her torso region.

Style:[hr] As a person, she takes great pride in looking young and hip; that's what people call it right? A bright blue sweatband nestled over a short mop of red hair, because sweatbands are cool, especially when coupled with a stuffy fading-green jacket pulled over a black sleeveless top (The bar didn't have much of a dress code) and a bow tie; and of course, the most stylish of all, some weird mishmash of a blue skirt and shorts. She was truly the coolest gal in town. THough sometimes, she would be told to get into traditional bartender garb for the more special days.

Hair, face, markings:[hr] Nobody really noticed her green eyes, no matter how much she tried to make them stand out, they were usually more interested in the three deep claw marks that streaked across her nose, which she owed to a tale of the great beast she wrestled with in the wild. She always left out that the great beast was a cat.

Concept:[hr] A cleanly, hot-headed bar lady from Brooklyn who would be very tempted to out the resistance to the government or shoot off a few rounds with a gun if someone dares disrespect her workplace. She fights to keep it clean, damn it!

Disposition:[hr] Sandra is a person who's accepted the fact that her days are numbered, lucky to even make it to fifty. So, she intends to treat her days like one last glorious mile in a race (To make up for sucking at foot races back in the day), putting her skills to what she deems as good use and to their limit. She remains outgoing and curious, spending her time expanding her knowledge on the whirl of machines and dreaming of how many better ways her life could have turned out better. Race car driver? Mad scientist? Evil Lawyer? Those made money with style. Though with this also comes her nastier side, holding a short temper and a need for attention, desperate to make sure she doesn't look or feel old. As well as being fully prepared to get up and fight anyone who dares disrespect her work or track mud onto the floor she just half-assed cleaning!

Fears:[hr] Let's just say she's not a swimmer and that she's not fond of short people, squirrels or fish.

Morals:[hr] In a way, she has both a strong backbone, but a lack of moral restraint. She has your usual set of right and wrongs, but at times, if scared of bodily harm, she might be fully willing to throw some stranger under the bus depnding on how close she is to them.

History:[hr] Yuh know how life goes, pushed out kickin' and screamin' wit' nuttin' mawh than tears protectin' yuh from de cold. See, I grew up in what many people like tuh refuh tuh as a shit hole, not a coin tuh my name, just de bruises fawh how many people I've had tuh bend ovuh backwards fawh. De old man was a mechanic wit' his head always in de smoke of a newly lit cigarette, momma was a predatawh in de less than savawhy business who hardly kept herself cooped up indoawhs; she brought in de food, he sharped huh claws, I accidentally lit de rug on fire... Twice. Life was hard. Ya' dig? De old lady was sick of it and left wit' every coin she could fit in huh pocket, I din't mind though, she nevuh got me dat bunny fawh my birthday. De old man, howevuh... It hit him pretty hard. In shawht: life got harduh and I saw an oppawhtunity. Yuh got me so fahr? A necklace, a beautiful necklace, doomed tuh rot away in a sealed tomb. Ya' dig? Now, I ain't sayin' dat what I did was all dat nice fawh de family of de dead guy, but I coun't let somethin' so valuable stay unner de dirt.

As yuh can imagine, people doan take too kindly tuh dirty little grave robbers, seemed like karma had de same idea. From den on, caught wit' my hand in de dusty cookie jar, my life went down de drain. Oppawhtunities lost, family disappointed, a few nights in jail every week, all endin' in me flat on my ass outside of de last job dat rejected me in some foreign country. Homeless, jobless and too ashamed tuh go face de only shred of family I had left. I had left cocksure wit' a promise tuh pay off debts fawh him, but now? I coun't face him. Somewhere down de line, I found myself wit' de best deal I'd evuh get in dis shit hole, a place tuh stay wit' enough room tuh stretch my legs and food on de table; all fawh de price of playin' bartenduh fawh some Scottish bastard and lookin' de othuh way tuh any shady goings on.

So, bottoms up, assholes.

Sample Post:[hr] [hider]Some people enjoy life more as a simple thing. You're born, you grow up, you fuck up, you live a little and then you get swept up in Death's great poker game so that those poker playing dogs can piss on your grave. But, Sandra had come to learn that a lot of people liked life like they liked their alcohol. Maybe some like themselves a Hangman's Blood, refreshing and easy to manage, but quick on way down. Others had the knack for a Tom and Jerry, hitting them hard and slow with a scolding taste. And some just wanted that bitter taste from a Salty Dog.

That was one thing Sandra could always admit she enjoyed as part of her desperate labor, the experience, and the people. Watching them stumble through the door lost, looking down at the mess they've made of their life and asking for it back, giving her the responsibility of their soul as that angry Brooklyn born witch worked her magic and mixe all the memories, passion, anger, regret and spit into one cup. And in that cup, there's release, a temporary safe haven from the shitty weather, a warm hand to caress your cheek and remind you of the good times. A demon, an Angel and a lost child all in one stained glass.

Sandra was never much of a drinker, never could find the cup that hit the spot just right and gave her something back. At this point in time, she was a dry, bland milk drinker. Little texture, foggy waters and nothing to see yet, not until she added something; but what? She didn't know. But it would be a hell of a time finding out. "Alright, which one of you shit heads ordered a Suck, Bang and Blow?"[/hider]

Skills:[hr]
Mechanic - 3
Culinary Arts - 1
Driving - 2


Stats:[hr] 
Reflexes - 0
Speed - 1
Strength - 0
Endurance - 1
Perception - 1
Will - 1

Resources:[hr] She would see herself cruising around in a badass Harley, but she's now just stuck borrowing whatever transport her new boss has or getting the bus. She tends the bar in exchange for renting out the upstairs room, meaning the only real pay she gets is through tips as she's too prideful to try and broach the subject of a raise with her boss.

Connections:[hr] Works under Tavish Baird at "Baird's", which by extension connects her to any resistance members as the bar is a common meeting spot when the main resistance base isn't being used.

Theme Song:[hr] [url]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BHrFEnL9CfM[/url]

Misc. Info:[hr] Sandra inherited her father's love of smoke, finding plenty of stress relief in the comfort of tar wrapped up in white. Tying into this, she found that her favoraite food was smokes barbecue ribs, enjoying such meals beside a broken down car engine she could fix up as a hobby.  And of course, whne it comes to drinks, she's a heavy and endurant one. With a liver of steel, she only goes for the real shit, the strong stuff. Cold, hard, milk![/hider]