[hider=The Mechanic] [center][img]https://www.kcet.org/sites/kl/files/thumbnails/image/alba_barrios_francis_silva_and_lorena_encinas_held_in_prison_in_connection_with_slaying_during_the_zoot-suit_period_1942.jpg[/img] (From left to right - Adali Pritchard, Rosa Kimbell and Tiffany Ida, fresh out of the automobile factory.)[/center] [color=#800020][u][b]Name:[/b][/u][/color] Rosa Kimbell [color=#800020][u][b]Age:[/b][/u][/color] 21 [color=#800020][u][b]Sex:[/b][/u][/color] Female [color=#800020][u][b]Sexuality:[/b][/u][/color] Bisexual [color=#800020][u][b]Relationship Status:[/b][/u][/color] Single [color=FFE8ED][center][h3]The Body[/h3][/center][/color] [color=#800020][u][b]Height:[/b][/u][/color] 5’2” [color=#800020][u][b]Weight:[/b][/u][/color] 132lbs [color=#800020][u][b]Hair:[/b][/u][/color] Black, wavy [color=#800020][u][b]Eyes:[/b][/u][/color] Dark brown [color=#800020][u][b]Skin Tone:[/b][/u][/color] Mixed Race [color=#800020][u][b]Appearance:[/b][/u][/color] Stocky and short with a passion for linen, Rosa dresses in waist high slacks and simple yet modest clothing for most of her day to day life. Her body is spattered with the scars of various bumps and bruises, her freckles show up under her eyes more prominently during the summer and she seems to cut her hair every weekend in an everlasting bid to contain it. She has a gap toothed smile and a wary eye. Her favourite colour is Burgundy and gold - she wears some of each whenever possible. [color=FFE8ED][center][h3]The Soul[/h3][/center][/color] [color=#800020][u][b]Likes:[/b][/u][/color] Exercise Good food Stories Meeting people Parties Naps [color=#800020][u][b]Dislikes:[/b][/u][/color] Idleness Bureaucracy Cold weather The countryside Coffee Zoos [color=#800020][u][b]Skills:[/b][/u][/color] [list] [*] Psychometry (with no control over it) [*] Good with mechanical engineering (Bad at theory) [*] Methodical (and stubborn) [*] Bilingual in French (but not too good at reading it) [*] Quick and agile (but can't take a hit) [/list] [center][img]https://www.kcet.org/sites/kl/files/thumbnails/image/the_black_widow_girls_gang_shown_as_they_prepared_to_get_into_police_car_1942.jpg[/img] (From left to right - Rosa Kimbell, Adali Pritchard and Tiffany Ida, arrested for breaking and entering)[/center] [color=#800020][u][b]Brief History: [/b][/u][/color] [list] [*] Louisiana born and bred to a francophone African mother and an Irish American father. [*] Grew up in a Catholic boarding school. [*] Apprenticeship in her father's autoshop. [*] Papa died during the Great War. [*] Worked in an automobile factory after her mother fell ill. [*] Pushed into robbery out of desperation. [*] Uncle Joe moves in, looks after Maman and Rosa. [*] Maman died 1919. [*] Sold the deed to the autoshop to move in with Uncle in New York. [*] Psychometric abilities manifested. [*] Made pocket change as a shitty repairman in their apartment block. [*] Struggled to find work after newfound abilities. [*] Applied to the agency on a whim. [/list] [color=FFE8ED][center][h3]The Story[/h3][/center][/color] It wasn't that Rosa had drank so much that it was difficult to walk; it was simply a combination of dancing for hours and drinking in the breaks that made coordination a little bit more difficult than it would be during the day. Nevertheless, she trundled on with high purpose; they had ran out of cereal. There was a 24-hour kiosk down the road from where she lived with her uncle, run by a sweet Jewish family and almost always open for business as each family member took shifts. Under the cool fluorescent bulbs, anything was possible, everything was for sale. Rosa regarded the boxes of Quaker oats with a deliberate solemnity that the slightly inebriated seemed to always carry about them. That's probably why Rosa nearly shat herself when a haggard old woman seemed to literally materialise in the slim gap between the grits and the toiletries aisle, weighed down by the endless layers of dulled clothing and tarnished jewelry. Rosa regarded her with awe and gingerly held out the box of cornflakes as a peace offering. “Never mind that, child,” came the raspy voice of the lady (Rosa clung to her Kellogg's for dear life) “I am here to give you an opportunity.” “I don't think those are in stock round these parts,” murmured Rosa as she started to take a few tentative steps back. She jolted as those withered fingers hooked around her wrist, and avoided looking into those piercing green eyes. “Listen lady, I fix things, I don't live off miracles. My land’s the land of the broken, smokin’ outcasts of our new automated life.” The old woman tapped one of her lacquered nails on her stomach. The red claw pierced the coating of tassels on Rosa's dress and sent chills running down her body. “Not recently, for certain,” she hissed. “Not since the incident.” “You're good at this cold reading shit I'll give you that,” came Rosa's nervous reply. The cereal was the last thing on her mind now. “Go on then. Give me an example of my lil’ incidents.” She blinked - a quiver of fear gave her warning - inhaled, sucking in one last breath of air before being hauled into the musty depths of the old woman's cloaks. Her ear was accosted by the words that the woman spat into them and Rosa recoiled, ripping the hem of her dress on those talons, nearly tripping on her own feet, as she was abruptly let go. “Uh-huh. Yeah. That'll do it,” Rosa stammered, a pool of orange flakes covering the tiles from the crumpled box hanging loosely in her hand. “You on that voudou shit, aren't you? Maman warned me 'bout you.” Her free hand reached out and numbly grabbed the advertisement that the woman offered her. “So, does Hobbs take a-...a, uh, a telegram?” She called after the retreating figure. “She got business hours? Don't think she'd be awake right now, uh-huh?” She tottered after the old lady but lost her again in the gap between the aisles - the only proof of her existence was wobbling in Rosa's trembling hand. Rosa sat on the floor. There wasn't enough bathtub gin in the world to make that up, and she didn't know what degree of sober she had reached, but it wasn't enough to wrap her head around the surrealism of the moment. Lost in deep contemplation, she awoke from her musings when bubbe Cohen shuffled down the aisles, pushed the pile of cereal aside with her little feet and wrapped her shawl around the lost girl, asking her with all the warmth of the street's favourite grandma if she was going to pay for that. [color=FFE8ED][center][h3]The Ether[/h3][/center][/color] [color=#800020][u][b]Color Code:[/b][/u][/color] #800020 [color=#800020][u][b]Theme Song:[/b][/u][/color] https://youtu.be/01wQa0ctK-Y [/hider]