[hider=Samantha Ross][hider=Sam][img]https://i.pinimg.com/736x/cc/e1/14/cce114dc94707b7c75cec6df25e0a7ad.jpg[/img][/hider]
[b]Samantha H. Ross ‘Sam’ | 24 | Female | Hephaestus Successor[/b]
[b]Sexuality:[/b] Asexual? (She’s genuinely never given it any thought)
[b]Power:[/b] Metal Manipulation 
[b]Weapon:[/b] [url=https://i.pinimg.com/1200x/67/e0/eb/67e0ebc5b8d790c9b22fd37e9bee7933.jpg]Hammer[/url]
[b]Appearance:[/b] 
‘Solid’ would be how most people would describe Sam if asked. Squared shoulders, and well muscled arms and legs, she’s built for power and endurance not a sprint. A practical sort with little interest trying to pretend she’s something she’s not, she generally keeps her hair tied back to keep it out of her eyes and work. Her hands are callused and scarred from years of fighting with stuck fittings and rusted bolts, and her forearms carry a burn scar or two from unpleasant encounters with hot engine parts; most notably she’s also missing her right leg just above the knee, though between her prosthetic and the fact she’s never been seen wearing shorts most people are unaware of that.

Clothing-wise she’s usually in jeans, work boots and a t-shirt, all of which are usually grease stained to some degree. If she figures she’s about to get into a job that might get [i]really[/i] messy you may see her in a set of coveralls; the last time anyone who knows her saw her in anything ‘nice’ was the thrifted suit she wore to her high school graduation. (She’d never worn or owned a skirt or dress before that and wasn’t about to start then).

Her hammer in many ways is rather unremarkable. A simple one handed cross pien hammer with a flat face on one side of the head and a tapered one on the other side, it is a simple and reliable tool, and yet it is much more. Sam has yet to find anything that can withstand it for long.

[b]Personality:[/b] Calm and methodical, Sam would rather do it [i]right[/i] the first time than rush things and have to do it again. She’s slow to anger but can be stubborn at times and has been known to hold grudges for quite a while if she felt she was slighted enough. She has a love for all things mechanical, and despite appearances can have remarkably light and deft touch when she needs to.

[b]Short Bio:[/b] That Sam was going to grow up to be a ‘grease monkey’ was pretty much a given. Both her parents raced at the local dirt track, and thus both she and her sister grew up in and around the oily, noisy world of motorsport. While she was certainly taught to drive dirt track cars once she was old enough, she never took to it the way her sister did, instead preferring to spend her time in the pits working on engines, transmissions and such pretty much from the time she could hold a wrench and follow directions.

At nine she built her own go cart and by the time she was old enough to (legally) drive she’d rebuilt and sold a handful of cars and motorbikes, and countless smaller motors. It was just shy of her eighteenth birthday when he lost his leg; out on the backroads she took a corner a bit too fast as the bike hit a gravel patch and lost it. Unlike too many her age would’ve been, she was at least wearing proper gear, but no safety gear was going to help her right knee hitting a rock at 80 kmh. That was the first big change in her life, the second was when she ‘Awakened’. She’d been ‘Burning the midnight oil’ as the saying goes, getting her sister’s car ready for an upcoming set of races, working alone in the old barn that was the shop on the family property. Like usual when she’s been on her feet for too long, her stump was starting to bother her, which was a sure sign to call it quits for the night. A sound behind her made her turn around just in time to see a set of shelves, full of parts fall towards her…and a figure obviously pushing said shelves over. Before that could all register though, it all went black and she could smell burning charcoal and hot metal and a voice calling itself Hephaestus spoke to her. It spoke of Successors and Titans and other mad things, but she knew with the same certainty that she knew water was wet and fire hot, that it was all true.

When the world came back, she was pinned under the debris and an indistinct figure stood over her with a sword. “Nothing personal,” They said, aiming to stab her through the heart. “But you’re in the way.” Her eyes fixed on the blade, a thought came to her and the blade crumpled like tin foil as she lashed out with a free hand, that was now holding a hammer. The impact [i]should[/i] have shattered her attacker's knee, but they seemed remarkably durable; any further interactions were interrupted by the sound of her rapidly approaching family, drawn by the colossal crash of the falling shelves. She’d looked away from her attacker for an instant when she heard her father shout and in that time they’d vanished.[/hider]