Rapid Reader — Roleplayer Guild

Needs some editing, but here's my first attempt at this character:

Name: Valerie Ward, "Val"

Gender/Pronouns (as applicable):  Female (she/her)

Race/Species: Human with a hint of an ancient curse.

Age (Real and apparent): Looks to be in her early twenties, clocks in at an odd twenty three.

Appearance: Val's measurements are decidedly average and she stands at a respectable 5'5''. Hard to place, Val is ambiguous in terms of her appearance, and it would be hard to guess where she is from. She has olive skin, dotted with a small number of memorable scars, and an annoying Ankh symbol that she can't seem to rub off. Her eyes are hazel and shine brightly with a mischievous energy, as if she's always planning something, usually a playful theft. Her hair is sorrel, cast in a brownish orange shade, and cut to just above her shoulders. Experimental with the shape of her hair, Val uses an ostensibly endless supply of frequently lost hairpins to keep her hair in broad range of hairstyles.

Val moves with a feline grace, possessing a lazy, effortless efficiency to all her movements. She walks quietly and lightly, managing to surprise all but the most observant. She has a nimble, athletic build, and while far from a gym rat, it's clear that she keeps in good shape. She is flexible and agile, having spent most of her life climbing walls, ledges, and fences to get into forbidden places. A prodigious lounger, Val appears completely unwilling to sit normally, and is inevitably exploring novel ways to use furniture.

Val has little interest in fashion, instead she wears an incidentally acquired collection of jeans, t-shirts, and canvas sneakers. In warmer weather she favors sundresses, useful given her particular shapeshifting talents and what said transformations does to any fabric still on her body. Val often carries a backpack with a spare set of clothes in case she has to urgently shapeshift. She reluctantly wears more formal attire, such as business casual, only if it is absolutely necessary.

Personality: Sociable, confident, and easy going, Val is a mostly reformed career criminal trying to pay rent in the least effortful way possible. Far from lazy, she simply prefers to save her energy for when more vigorous action is required, and has a talent for finding places suitable for quick naps. Val is independent without being a loner, deftly dancing around deeper professional and personal relationships to avoid becoming overly attached. She is deeply inquisitive, especially regarding the supernatural, but hates to admit it. Val performs well under pressure, channeling any fresh anxiety into adrenaline, and she seems to relish the chance to overcome a new challenge.

Powers, Traits, and Abilities:

Cursed after stealing a statue of Bastet, Val is an intuitive shapeshifter. She isn't a wizard. She doesn't know  the first thing about magic. Val can't explain how she shapeshifts, only that that she does, and she is very quick to make it clear that she doesn't howl at the full moon. Shifting is a painful and difficult physical process, leaving Val with command of a limited number of shapes. Inordinately fond of cats, she favors assuming feline forms, and is particularly amused by transforming into a calico cat. 

As a result of the curse that afflicts her, Val has gained heightened senses. She's extraordinarily good at detecting movement and given the faintest source of light is able to see in the dark. She has an acute sense of hearing and smell, which is not always to her advantage in the loud, bustling city. Possessing a remarkable sense of balance, Val has shown an impressive ability to land on her feet, even in her human form.

Val has quick, nimble hands that she is very proud of. She has a talent for picking locks, sneaking around, and experience in all matters related to burglary. In her spare time, she enjoys sleight of hand and performing magic tricks that rely on her dexterity. Consequently, items have an astonishing habit of disappearing around Val, reappearing soon after with only a wry grin and half-heartedly apology from the young woman. 

Given her past as a career criminal, particularly her criminal record, Val prefers to avoid guns. Guns are loud, guns draw attention, and guns mean longer criminal sentences if you are caught. Avoiding conflict is the name of the game as far as Val is concerned and she prefers to leave the shooting to others at PHI.

Some people are bad at ski-ball. Some people are good at ski-ball. And then there is Val. Val is great at ski-ball. In fact, she might be one of the best to ever play the game, and at her worst there's still no way that she's leaving an arcade or carnival empty handed. Beyond collecting game coupons and prizes, Val unsurprisingly enjoys sport climbing. It keeps her in shape, it keeps her skills sharp, and it helps her blow off the stress that sometimes arises from working at PHI.

Background:

Two for one special:

Rain fell softly, pattering against the window in a slow, soothing rattle. The gentle sounds offered Laura no comfort. The room was cold, damp, and predictably oppressive. Laura was tired. She was afraid. Sitting on the filthy bed that they had shoved into a corner of the room, she struggled to remember how things had gone so wrong. She was in trouble. Real trouble, the kind of trouble that couldn't be fixed by a simple cantrip and a kind word. She hugged her knees tightly and tried to focus on her breathing. Panicking wouldn't save her. She knew that. She knew that, and still, she could feel her nerves fraying.

"In. Out. In. Out," she muttered raggedly, exhaling slowly as she tried to remember what Dominic had taught her. She had to do something. She couldn't wait. There had to be a way out. Some weakness in the room that she had missed. Something. Anything. Anything for her magic to work on. Anything for her to use. She could feel herself growing weaker each time they returned her to the room. She wouldn't last much longer. 

They had put her on the fifth floor. The window was unlocked. Not that it mattered. Heavy iron bars wrapped around the window and she could see the runes carved into the rusted metal. She could hear a tapping sound, the low thump of something hitting glass. She looked up with startled eyes and saw a calico cat sitting outside of the window. She could hear it chirp as it pawed at the window. She stared. The cat hit the window even harder, chirping loudly as it moved its eyes towards the window latch in a curiously human motion.

Laura wondered if she was losing her mind. Here she was dying and she was busy staring at a cat. At least it was better than being alone, she thought as she unsteadily rose to her feet. Unlocking the latch she opened the window and the cat slipped in with a satisfied meow. Jumping to the top of a nearby bookshelf, it sat expectantly, and looked down on her with a look of presumed superiority. The cat waited expectantly as she struggled to pull the window shut, shaking water off of its paws in between irritated looks in her direction.

Wavering, Laura stumbled back onto the bed. Making a soft, inviting sound, she held out a hand towards the cat. Obliging her, the cat jumped down from its perch on the top of the bookshelf, rubbing against her as it sauntered across the bed. Laura could feel the tears burning at the edges of her eyes. It was wrong. Everything was so wrong. She wanted to go home. She just wanted to go home. Sobbing quietly, she began to slowly pet the cat.

"Hey there Mr. Kitty Kat, what are you doing here?" She whispered as the cat nuzzled against her with a loud purr. Picking the cat up, she wrapped her arms around it, and pulled it against her chest, burying her head in its soft fur. Long minutes passed, but she felt better. She wasn't alone. She wasn't alone and that was something.

Seemingly satisfied, the cat launched itself out of her grasp in a sudden leap. Landing on the floor, it watched her purposefully, and then moved in a shiver, its fur standing on edge. A pained sound escaped from the cat as the fur began to vanish in a sudden rush of very human looking olive skin. Bones snapped, moving beneath the new skin. Terrified, Laura covered her mouth as she let out a low scream of surprise. She looked away, hearing muscles tear as they stretched into new shapes. Laura fell backwards, burying her face the pillow as she forced her eyes shut.

"It's Miss Kitty Kat, actually," a woman's voice said impishly from across the room. "And calm down. Don't be such a baby about this. You're not the one who had to feel her entire body shifting itself twice over in one night."

"I- I'm sorry!" Laura stammered as she lifted her head from the pillow. The cat was gone and in its place was a young woman. A naked young woman. A very naked young woman. She managed to stifle the gasp that threatened to escape her lips, but she could feel the flush of color that traveled over her cheeks. The stranger didn't seem to be particularly bothered by her lack of clothes.

"Does it hurt?"

"Every time," the woman said, rubbing a hand against her neck. "More importantly, about fucking time you let me in! Do you know how long I was out there tapping against the window? I'm completely soaked thanks to your dilly-dallying and if I die from pneumonia you can be sure that it's your ass that I'm going to haunt!"

"I'm very sorry! I didn't realize that was you, I just thought it was the rain."

The woman sighed loudly, but offered a small, kind smile, "Don't sweat it, how about you hand me that blanket though? It's a bit drafty in here."

"S-sure," Laura said. She turned her head to the side as the woman wrapped herself in the blanket.

"Name's Val," the woman said wringing out her damp hair. "And you? Well, that's an easy one, you're Laura Campbell, after all."

"How do you know that?" Laura asked.

"I was sent here to get you. Wouldn't be a very good rescue mission if I didn't even know your name, now would it?"

"Someone sent you?"

"A mutual friend of ours."

"I don't have very many friends, not anymore."

The woman shrugged, "Dangers of dabbling with necromancy I suppose. Hard to keep friends when everyone thinks you're a grave robber with ambitions of world domination."

"That seems to be the case," Laura reflected bitterly. She wasn't evil. She wasn't trying to hurt anyone. She had no plans to summon an army of undead. But they still hated her. She knew the rumors. She'd heard the stories they told about her when she wasn't there. Wizards could be so cruel. 

"It doesn't matter, not any more," Laura said wearily. She was too tired to fight. Too weak to care what people thought about her. "But please, tell me, who's this friend?"

The other woman scratched the back of her head thoughtfully, before her lips shifted into a playful smile, "I suppose it wouldn't hurt to tell you. You'll know who I'm talking about, he's not exactly discreet."

"What do you mean?"

"Tall, long black hair, heavy German accent," the woman began counting with her fingers. "Has pointy teeth and carries a giant Zweihänder on his back. Fucking stupid if you ask me. He might as well hang a giant "stake me" sign on his front door."

"Sigismund?"

"Yeah, exactly, good old Sigi. Scourge of Brandenburg, Terror of Berlin, and some other titles I forget. Doesn't really matter anyways. He's just another washed up vampire baron now. Slumming it down here in the gutter with the rest of us."

"How do you know Sigismund?"

"Hard to do business in this city without rubbing elbows with the Vampire mob. A favor is a favor and a debt is a debt, so here I am, soaked and wearing a moldy blanket. Don't worry though, everything is going according to the plan," she added with a wink.

"Plan? There's a plan? How are we getting out of here?" Laura asked desperately, fighting the pang of hope she felt in her stomach and the sudden lurch of her heart as it began to thump loudly in her chest.

"We wait."

"How long?"

"Let's say fifteen minutes," the woman said. She tapped the side of her head, "Don't worry about the time, I've got a great sense of timing."

"And then what? We run?"

"That's the plan," the woman mused. 

"Look, I've tried," Laura said pointing at the door. "There's some sort of ward carved deep into the wood. I can't damage the lock and the door won't budge no matter how much magic I throw at it or how hard I hit it."

The woman flashed a Cheshire cat grin and waggled a finger at her, "Who said anything about using magic?"

"How are you going to open it then? Do you have a key?"

"Ha, please, I don't need a key. I brought a hairpin."

"A hairpin?"

"Yes, a hairpin. What else did you expect? It should be plenty for a lock like this," the woman said, holding up a metal hairpin that she fished out of her hair. "You wizards really need to get out more. Not every problem needs to be solved with magic."

The other woman tossed the blanket aside, crouching next to the lock as she grabbed hold of the hairpin, and carefully inserted it into the lock. Her eyes stayed on Laura as her hands began to move slowly. The lock offered no resistance, surrendering in a manner of seconds, and opened with a dull metallic click. Val offered another winning smile and winked, "See, I told you, you just have to have a bit of finesse."

"That's quite the party trick," Laura said, feeling a smile, the first smile in days take hold of her features.

"I know, right? Wait till you see what I can do with pack of cards, it'll blow you away, I promise," the woman teased, not quite managing to hide the pride in her voice. "Now give me your hand."

Laura held out her hand and Val grasped it and squeezed gently. There was something reassuring about her, something kind. Something that said that escaping from the the makeshift dungeons of a mad, half-demon warlock was just just another Wednesday. Her eyes were hazel, Laura thought as their eyes met. Catlike, but very pretty, almost distracting if it hadn't been for the fact that she was terrified. Val leaned in closer and Laura could feel the warmth of her breath against her ear as she spoke, "Listen, Laura. I'm going to count to three and then I am going to open that door and we are going to run. Whatever happens, I want you to keep running. Don't stop. Don't stop no matter what you hear or what you see. Got it?"

"Yes," Laura managed, swallowing her fear.

"Alright. 3! 2! 1! Let's go!"

"We're just waiting."

"Watching you mean. We're clearly watching," Val corrected. "If Blackwood asks we were watching the house. If Hawthorne asks we were watching the house with a proper perimeter set up. And if Priest asks...we didn't stop for coffee and bagels. Got it, Trevor?"

The sun was only a lazy blood red circle at the edge of the horizon. Hunched over the steering wheel Val tried her best to forget the hangover the pounded against her skull. The birds were too loud. The sun was too bright, even beneath her sunglasses. She hated the suburbs. Cities were loud and smelled, mostly of rotting garbage, but at least cities were interesting. The suburbs had none of that. She looked up from the steering wheel, glancing at the picturesque house to her left. She hated it. She hated the ugliness of it. The disgusting consumerism that dripped off of every line. It looked like every other house on the block. Upper middle class. Basic security system, advertised with a fancy sign planted in the front yard, and installed sloppily by someone getting paid minimum wage. Just another house, in just another neighborhood. Unremarkable, save for the fact that this house happened to be owned by an ogre peddling arcane drugs to high end clients. A problem to Val, only because she was being paid to make it her problem.   

"Yeah, sure, we were watching the house," the large man reclining in the car seat next to her said after a lengthy pause.

"Don't sweat it, He hasn't even gotten out of bed yet."

"How do you know?"

Val made a show of sniffing in the air, "Can't smell any bacon. First thing every morning, he makes a cup of coffee, fries up some bacon, and poaches two eggs."

"Get out of here, you can't smell that from all the way over here."

"Bet," Val said, "I bet you I can."

"Whatever, I'm not falling for that again. You already stole $75 from me."

"Won, Trevor, the word you are looking for is won," Val smirked, punching Trevor playfully in the shoulder.

"Yeah, yeah, anyways, how much do you think PHI is getting paid for this?"

"More than they are paying us, that's for sure."

"Ain't that the sad truth," Trevor said, shaking his head from side to side. He coughed awkwardly and Val could sense him trying change the course of the conversation, "Real talk. What's your story? I mean, the transformation thing?"

"Really, we're going to have this chat now?"

"Yeah, when else. What's the harm? We've got plenty of time to kill. We're on shit duty for at least another six hours."

"Sure, sure, whatever," Val said with a well-practiced roll of her eyes. "What do you really want to know? My bra size? The color of my underwear? If I'm single?"

Trevor chortled in reply, managing to spit out at least half of the coffee in his mouth. He shot Val a glare, "Thanks, thanks for that, Val. You're a real pal."

"Are you going to ask your stupid questions or not?"

"Fine, sure, just let me get this," Trevor said, trying and failing to wipe the coffee off of his shirt. "Are you a wizard?"

"No."

"Then how are you a shifter? Did you get bitten by a werecat? What do werecats even look like? Giant cats?"

"No, it's...it's complicated."

"Complicated?"

"I stole a statue from the MET."

"You stole a statue? That's it?"

"I stole a statue of Bastet from the MET."

"Bastet?"

"Bastet. You know, the Egyptian goddess," Val said, pausing as she noticed the confusion on Trevor's face and his annoyingly vacant stare. "She's the only goddess with a cat head...kinda hard to miss."

"Maybe, doesn't really ring any bells."

"Keep this up and maybe you'll be the one cursed, you ignorant bastard," Val said sipping coffee from the Styrofoam cup she cradled in her hands.

"Hey, it's not my fault, we can't all have the benefits of a fancy college education."

"Yeah, well, I don't think the prison book club counts as a fancy college education."

"You were incarcerated?"

"Couple of times. Last visit I did three months. Albion Correctional Facility. Could've been worse, only got hit with trespassing."

"Bank robbery?"

"Nah, I wish, that would have been so much cooler. It was just some antique store. Real flashy joint, lots of expensive shit. Client wanted some old amulet. Got caught. Damned if I know how. I didn't trip any alarms. There weren't any cameras. No one saw me go in and no one saw me go out. Had a strange feeling though. Goosebumps, felt like someone else was there with me the entire time. Spooky shit. Never did figure out what was up with that."

"How'd you get out? Good behavior? That doesn't sound like you," Trevor scoffed, demolishing an entire bagel in an impressively poor showing of table manners.

"I'll have you know that I was a model prisoner," Val said, pretending to be offended at the implication. "Priest and Hawthorne sprung me out of the prison. Legally that is, sent a fancy lawyer and Morgan, I don't know what she said, but I've never had a case dismissed that fast before."

"Morgan? You mean, Blackwood?"

"Yeah, who else?"

"She's one scary lady," Trevor said, whistling theatrically.

"Don't catch her saying that or she might just decide to snack on your soul," Val said waving her hands and making a ghostly moan at Trevor.

"If I have to sacrifice anyone to Blackwood, I'd pick you."

"Cool, that just makes me important. But now that you've heard my sad story, I think it's time for you to tell me how exactly a Frost Giant ends up doing an internship at PHI? Tired of fighting Norse gods? Retirement benefits in Valhalla not to your liking?"

"Jötunn, we prefer to be called Jötunn," Trevor said, visibly bristling with irritation. "And I'm only an eighth Frost Giant, as you people say. Wouldn't be able to fit in this car if I was a full-blooded Frost Giant. Anyways, that's beside the point. This internship is all thanks to my uncle, apparently he served with Priest back in the day during the first —"

"Look alive, Trevor! We've got movement," Val interrupted, pointing towards the house that they were supposed to be watching. The house that they were watching.

"Where?"

"Left side, by the garage door, three of them, wearing coats. Who the fuck wears a coat in July?"

"Backyard as well, two more just jumped the fence," Trevor added, panic rising in his voice. "What the hell? Who are these guys?"

"I don't know, but I've got a bad feeling about this," Val began, feeling the hairs on the back of her neck rising.

"Shit! They've got guns. Floor it, Val, floor it!" Trevor shouted.

"Fuck!" Val screamed, ducking down in her seat, and turning the key in the ignition as she slammed her foot down on the pedal. Lurching to life with a sudden jolt, the car rocketed into drive. Val could hear the loud pop pop sound of gunfire as the Toyota barreled down the street and away from the unfolding battle. PHI didn't pay her enough to stick around. Not when people started blasting.
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