Cruising altitude. A charming phrase that meant the plane was neither gaining nor losing height. It was an apt descriptor for how Caesar felt about their situation with the deaths in Justice, including their own fallen; they seemed to take a couple of revealing steps forward, only to be left without the means to fit the pieces of the puzzle together. It was maddening. Infuriating. Having the idea that the knowledge was sitting right in front of them, yet not aware of how it all fit together. Add Maria to the mix. She was infinitely more qualified than anyone else, and despite obvious friction, she was the consummate professional at work. She used to be, anyway. Time apart and recent events might have colored the situation some, but deep down, Caesar was sure that they had a united front against the rest of Justice.
Though it was early, the venerable Mexican thought it might be prudent to peruse the selection of mescal aboard the plane. Not right at that moment, but soon. Probably very soon. He wanted to catch a buzz and sort through his feelings about everything that had transpired as of late, but still wanted to step off of the plane with a clear head. It would have to be clear - Keystone was a very large, very talented man with his fists who was young enough to be in or near his prime, yet old enough to have veteran-level experience. And Caesar had to make a personal statement when he saw the limey next.
Meanwhile, Thalia popped a curiously strong mint and settled down into a comfy chair. As it turned out, she wasn't aware that planes had comfy chairs, preferring to travel overland and rarely having the opportunity to take in the wonder of a private plane. Maybe if she had taken more of an active role with her uncle's company, she would have been exposed to more things like this. Well, she'd take it now. Minty freshness achieved, Thalia stuck an earbud in one ear (keeping one free in case conversation got interesting) and keyed up some tunes. Mmm... minty.
J. Keystone
Location: Queensguard Industries R&D, MSS Motor Pool (just outside) Skills: N/A
Keystone palmed the utilitarian keychain and took a very short walk out of the Motor Pool's main doors. The light was still fairly grey, it being early morning, but the sun threatened to fix that in one quick hurry. He wasn't much of a huge fan of the sunlight in California. It did remind him of parts of mainland China, but to be fair, he wasn't there for the weather. He wasn't in California for the weather either, as he reminded himself just then. He took a moment to allow his eyes to adjust to the light, even though it wasn't too intense. Waking up in a vehicle designed to keep out bullets that was parked inside of a secure structure, and just moments before, tended to adjust one to the dark. For a second, he kind of wished he was back in his spiffy, restored Ramcharger, still sawing those proverbial logs.
When his eyes became clear enough to tolerate the light outside, they focused on a means of conveyance that did not exactly fit with the motif of the Motor Pool. It was a recent model of motorcycle, and Japanese at that. Not the kind of thing that El Jefe would ordinarily have in his stable, as it were. From what he understood, it wasn't for him anyway. Now, before he got to work for the morning, he'd have to figure out whether he needed to transport it with him to go pick up Caesar and crew at the airport, or haul the mystery guests back here.
First up, wheel the bike inside the facility. Then breakfast.
Egyptian Museum located at the top right, diagonally across the street from the Barracks.
Reginald gave a long sigh and quickly finished off the cup of tea he had procured for himself. He was not without a sense of empathy for the others affected by the tragic events of the previous day, although it could be said that he was not particularly thinking about the mental and emotional well-being of the guests of the Barracks in that moment, so much as he was concerned with his direct blood relations back home. He had always had strained relations with his brother, and now he had to inform him of Peter's passing yet again. The thought stopped him; had he even confirmed Peter's arrival in Cairo with him? Had Peter? Was the first bit of news to reach the man's ears be about the death of his son - again?
Such thought would have to be banished for the meantime. It served no purpose except to make an already difficult situation worse. One step at a time, and that step now was to acquire the remains of dear Peter, what there was to acquire, at least. To that effect, he answered the question pose to him by George by asking one of his own, now that he had risen and was about to leave for the motor pool. "Indeed yes, Mr. Benaszewski." he began, keeping his voice quiet and even, so as to not broadcast his query nor show unintended disrespect. "I am leaving to secure the remains of my nephew. If you know, perhaps you might tell me if said remains require a larger or smaller container for travel? I should hate to go about this unprepared, you see." Reginald gave a quick glance around, hoping that he had not just caused any undue distress to those that may have overheard.
"Aha!" came the noise of sudden knowledge caressing the brain of The Great Bazhooli. "AHA!" he said again. Yes, he and his people were about to massively uproot themselves and travel northward, across the vast and stodgy country of England with the sole purpose of locating and assisting their Grand Duchess. Not just her, but see to the Lady Crypt as well if, as he suspected, she went with Elizaveta. Having found what amounted to an extended and remote branch of their family was a wondrous thing. It would be a shame to lose them now. Vladimir wasn't about to say a thing to Thalken about his thoughts on the situation, nor even anything really about the situation at all.
This was not to say that he wasn't grateful. He dropped a foot back an gave an extended bow, tipping his hat while maintaining his gaze upon the grim and unhappy looking fellow. Perhaps he did not know it, but he had unwittingly just performed the deed of a decent man. A pity, considering that his family desired awful things for his family. This was a thing which would have to be rectified with steel and blood, eventually, by the look of things. Right now, the warm and fuzzy feelings of sentiment urged him to simply let it go for that moment; there would be time enough later for pressing festivities of that nature. "Talink-Man! Mr. Talink, son of Talink the Senior! Spasibo, eh, vith the Thank Yous. Much to prepare. Much!"
He readjusted his hat upon his noble and thickly coiffed head, then spun about to return to the rapid deconstruction of the Circus. He had to find his father. He had to find Viktor. Hell, he had to find a map. "Vhere hell is Green of Gretna...?" he mumbled to himself, attempting to locate the others in charge their people.
Sister Mary Ignatia Hale
"Since we live by the Spirit, let us keep in step with the Spirit." -Isaiah 17:9 Location: Nottingham Skills: N/A
If Virginia was going to skip a moment of rest to utilize some form of meditative Colonial ability, then Mary was honorbound to act as her protector until such time as she regained full awareness of the would around her physical form. She wasn't quite sure how it was supposed to work when Virginia went on one of her trips outside of herself. It was a thing she had mentioned a few times in the past, but never to any detail. It was interesting to her, even as it was beyond her grasp to learn any more than Virginia could be called upon to to consecrate water or bless items of the Faith.
It reminded Mary of a point of conversation that was bought up among the Graveolase, actually. The people of Training needed to rely upon one another, have their weaknesses covered by the strengths of others. They became powerful as a whole because of this, and haughty. Prideful. Maybe even too powerful without the widespread purpose of the Soulless threat to wage eternal war against. But their pride was palpable. Tactile. Excluding all others. They had lost the lesson.
Well, Mary hadn't. As Virginia settled into her trance, the Apostolic wrapped one of her rosaries partially around her wrist and stood from her chair for just as long as was necessary to draw two elegant-seeming shortswords. She gave one a flourish, tossed it end over end and caught it by the handle, and sat back down. The Lady Crypt's body would be guarded while she was "away", as God was her witness.
It looked very much like the party was moving in the direction of the Oak. Conversations seemed to be pulling Belladonna toward the area and the nearby cart full of goodies where everyone was gathering anyway, and it was no surprise that she was indeed the center of attention. She tended to be. But as it just so happened, Gilbert wanted to pay a little visit to the cart, himself. He took a leisurely walk alongside the slender, extremely popular lady as their individual discussions brought them closer and into the clearing near the monolithic Oak. As they neared James, the oddly cheerful fellow manning refreshments (and his protege for the evening), Gilbert cleared his throat and nonverbally offered to top off Belladonna's tumbler of scotch.
Being as he had a later appointment with the woman, he figured that the other, significantly more recent residents of Ville au Camp could benefit from her confidence and experience. He let a reassuring gaze linger with her before nodding slightly and motioning to the cart, indicating his next intended destination.
Gilbert approached the cart, giving a mind's eye listen to the recent conversations nearby. He did not know exactly how to feel about the implications around "Wake The Dead", considering that the person interred was a friend and fellow warrior, and very recently at that. He was certain that Evelina would handle the situation with grace and tact; it was her specific forte and perhaps her most powerful ability, even over her abilities as an Emendator. It was often his belief that the proper application of mundane abilities were as useful, if not moreso, than the most enigmatic of powers.
But that thought wasn't at the fore of his mind. What was revolved around a set of two smallish logs of sponge cake filled with a light and airy creme that was, until the Second Great War, flavored with bananas. Since the hostilities began and the oblong yellow fruits were rationed among the soldiery, the nigh heavenly gift was instead flavored with vanilla. Gilbert had no preference; so far as that was concerned both were worthwhile endeavors of the human condition. Approaching the cart, James, and everyone else nearby, his content, laid-back smile turned into a childlike grin. He crouched, pulling back the drapery covering the bottom shelf of the wheeled chariot of earthly delights, and stashed his bottle. Simultaneously, he procured a handful of cellophane-wrapped packages and held one out to both James and Alexandra, the two who seemed most interested in the cartbound goodies. "The two of you might or might not be familiar with..." he began, interested in their take on the confection.
James Grady
Location: Ville au Camp (By the Oak) Skills: N/A
"Holy shit, y'all gots TWINKIES!" exclaimed James, cutting off the taller and painfully more powerful Emendator. He accepted the gift with something akin to reverence. He hadn't seem one of these for a long, long time, and he remembered them damned fondly. He didn't actually see what all Gilbert had loaded into the bottom of the cart, just that it was supposed to be backups for the show pieces and beverages along the top. But Twinkies? He was sitting upon the motherlode of spongy golden deliciousness this entire time and no one had thought to tell him? Of course not... and it was probably good thinking on their part. He might have been tempted to destroy the entirety of their Twinkie stash by means of instantaneous inhalation. James had lived without luxury items of any kind for a very long time (camouflage tuxedo and homemade whiskey notwithstanding), and this, well, was like a little slice of mana of his very own.
It was even enough to take his mind off of the overabundance of particularly witchy women in his immediate surroundings. That was not to say that, after ingesting - no, savoring - the amazing little prepackaged treat, he would not fall back into old habits. Just that right now, priorities shifted from the concept that he likely wouldn't embrace (and probably shouldn't pursue) to the idea of a moment's sugary bliss. Yes, bliss. The rest could understandably wait.
Remembering his manners finally, "Why, thank you kindly there, Mr. Hat, sir! You just trade up fo' a Coke and a smile now, y'hear?" He popped the top off of the bottle he was holding just a moment prior and handed it over to Gilbert, then paid close scrutiny to the package in his hands. "Now, Miss Alex? If you ain't never had no twanky before, you are in for a real good time. Mmm hmm, mmm hmm..."
Quick question: Concerning the history involved between Bitchhilde and the old Vengeance crew, might I add her acquaintance to the fallen crewmembers in her "Fun Facts & Trivia" section in the CS when I edit in Relations? No sense in putting dead people in the Relations part unless you deem otherwise.
Name: Bridgette Anne Vinters Aliases: Bree, Bridge, Blue Valkyrie, Shieldmaiden of Borr Age: 30 Birthday: May 5 Ethnicity: Caucasian, mainly Nordic descent Birth Planet: Aesir Allegiance: Independent Starting Location: Newhope Gender: Female Occupation: Rom Skjaldmær (literally: Space Shieldmaiden), Armorer / Combat Specialist
"Wait, is she smiling at us? Okay... um, RUN.
Appearance
Height: 6'1" Weight: 170 Build: Wiry, with long limbs and chiseled, powerful musculature. Eyes: Seawater Blue Hair: Blonde, long. Occasionally set in braids. Skin Tone: Pale, cool skin with clear completion. Tattoos/Scars/Piercings: Several burn scars from years of metalwork, multiple ear piercings. Some healed lacerations from melee and ballistic injuries. Personal Style:
Bridgette's style is a curious mix of Old World and modern utility. She prefers neutral colored cargo pants and dark tank tops while working or grabbing a drink after hours. Alternately, she is equally comfortable in fitting tops made from natural materials and long, dark skirts. The feel of much of her clothing is laborer or rural, tough and well looked after, but with interesting splashes of color. Bridgette has a thing for rainbow colored kneehigh socks and Nordic styled leggings, often with snowflake patterns. Heavy black boots are an almost constant accessory, usually at least calf-high. Leather, preferably.
Jewelry is a fairly simplistic affair. She wears a silver, wolf head torc around her neck and four gold earrings, two in each ear. Her main identifying accessories, however, are her shield and mantle. The mantle is long, hooded, and fashioned of thick, fluffy white bear fur. It clasps around her neck or can be attached to her armor at the shoulders.
Concerning Bridgette's armor, it is taken from a now defunct private security company that was contracted to deal with issues in the Himinbjorg system, of which she was a locally sourced peripheral employee. The influence of Alliance gear is obvious, though it is noticeably different. She wears it much of the time she is out and about, and is perfectly comfortable doing so. Her shield is commonly worn across her back by an adjustable strap.
While not overly girly or effeminate, Bridgette is a lady, as she will violently remind others. She does prefer to keep up her hygiene and appearance, including makeup, and is in fact rather fond of anything that enhances her eyes. She is no Picasso, granted, and it winds up being rather bold or simplistic at times, but the effort is noticeable.
Sexuality: Bisexual Relationship Status: Single Personality:
If it is possible to be cheerful and angry simultaneously, Bridgette has found a way. She is generally an open, honest person, if unstably vulgar. And that’s if she feels comfortable around you. If not, she’s a little standoffish, bordering on violent (so don’t push it). Somehow, her more negative qualities coupled with her strong, independent personality give her a drawing quality. She is fairly charismatic, but involuntarily so. Most comfortable in a forge or workshop, preferably outdoors, she takes delight in the creation of useful things with ingots and wire, reclaiming scrap steel for artistic and practical endeavors.
Socially, she seems a bit stunted. She wants to be funny and outgoing, but experience has taught her never to get particularly close with anyone or rooted in any one spot. Secretly, she hopes for the opposite of this - a home and friends, maybe one day a family. Her occupation limits opportunities in this regard, and let’s face it: Bridgette isn’t the petite, sophisticated type.
Regardless of her faults and despite her history, Bridgette is in total adoration of The 'Verse in general. It's just a lot of the people in it that piss her off. Bridgette grabs life by the lips with both hands and yanks as hard as she can. She isn't shy, she doesn't hesitate; it is almost impossible to shame her.
Habits:
Tapping nails
Popping knuckles/joints
Swearing
Hobbies:
Making wire jewelry (torcs and such)
Metalwork (melee weapon and armor smithing, as well as more common things like welding and repairs)
Training - Strength and combat exercises mostly
Sledding (sometimes on her shield)
Fears:
Alliance returning to tie up loose ends
Dying badly
Her family being used against her
Likes:
Sugar/Sweets
Loud, Heavy Music
Drinking
A Decent Cut of Steak
Horseback Riding
Fresh Fruit
Video Games
Working With Her Hands
A Good Fight
Exercising/Training
Snow
Dislikes:
Pushy people (she likes to be the only one)
Herbal “Tea”, decaf "coffee", etc. (because what’s the point without caffeine?)
Reavers
Impatient People
Shoddy Craftsmanship
People touching her horse without permission
The term "Toy Soldier"
Cards On The Table
General Skills:
Animals
Art - Metalcraft
Athletics
Discipline
Gun Combat
Heavy Weapons
Mechanic
Melee
Tactics
Weapon Engineering
Specialty Skills:
Melee (Martial Art)
Melee (Blade)
Melee (Blunt)
Animals (Riding)
Athletics (Strength)
What Is On Your Person:
Clothing (Black tank top and mottled, dark brown cargo pants, black work boots with hot pink laces and rainbow colored kneehigh socks. Over everything is a great hooded mantle of fluffy white fur, and tied around her head is a pink paisley bandana.)
Jewelry (silver wolf's head torc, two runic ear cuffs, four gold 10 gauge seamless earrings)
Armband containing six self-injecting syringes of pure, cardiac stable adrenaline
Spear (lengthens from four to seven feet, generally kept on back of shield)
Security Armor (light ergonomic tactical armor drawing inspiration from Alliance military and riot gear, rank and identifying markings removed - includes shin/knee guards and forearm/hard knuckle protection, and light helmet with transparent face shield. Helmet clips to armor when not in use and contains removable short range comm.)
Viking Roundshield (36 inches, lightweight ballistic material with titanium fittings, tactical grip and carrying strap, plus a firmpoint to secure a secondary weapon)
Spools of Titanium Wire (crafting a hauberk, WIP, about 3/4 done)
Hammock
Tools. Lots of tools appropriate to her callings.
Large Leather Roll Case containing various melee weapons, including a Chopper with leather sheath, Brace of Goosewing Axes (pulled from a Reaver, belonged to a friend), personal cutters, her favorite Broadaxe, various spearheads and end caps.
"Girly Bag" (pink Neko Kitty backpack containing a stash of cosmetics, birth control measures, feminine hygiene products, a hard case containing six self-injecting syringes of pure, cardiac stable adrenaline, a couple bottles of industrial grade painkillers, and a battery operated entertainment/deep tissue massaging device named "Eduardo")
Bandoleer of shotgun shells (holds 50)
Portable Hydrogen Forge (disassembles into carrying case) with backup canisters
Cortex Terminal (mostly for personal entertainment and data storage)
Skjaldmær on the hunt.
History
The Reason You Chose The Side You Did:
Bridgette's allegiance is to herself and her people, be they from Aesir, the greater Himinbjorg system, or her fellow maniacs on Borr. While neither her home planet nor her system have declared war, they have spoken for Independence from the Alliance despite the inability to withstand their full military attention. As for Bridgette herself, she believes that it is only a matter of time until the Alliance pays precisely that attention. Her estimation is that they will require a much more established military and allies to fully break away, and until then it is all wishful thinking. If that means Browncoats, so be it. Until something changes, Bridgette is just fine with her new life out in the Black.
History:
The colorful lady known as Bridgette was born in a larger settlement on the border planet Aesir in the Himinbjorg system. Her mother died shortly after Bridgette was took her first breaths (complications of childbirth), leaving her to be raised by a father who, in hindsight, had no idea what he was doing. Nevertheless, there was love there, if a bit gruff and inexperienced. He was a professional boxer, regionally successful but never quite getting his big break. Still, it provided a life for his family that was marginally better than logging or working in the cannery. He insisted that his daughter learn from him at an early age, and when she got a little older, enrolled her in a proper gym. She excelled. Bridgette got a lot of practice outside of the ring as well, making her preferred style less "Marquess of Queensberry" and more "Because Fuck'em, That's Why".
When she was old enough to make decisions concerning her own education, Bridgette began studying metalwork and apprenticing under various blacksmiths, machinists, and mechanics for short term contracts. This kind of labor appealed to her greatly, creating and working with her hands. It was the life she wanted to lead; simple, honest, creative. Then the Unification War happened.
Bridgette's family was neutral to the whole idea, bordering on siding with the Independents. They had always been under Alliance control, though being in a more distant border system their grip wasn't as strong there. There were problems with Reaver attacks in the system, and threats of the escalating conflict between the Alliance and Independents spilling into their corner of the Black, neither of which could be ignored. Corporate executives and former military officers stepped up to take control of these issues, cutting ties with their employers to form the Fenrir Group (or just Fenrir), a private security company. The fact that it was accomplished with a substantial infusion of Alliance funding was kept very quiet from everyone not on the Board of Directors.
Fenrir set up HQ on Borr, one of Aesir's terraformed moons. By odd coincidence, Reaver attacks became more common there, prompting settlers to demand protection from the security company. In response, The Fenrir Group began hiring locals, added them into their existing staff and formed them into a private army. Fenrir provided the best of training and education possible, not to mention a seriously liveable salary. It was an amazing opportunity for the local population, getting paid decently to protect the people of their own system against Reaver incursions, piracy, and maintain the peace. Bridgette herself joined for these reasons, hoping for a single term of service and benefits from it. Instead, she found the possibility of a career. After basic training and subsequent specialization, she took a job with the Fenrir Group's armory, maintaining their melee and small arms cache. It played right into her strengths, and for a time she was happy.
And here's where it got darker. Fast. Reaver attacks became ludicrously common, prompting the primarily Scandinavian influenced company to establish a corps of specialized soldiers, codenamed "Berserkers". These Berserkers were chosen because of their background, certain tendencies, and psychological profile. Additionally, the group was selected mainly from personnel drawn from Aesir, or the Himinbjorg system in general. Bridgette was among those selected. Berserkers were put through a rigorous program involving gravity enhanced strength training, use of melee weapons, shields, and other seemingly archaic methods of combat including the ancient tactics of the Vikings, Spartans, and Romans, blended with modern practices. The goal was to create a group of front line combatants that were as fierce as the Reavers in combat, but loyal, organized, and recognizable as human. Their initial stated function was to meet Reavers in ground warfare, though they were proven to be excellent, multipurpose shock troops and were highly proficient at holding a position against attack. The Berserkers were grouped into a series of villages, given a support staff, and lived a semi-rural existence when they were not training, playing war games with one another, or on assignment.
The Alliance began to see results and surreptitiously involved themselves, taking a more active hand in the development of the program. Medical professionals administered various pharmaceuticals as part of their usual regimen, designed to augment their already aggressive tendencies and open them to suggestion. Their goal was to create something akin to highly trained, controllable Reavers. They began to see their own results, be they varied and often bloody. It did not work the way they had hoped.
After the River Tam Incident, government officials funding the Berserker program started getting nervous and began slowly withdrawing support. When the Miranda recording went public, the Alliance pulled out of Fenrir entirely, taking their money with them. The Fenrir Group faltered for a while and inevitably shut down, leaving all indigenous personnel to see to their own affairs. Many decided to remain in their communities, living off of the land and trading with one another. Others repurposed the facilities left behind by Fenrir. A large section of Borr was essentially its own entity at that point, populated by very angry, specifically trained soldiers and their growing families. The Reaver attacks lessened to something more manageable. It was assumed that the Alliance had done something to lure them there.
Bridgette was angry. Many others were angry, too. They were used, experimented upon, sent into battle to die just to test the Alliance's latest toy soldier. If they made a mistake, it was to recreate the Vikings of ancient Earth-That-Was and then piss them off. Maybe one day they will even the scales, but until then, Bridgette will not forget. Until a good opportunity presents itself, she has opted to use the skills given to her by Fenrir to make a living in the wider 'Verse.
Extras
Character Quotes:
"Back up. You're stepping on my dick."
"There's fuckery afoot!"
"Frost your fucking tits, lady!"
"What the fucking fuck is fucking wrong with that fuck? FUCK!"
"Yeah, like you've never given a handie for a ride offworld."
"Oh, I'm going to make a new bitchskin rug out of you.
"If it was raining cunts outside, you'd still find some way to get slapped in the face with a dick."
"Hey asshole! I'm about to come over there and fuck-start your head!"
"I do not 'spew profanities'. I enunciate them clearly, like a fucking lady."
"I wouldn't fuck you if squirrels were gnawing my tits off and you had the last jar of peanut butter to lure them off me."
Theme Song:
Alliance Record:
Does surviving count? It didn't seem like they wanted her to. No record, nothing official.
Favorite character: Jayne Cobb (such a cunning hat)
Faceclaim: Gaia Weiss
- Bridgette is an excellent bodyguard, personal escort, or general muscle. Her abilities as an armorer, metalsmith, and tactician round out her usefulness to a group. And while she isn't so good at making friends among polite society, Bridgette is great with animals, especially horses.
Bridgette is prone to the occasional nightmare. She has seen and done more than would make a less stable person crack, yet she remains mostly mentally intact. Mostly. She does have a mild form of what used to be called "PTSD", explaining some of her more volatile actions. It can flare into something more, given proper stimuli.
Traces of her psychological conditioning remain. In the heat of combat, she leans toward following the orders of anyone she considers a superior without hesitation, unless obviously extenuating circumstances are involved. Otherwise, she lives up to the name of her former occupation: Berserker. More than just being a "good soldier", she (and others like her) were once a calamity, a series of ravenous, living weapons used to defend an area or inflict harm at the point of a finger.
Though something of a melee specialist, Bridgette is familiar with the operation of guns. And grenade launchers. And flamethrowers. And mounted, heavy weapons. They're just harder to pack in a utility trunk.
Everything that Bridgette owns can be packed away in her trunk with minimal effort. She basically lives out of it. As long as she can string her hammock up someplace, she can bunk just about anywhere with overhead shelter.
The lady has a fondness for video games, many of which she maintains on her cortex terminal.
Bridgette still has family back on Aesir, notably a father who now runs a gymnasium in Malmo, a city built into the cliffs surrounding a fjord. She has an illegitimate (half)sister through her father, and another, much younger sister that is rumored to actually be her daughter, though this is uncorroborated. From yet another of her father's marriages, Bridgette has two (half)brothers with whom she was raised. If things keep going as they are, likely a Stepmother soon as well. (Dad was busy.) Fear of the Alliance rwturning to use them as leverage has prompted her to keep some distance recently.
Also, while not family in a traditional sense, she still has a number of brothers and sisters-in-arms that chose to settle on Borr, one of Aesir's moons, where she took her training with Fenrir. This second home is a fortified place the locals call "Castle Town", or just "The Castle".
Bridgette's favorite word, obviously, is "Fuck". Well, it might not be her favorite, but it is one which she uses with great frequency, proficiency, and diversity.
She is trying to learn Norwegian, a language spoken with some frequency in the Himinbjorg system. Right now she only knows a few basics, but has a really good grasp on swearing.
The unique nature and specialization of the Berserker program, coupled with the often volatile effects of Alliance interference and experimentation, have earned the survivors the unfortunate nickname of "Toy Soldiers" or the more condescending "Broken Toy Soldiers" amongst certain circles in the Alliance. It is not something Bridgette prefers to tolerate.
Against all logic or odds, Bridgette is a descendant of Rose Nylund. More to follow.
During and following the egress of Fenrir, Bridgette acted as the liaison between the "Away Crew" of the Vengeance and her people on Borr during jobs in the sector. They bonded over mutual loves of alcohol and recreation, but also mutual distrust of the Alliance. Until her people were firmly established on Borr (and her subsequent departure afterward), she remained their contact in the area. Because of this, Bridgette met and became well acquainted with Anisa Crowe, Jackson Tanner, Camilla Powell, and Atticus Pearson.
*By submitting this CS in its completion I am stating I have read all the rules for this Rp and am agreeing to follow them to the fullest with respect and courtesy.
Bridgette Vinters
"You hold that fucking line until you're told not to."
☮/⚜ Anisa Crowe ⚜/☮ "She's a bitch, but she's loyal to her people and at least tried to keep shit quiet."
Anisa is the last surviving member of the Vengeance crew that Anisa had met now that Atticus has passed. They are on friendly terms and have an amount of mutual respect for each other, as well as the knowledge that they are both doing whatever they can to take care of their people. The truth is, she actually likes her.
⚜/§/♫ Cyril "Winters" O'Reily ♫/§/⚜ "Anyone who fucks with him loses a fucking eye. "
They're family, blood family, even if the last names are different. Bridgette will always be there for Cyril, but it's complicated. Cyril's Wrath persona is very much like hers in a fight, and she can use it as a tool when she needs to. She's not a huge fan of Jericho, either. And the new, childlike, brain-damaged Cyril? He's a big teddy bear, but he needs help and guidance now. If only for a while, Bridgette is taking over from their brother and keeping an eye on him. Antagonists beware: Cyril is still a goddamn juggernaut in a fight. Maybe even moreso now. And sometimes, Bridgette can't calm him down.
Bridgette Vinters "Yeah, I'd do her."
Loud, vulgar, violent, uncouth. These things are said about her damned near every day. What else is said: Loyal, fierce, honest, brave. If she accepts you as part of her clan, she will still be all of those things, but for you.
It seemed a final touch to the evening when Riley handed over the radio and found a soft spot to lay her head for the evening. At her request to wake her for her turn at watch, Ash grunted an agreeable "Mmm hmm, yeah..." as he returned to his spot near the window. As it came to it, he preferred to take first watch. It meant that he had a single block of uninterrupted sleep over the course of the night, provided that something unexpected did not occur. In his experience, something planned by an intelligent source would happen just prior to dawn. Also in his experience, albeit more recent, no one without massive cause would be anywhere around this area at night, not with the number of the Dead drawn to the sound and fires of Newnan's collapse.
On the other hand, there still lay the possibility that someone from Newnan might wander up, having traveled at a slower pace or forced to take a longer route. Ash wanted to be immediately available in that case. It seemed to be a longshot. He had very little hope that anyone else was alive, or if so, was in any condition to make it very far.
Then the radio in his hands made him a liar. He knew that voice on the other end, garbled and mangled though it was. At least, he thought he did. "Copy. Heard it too, Guy." Ash switched to a clearer, more direct tone of voice, addressing the third party (who he really hoped was who he thought it was), "I cannot hear you. I hope you can hear me. We will be en route at first light. Southern safe house first, then rally point. Stay alive. Over and out." He looked to Jack, curious as to whether he was still awake. If it was Thana, he'd want to know.
To hell with it. Give the man some hope. He needed it more than any of them. "Jack. Jack." he rasped, walking over to the possibly unconscious form of his Second. "We thought we heard Tati on the box, Jack. And the word Zebulon. Thought you should know."
Thalia Carmichael
Location: Eden, Lower Lobby -> Doors across from Fitness Skills: Stealth, Survival, Pistol
When someone commits acts of violence, one after the other after the other in rapid succession, killing more people in an hour than they had throughout the entirety of their life before, it tends to invoke a slew of emotions. Compound this with the death of the closest friend she had left in the world, especially now that the world had turned to shit. That's what Thalia would have thought, anyway. A bevy of uncontrollable feelings should be crushing her right now. Who knows? For all of her brooding and anti-social behavior back when there was cable television and jelly doughnuts, she was pretty sure that she would have broken down into tears or lapsed into shock over what had happened. But that just wasn't the case. Not at all.
Thalia's emotions were present, but held in check. An odd calmness came over her. She was going to die today or everyone else was - she understood this with specific clarity - and it was more likely that it would be her turn to go down in a hail of gunfire before it was accomplished. She didn't seem to care. What she did care about was that they were brought to a standstill by some twitchy fuck who mowed down two of their group. Even if everything was going to by just hunky-dory, the guy who claimed to be a doctor could patch them up like new, and they could all join hands and sing later on, the truth was that they were massively exposed and she was the only one left to take point. No, she wasn't a soldier. She was a Gonzalez, even if her given name was Carmichael. Job wasn't done yet. Nine bullets left in one gun. Seventeen in the other. Five more mags besides. And a good blade doesn't run out of happy until you do.
She heard Thana weakly speak the words "Cough Cough", indicating that she was alive enough to be sarcastic. Good sign. Not great, but a good sign. That Manny guy almost looked like he knew what he was doing. With little to no medical knowledge, she couldn't help anyway, and Alexander was assisting while simultaneously standing guard, of sorts. Thalia rose fully to her feet and began a purposeful stride toward the other end of the Lobby. Passing Thana upon the ground, she gave her a little smirk, acknowledging her use of sarcasm in the face of adversity and her own blood decorating the flooring panels. "That's my girl." remarked, followed by the assurance, "We've got this." Her clear duty was to kill as many people as possible. It just felt right.
Briefly, she wondered if this was how her uncle felt all the time.
Following a shrug, Thalia poked her head into the corridor to her right, leading away from a room marked "Fitness Center". All the way down to one side, there was a single armed man. She could not tell if he looked vengeful or nervous. Thalia gave a quick whistle to get the guy's attention before pumping three bullets out of her new Beretta and in the direction of her latest target. Two of them found their mark. She didn't bother stopping this time. One way or another, someone else was going to get shot. Thalia began to make her way down to where the man lay; perhaps he had friends that wanted to play, too.
[hider=Lady Absinthia's GM Awards]
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[*] Save Another from LLA Card
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[*] Single Day Extension Card
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[/list]
[/hider]
[hider=Death Scenes]
[url=http://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/3622266]Dexter's Death (or Hammertime!)[/url]
[url=https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/3837944]The UnBEARable Case of Lawrence Long[/url]
[url=https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4020657]Malfunctioning Space Toilet[/url]
[url=https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4557122]Rube Goldberg Decapitation[/url]
[url=https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4569229]Shitter's Full[/url]
[url=https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4602115]Dirigible (warning, SAD)[/url]
[url=https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4538295]After "The Last Barbecue"[/url]
[url=https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4723699]Detoxing Pilot[/url]
[url=https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4745239]Girls Stick Together[/url]
[url=https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4749807]Oops[/url]
[/hider]
[url=http://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/3214659]"Character Flaw"[/url]
[url=http://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/2968914]Keystone's Daydream[/url]
[url=http://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/3040161]Checking for Mental Intrusion[/url]
[url=http://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/3594115]The Power Of Pain Compels You[/url]
[url=https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4670484]The Greater Good[/url]
[url=https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/5134610]Burial & Origin of James Mandingo Grady[/url]
[hider=Signature Images]
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[center][img]https://image.ibb.co/jVrOhp/Scythefalling.gif[/img][/center]
<div style="white-space:pre-wrap;"><div class="hider-panel"><div class="hider-heading"><button type="button" class="btn btn-default btn-xs hider-button" data-name="Lady Absinthia's GM Awards">Lady Absinthia's GM Awards [+]</button></div><div class="hider-body" style="display: none"><ul class="bb-list" style="white-space: normal;"><li></li><li>Save Another from LLA Card</li><li>Kill Any NPC in LAU Card</li><li>Plot Insight Card</li><li>Single Day Extension Card</li><li>Single Day Extension Card</li><li></li></ul></div></div><br><br><div class="hider-panel"><div class="hider-heading"><button type="button" class="btn btn-default btn-xs hider-button" data-name="Death Scenes">Death Scenes [+]</button></div><div class="hider-body" style="display: none"><a href="http://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/3622266">Dexter's Death (or Hammertime!)</a><br><a href="https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/3837944">The UnBEARable Case of Lawrence Long</a><br><a href="https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4020657">Malfunctioning Space Toilet</a><br><a href="https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4557122">Rube Goldberg Decapitation</a><br><a href="https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4569229">Shitter's Full</a><br><br><a href="https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4602115">Dirigible (warning, SAD)</a><br><a href="https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4538295">After "The Last Barbecue"</a><br><a href="https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4723699">Detoxing Pilot</a><br><a href="https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4745239">Girls Stick Together</a><br><a href="https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4749807">Oops</a></div></div><br><br><a href="http://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/3214659">"Character Flaw"</a><br><br><a href="http://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/2968914">Keystone's Daydream</a><br><br><a href="http://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/3040161">Checking for Mental Intrusion</a> <br><br><a href="http://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/3594115">The Power Of Pain Compels You</a><br><br><a href="https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4670484">The Greater Good</a><br><br><a href="https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/5134610">Burial & Origin of James Mandingo Grady</a><br><br><div class="hider-panel"><div class="hider-heading"><button type="button" class="btn btn-default btn-xs hider-button" data-name="Signature Images">Signature Images [+]</button></div><div class="hider-body" style="display: none"><div class="bb-center"><img src="https://media.giphy.com/media/xT0GqpswuzhOqHP6gM/giphy-downsized-large.gif" /></div><br><br><div class="bb-center"><img src="https://media.giphy.com/media/iMnyx7HWjZgPu/giphy.gif" /></div><br><br><div class="bb-center"><img src="http://i.imgur.com/wUTjLTf.gif" /></div><br><br><div class="bb-center"><img src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-K04tQV9pRE8/UCFQiE8aoVI/AAAAAAAATJk/hIK7mzvvYpk/s430/99.gif" /></div><br><br><div class="bb-center"><img src="http://i.imgur.com/rigeWJc.gif" /></div><br><br><div class="bb-center"><img src="https://uproxx.files.wordpress.com/2015/05/throughthedoor.gif?w=650" /></div></div></div><br><br><div class="bb-center"><img src="https://image.ibb.co/jVrOhp/Scythefalling.gif" /></div></div>
Zman
Shadow Dragon
Not a Sayan
Simply Not Real
Fetzen
Lewascan2
Arty Fox
Lady Absinthia
Archangel89
