My current no-longer WIP
---P E R S O N A L I T Y
---B I O G R A P H Y
---S K I L L S E T
---E Q U I P M E N T
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-A Template by Load Wraith
 ___________________________________ Maëlle Faye ________________________________________________________________________________________ Sainte-Adèle, Québec, Canada ___________________________________ ▼ E X T R A I N F O R M A T I O N ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ► Nickname: - Tick ► Age - 29 ► Height - 5'9" / 175cm ► Weight - 148 lbs / 67 kg ► Hair Color - Bone White (Naturally black) ► Eye Color - Burgundy (Naturally amber) ► Nationality - French Canadian ► Occupation (Legal) - Automotive Broker - | A P P E A R A N C E No matter the occasion, no matter the tone, there always underlies an air of restlessness about her. There's a certain hunger in her eyes, a peculiar vibration in her stance, always wanting something, looking for more. And although she looks a far cry from the waves which adorned her head - drifting forever behind her as she cared for its plume - beneath that exterior lies the same thrill-seeker that this woman has always bee. Her posture of a ready exterior belies the anxious skeleton which shall forever press her unto new heights, regardless of whatever her logic nor sanity might object. It's life that scares her to death, and if fear is to be her greatest motivator, then Tick should perpetually motivate herself by the very fact she remains in the land of the living. |
Tick signed on for this line of work by the virtue that money is meant to be spent. When payday comes, Tick will usually pardon herself to go launder her well-deserved earnings on some manner of expensive trash - if only out of necessity. No, take a quick gander at her purchases reveals that she isn't exactly a fan . She's less of a "Shopping sprees in Paris" kind of girl and more of a "Petting Bengal tigers in a Myanmar warzone" vacationer. Buying condos in Dubai that all have the same plastic-white, ten-tiled modernist architecture is what boring people blow their money on.
With an eponymous twitch to her demeanor, Tick is - above all - restless. Easily bored, quite adventurous, and deathly ambitious make a potent combination for her line of work. The pursuit of robbery is more of a game than career, but Tick made the decision long ago that one does not live to work, nor work to live. Is she insane for thinking such? Perhaps, but who is the sorrier? The thief who unashamedly robs without concern for those in her way? Or the desk-chained onlooker, adamant in belief that his itinerant lifestyle may one day jettison him to riches by virtue of restraint?
With an eponymous twitch to her demeanor, Tick is - above all - restless. Easily bored, quite adventurous, and deathly ambitious make a potent combination for her line of work. The pursuit of robbery is more of a game than career, but Tick made the decision long ago that one does not live to work, nor work to live. Is she insane for thinking such? Perhaps, but who is the sorrier? The thief who unashamedly robs without concern for those in her way? Or the desk-chained onlooker, adamant in belief that his itinerant lifestyle may one day jettison him to riches by virtue of restraint?
---B I O G R A P H Y
Most people have heard of Québec. Only people from Québec have ever heard of Sainte-Adèle. As with any town whose claim to fame is seasonal lodging and ski vacationing, that leaves the people of the town with three whole seasons of sweet nothing.
So then, what avenues did this leave for Maëlle? College by this point was a dream of an era long bygone, for the only promise that was left in academia was the pursuit of a boorish desk job - if those even still existed within the country to begin with - all in exchange for a few thousand dollars in debt. When the best prospect of choosing what university to attend is to never attend at all, the idea was well appalling from the very start. Even other avenues lay aplomb with cavities. Even a trade - or the military perhaps - did little to alleviate the glint at the end of the tunnel, for even the mouse stuffed with the scientist's cheese is still but a subject. Thusly, all that was logically remaining for Maëlle were rejections after rejections. Then, what was left but a refutation of normal life?
Of course, it's ahead of this author to make so bold a claim as to insist that Maëlle, "fell into the wrong crowd", for who would he be to blame for the admiration of so young a woman in a town with so little to give? We only admire that which we see, and for a woman to only see the ideal contrasted to the drab mundane of three seasons wasted, would he really be anyone to judge? No, he might only do well to provide reasoning but not justification - for what she saw and what she did follow.
And, of course, would she ever take such admonishment of a life so contrasting and settle for a life less frightening? Perhaps not, if Maelle had ever the inkling of doubt implanted in her mind that she might that she was ever not deserving of the concept of reality, yet it was in that cruel twist of fate that the reach of her parents did encourage her to salvage what she could from what she could. After all, the world - in her eyes - rapidly decayed around her. Banks would be bailed out while her parents starved amidst a global pandemic to pay rent and retain their modest apartment. Who would Maëlle be to insist that she was nothing better than to reach above her - just as her parents had always told her?
Disaffected and disillusioned youth of the era, all similar in circumstance to her, where by no means in short supply. With the idea of a stable, conventional lifestyle firmly disavowed by so many like her, by 17 she had fallen into the intrigue of a biker gang. Wandering from place to place with a crew with little cares beyond the next day, it was difficult to admit that the idea was not appealing. She'd join along, and spent the next several years in some of the best company she might ever have.
But, this was all strictly small-time. Maëlle, possessing the minacious pairing of restless ambition and boorish binding, began to look beyond a life of petty crookery. Teenage cross-country romps were all fun and good, but when was she going to start making money? There was more to life than knocking over gas stations and selling shitty iPhones. Her friends might acquiesce to petty crimes, but to Maëlle always knew there was more on the horizon. There, she looked a bit more beyond just the band she had grown with, and looked unto a clientele with...deeper pockets to share. And when she had caught wind from a fellow gang-mate that the gang would soon be clamped down upon, she would soon decide that it was the appropriate time to drop her flags. Tick soon moved onto boosting cars, often covertly taking high-profile vehicles straight from import docks, but occasionally they could be requisitioned from individual owners. The more dangerous - and lucrative - gigs involved even making crossings along the more sparse parts of the Maine-New Brunswick border, but she kept well away from the long arm of the law, sometimes even with drones in the sky. For years, this would keep her occupied - and keep her with enough funds that she might be able to take it at her leisure. Yet, it was starting to get...same-y.
And it was until Senior contacted her that she might reconsider her position. Perhaps in another time, she might have decried Senior as another hope-be-gone - a dream of a bygone era which had far faded in the vestige of newer times, tech-ier cops, smarter bureaucrats. And even so, there was the mantra to his words that gave Tick pause. Things which sounded too good to be true, as a rule, had the formality of being so. But, he didn't stop with just the first offer. He added zeroes. Several, even. Clearly, he was interested, and her along with it. So, she went off, at least curious to his proposition.
So then, what avenues did this leave for Maëlle? College by this point was a dream of an era long bygone, for the only promise that was left in academia was the pursuit of a boorish desk job - if those even still existed within the country to begin with - all in exchange for a few thousand dollars in debt. When the best prospect of choosing what university to attend is to never attend at all, the idea was well appalling from the very start. Even other avenues lay aplomb with cavities. Even a trade - or the military perhaps - did little to alleviate the glint at the end of the tunnel, for even the mouse stuffed with the scientist's cheese is still but a subject. Thusly, all that was logically remaining for Maëlle were rejections after rejections. Then, what was left but a refutation of normal life?
Of course, it's ahead of this author to make so bold a claim as to insist that Maëlle, "fell into the wrong crowd", for who would he be to blame for the admiration of so young a woman in a town with so little to give? We only admire that which we see, and for a woman to only see the ideal contrasted to the drab mundane of three seasons wasted, would he really be anyone to judge? No, he might only do well to provide reasoning but not justification - for what she saw and what she did follow.
And, of course, would she ever take such admonishment of a life so contrasting and settle for a life less frightening? Perhaps not, if Maelle had ever the inkling of doubt implanted in her mind that she might that she was ever not deserving of the concept of reality, yet it was in that cruel twist of fate that the reach of her parents did encourage her to salvage what she could from what she could. After all, the world - in her eyes - rapidly decayed around her. Banks would be bailed out while her parents starved amidst a global pandemic to pay rent and retain their modest apartment. Who would Maëlle be to insist that she was nothing better than to reach above her - just as her parents had always told her?
Disaffected and disillusioned youth of the era, all similar in circumstance to her, where by no means in short supply. With the idea of a stable, conventional lifestyle firmly disavowed by so many like her, by 17 she had fallen into the intrigue of a biker gang. Wandering from place to place with a crew with little cares beyond the next day, it was difficult to admit that the idea was not appealing. She'd join along, and spent the next several years in some of the best company she might ever have.
But, this was all strictly small-time. Maëlle, possessing the minacious pairing of restless ambition and boorish binding, began to look beyond a life of petty crookery. Teenage cross-country romps were all fun and good, but when was she going to start making money? There was more to life than knocking over gas stations and selling shitty iPhones. Her friends might acquiesce to petty crimes, but to Maëlle always knew there was more on the horizon. There, she looked a bit more beyond just the band she had grown with, and looked unto a clientele with...deeper pockets to share. And when she had caught wind from a fellow gang-mate that the gang would soon be clamped down upon, she would soon decide that it was the appropriate time to drop her flags. Tick soon moved onto boosting cars, often covertly taking high-profile vehicles straight from import docks, but occasionally they could be requisitioned from individual owners. The more dangerous - and lucrative - gigs involved even making crossings along the more sparse parts of the Maine-New Brunswick border, but she kept well away from the long arm of the law, sometimes even with drones in the sky. For years, this would keep her occupied - and keep her with enough funds that she might be able to take it at her leisure. Yet, it was starting to get...same-y.
And it was until Senior contacted her that she might reconsider her position. Perhaps in another time, she might have decried Senior as another hope-be-gone - a dream of a bygone era which had far faded in the vestige of newer times, tech-ier cops, smarter bureaucrats. And even so, there was the mantra to his words that gave Tick pause. Things which sounded too good to be true, as a rule, had the formality of being so. But, he didn't stop with just the first offer. He added zeroes. Several, even. Clearly, he was interested, and her along with it. So, she went off, at least curious to his proposition.
---S K I L L S E T
- Gearhead - Having spent a lot of time repossessing cars, she knows the ins and outs of knowing just how to bypass security systems - From the building's silent alarm to the engine killswitch and cross-signaling the police radio, Tick knows just what makes a security system click.
- Stickup Artist - Getting involved in street-level jackings turns ugly at the drop of a dime. But whether it's throwing people out of (or into) cramped spaces, dealing with wayward passengers, or making a quick getaway, Tick has enough experience
- Persuasion Tactics - A great man once said, "If you cannot lead by example, intimidate." Now, Tick can't remember where she heard that quote first - if she ever did to begin with - but the logic is sound, at the very least. With a lot of experience in hold-ups, robberies, and other forceful persuasions, assertive social engineering has come to be something of a specialty for Tick.
- Kickstart My Heart - Maybe in another life, Tick could have become a professional racer or motocross rider. In her life, doing 165 on the 117 substituted admirably. Nothing quite beats 1200cc, but Tick is adept behind the wheel of most any vehicle.
- Bilingual - Tick can speak fluent French and English. She even got the Yank accent down.
- Stickup Artist - Getting involved in street-level jackings turns ugly at the drop of a dime. But whether it's throwing people out of (or into) cramped spaces, dealing with wayward passengers, or making a quick getaway, Tick has enough experience
- Persuasion Tactics - A great man once said, "If you cannot lead by example, intimidate." Now, Tick can't remember where she heard that quote first - if she ever did to begin with - but the logic is sound, at the very least. With a lot of experience in hold-ups, robberies, and other forceful persuasions, assertive social engineering has come to be something of a specialty for Tick.
- Kickstart My Heart - Maybe in another life, Tick could have become a professional racer or motocross rider. In her life, doing 165 on the 117 substituted admirably. Nothing quite beats 1200cc, but Tick is adept behind the wheel of most any vehicle.
- Bilingual - Tick can speak fluent French and English. She even got the Yank accent down.
---E Q U I P M E N T
- Diplomat Suit - It's a grey jacket combined with a white shirt and a red tie, usually reserved for formal occasions such as weddings, funerals, and bank robberies. Tick's particular suit has an armor insert belying just beneath the jacket, which offers decent ballistic protection while still being fairly concealable.
- Glock 21 - The world's favorite plastic pistol, now in 45 variants - oh, and in .45 ACP. Comes with a threaded barrel for attaching all your favorite muzzle brakes and suppressors.
- MP9 - Old and forgotten, this classic will do just fine for all your automatic handheld needs. After all, it's still a machine pistol. Rock it, load it, spray it, love it. Rinse, repeat, et cetera.
- "XIA M6A2" - The receiver says "M6 5.56mm" on it, but considering that everything else is misprinted or mismatched, it's clear that this Franken-rifle is a mishmash born from the parts of 5 different Taiwanese copies. At least it's lightweight, handy, and accurate enough. Besides, if it's based on tried-and-true tech, it can't be that bad. Right?
- Autopicker - This handy little tool can slice through just about any conventional lock - magnetic, pin, or tumbler. Useful for enterprising locksmiths and criminals alike.
- Jacker - On the outside, it's one of those cheap hand tablets that you can pick up at an electronics store for about a hundred bucks. What they don't want you to know is that as soon as you slap on an aftermarket receptor, a transceiver kit, an RFID magnet, and a sferic microphone, you've suddenly got yourself a handy piece of equipment for intercepting and jamming all kinds of electronic transmissions.
- Glock 21 - The world's favorite plastic pistol, now in 45 variants - oh, and in .45 ACP. Comes with a threaded barrel for attaching all your favorite muzzle brakes and suppressors.
- MP9 - Old and forgotten, this classic will do just fine for all your automatic handheld needs. After all, it's still a machine pistol. Rock it, load it, spray it, love it. Rinse, repeat, et cetera.
- "XIA M6A2" - The receiver says "M6 5.56mm" on it, but considering that everything else is misprinted or mismatched, it's clear that this Franken-rifle is a mishmash born from the parts of 5 different Taiwanese copies. At least it's lightweight, handy, and accurate enough. Besides, if it's based on tried-and-true tech, it can't be that bad. Right?
- Autopicker - This handy little tool can slice through just about any conventional lock - magnetic, pin, or tumbler. Useful for enterprising locksmiths and criminals alike.
- Jacker - On the outside, it's one of those cheap hand tablets that you can pick up at an electronics store for about a hundred bucks. What they don't want you to know is that as soon as you slap on an aftermarket receptor, a transceiver kit, an RFID magnet, and a sferic microphone, you've suddenly got yourself a handy piece of equipment for intercepting and jamming all kinds of electronic transmissions.
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