Post by Dantia on May 5, 2010 12:58:56 GMT -5
Name: Beatrice Jones
Nick Names or Alias: Jo, Jonesie, Jones
Age: Twenty-Four
Gender: Female
Sexual Preferances: Straight
Employment: Yes
Job Title & Description:
Hunter?: Yes
Mage?: No.
Powers:
Intelligence: 6
Speed: 7
Leadership: 7
Melee: 6
Unarmed: 2
Ranged: 2
History:
Nick Names or Alias: Jo, Jonesie, Jones
Age: Twenty-Four
Gender: Female
Sexual Preferances: Straight
Employment: Yes
Job Title & Description:
Beatrice is the day clerk, and only clerk, at “Harold’s Quick Cash Pawn.”Derangement(s):
Although she adjusted reasonably well to her new life, as well as can be expected anyhow, Beatrice is now more than a little paranoid. She’s become a habitual planner and does not function well with out a solid back up plan.Misc.:
Beatrice also struggles to grasp exactly what her new worldview encompasses. As much as she wants to understand the creatures around her she is gripped by the nagging sensation that the only way to save them would be to kill them.
She likes the smell of rain and fall before it turns cold. She loves lilies, but not white ones, believes that no one is ever truly honest, and that in most there is a spark of good. Beatrice hates to lie, but finds that she does so frequently and is not above manipulating others when the situation calls for it. Conversely, she can’t stand the swelter of summer or the overly pretentious.Ghoul?: No.
Hunter?: Yes
Mage?: No.
Powers:
N/AEndowments:
HideFoci:
Radiate
Confront
Blaze
These all require triggers of a sort. To activate Hide she holds her breath, to activate Radiate she claps her hands once, Confront is activated by saying “Listen to me” and willing it to work, and blaze is activated by saying “BURN” and willing it to work. Beatrice is also considered a Moderate Innocent.
N/AAppearance:
She smiles easily and often. A grin for each moment or feeling. One for comfort or joy, another for sorrow or pain. It’s her mask against the world, the prime distracter. When she smiles it’s not so easy to see the weight of the world in her large blue eyes or the crushing press of the chip on her shoulder. Her world is not black and white, but yours is and she wants it to stay that way.Fashion Sense/Style:
She’s moderately tall and fit without being overly muscular. She moves silently and with a subtle feline grace, wasting no energy in unnecessary movements. Reddish gold hair falls in unruly waves down her back and is most often pulled up out of her way. Her nails are a ragged mess, and behind her easy grace is the wound tightness of the hunter.
Beatrice is certainly no fashionista. She wears comfortable worn jeans and occasionally a pair of straggling canvas pants that have should been retired long ago. She favors t-shirts over blouses and flat accessible shoes to heels. She’s thrift store chic and although her personal style often seems eclectic and eccentric it definitely works for her.Personality:
On the surface Beatrice is easy going. She doesn’t take much seriously or appear to be phased by things that go on around her. She thinks before she speaks and has a reputation for sticking to her guns when she makes up her mind. She’s compassionate, but can be detached. There are many that call her friend but none she takes into close confidence. She loves to learn and to share information; she strives constantly to understand the world around her and the people (supernaturals) in it.Physical-Strength: 2
Underneath she is passionate and confused. She feels deeply and has an overdeveloped sense of empathy that drives her to help others. She’s not the type to watch and not act. Although, acting is what got her into this mess to begin with. She struggles often with this, wanting desperately to just walk away and let someone else save the world, or at least her neighborhood. But the nagging sensation that there may be no one else keeps her on an even keel. Beatrice isolates herself from the people around and as a result has no close friends. She’s friendly and well liked but keeps herself from making a real connection. Her greatest fear is to cause the deaths of those she cares for.
On the upside Beatrice is a great conversationalist, she is open minded and accepting of others lifestyle choices and worldviews. This makes her a popular dump for personal information and most people she runs into seem to blurt out half their life story before she can get a word in edge wise. She has a knack for saying what those around her want to hear and for gently steering them away from awkward or harmful decisions.
Intelligence: 6
Speed: 7
Leadership: 7
Melee: 6
Unarmed: 2
Ranged: 2
History:
It was like a second birth. She was unaware and then she was suddenly aware. There was no hallelujah chorus, no great flash of light. Just a word and the world shifted and everything she ever knew was a lie. That was her second coming. But it’s not where Beatrice began.
She began in Texas, in Houston with her mother and father and two younger sisters. Beatrice was far older than her younger sisters and outstripped them by six years. For a time she was an only child. She remembers those early years in a fog loneliness. In those days there was no one to care for, no sibling companions to pass the torrid summer days with. Just Beatrice and her mother, and while she was a good and kind woman her mother wasn’t the same as a childhood playmate. The solution, it seemed to both Mother and Father, was to enroll her in an activity. She was a graceful child and it was decided that she’d flourish best in dance or gymnastics. Given a choice Beatrice chose latter. Of course she didn’t immediately start doing back flips, much to her dismay, but enjoyed the tumbling classes with the rest of the children all the same. Even though she was well like in class Beatrice stood apart from the other children and was often intently focused and aloof.
When her first sister was born another side of her personality flourished. She was no longer the quite little five year old, but instead lively and animated. She wanted to help, to be life long friends, and to protect her sister. She was a changed child and her enthusiasm in everything increased. She did better in school, she had friends that met with her for play dates, and she focused harder on gymnastics than ever before. With the birth of her second sister it was clear to her parents, even if it wasn’t to her, that she was happiest when caring for another.
In time she grew, went to school, did reasonably well, graduated, and was awarded a scholarship. Not for art, but for gymnastics. New York City was her dream, her promised land. The world started there, the sun set there, but the city kept going. Houston is a large city, but she felt small town in such a cosmopolitan place. Give me your poor, your huddled masses, your naïve girl children from the south. Beatrice was optimistic; she was going to give New York everything she had.
Beatrice was nineteen and free and walking home from work to change before practice when she heard a scuffle in the ally behind her building. Beatrice hesitated. She had to help, to do something. She turned and then headed into the ally and her world exploded. She hid, she pressed against the cold brick wall of the building to her left and held her breath. There was a man, a well-dressed man, huddled over another. The other, the victim, was ragged and most likely homeless.
“MERCY FOR THE LOST”
The world stretched, skewed and she suddenly saw everything as it was. As it always should have been. The well-dressed man was EATING that poor man. It was like a B horror flick only she was in it. Instinctively she knew that if she moved, he’d see her and it would be all over. It would be the end for the victim and for her. The well-dressed man finished quickly and left, never even noticing that she was pressed against the wall like a second skin. When he was gone she rushed forward and was relieved that the poor man was still breathing. She called emergency services and wondered what sort of curse could drive a man to feed off another. This was her second birth. Her moment of truth and it left her with a word and the urge to set the world to rights, to understand, and most importantly the will to survive.
Beatrice dropped out of school and moved the next week. She was felt drawn, like lodestone, like there was now some underling purpose in her life. She set out and walked to until she found a seedy pawnshop on the corner of a street halfway across the city displaying a ragged chunk of cardboard in the window that read, “Hiring/Apt for rent.” So she took the job and the apartment upstairs. Harold was, surprisingly, more than he seemed. He had a second sight problem of his own, an ex military career, and the will to train a new inductee into the ranks of the called. Harold was like a second father to her. He taught her how to fight, how to use speed instead of strength, and most importantly what myths would and wouldn’t work on a supernatural (as far he'd been able to determine). They didn’t see eye to eye but were close enough in view point that they got on well enough.
In the years to come taught her how to defend herself. She learned to make use of speed, grace, and sure footing to compensate for what she lacked in strength. Beatrice studied the world under her world and was both baffled and astounded. Who had she known in her life that hadn’t been human? The world was a guessing game and the wrong choice could kill you or the ones you loved. If she was found out, if she hadn’t been already, it could cost her family everything. With Harold’s help, and somewhat seedy connections, She dropped off the map and immerged with a new identity. Clean and untraceable. It was painful to wrench herself away from those she loved. It left an open wound, raw and ragged, which would never heal. Beatrice threw herself into her training, there was really no better word for it, and concentrated on her new life.
Harold and Beatrice agreed on one thing, that The Enemy could be saved. But although their ideologies were similar their methods were different. Beatrice believed that they were like humans. Some good, some evil. She believed words and understanding could end this war. Ultimately allowing both sides to co-exit together. Harold did not.
“They’re cursed kiddo and the only good thing to do would be to cure them of that curse. Mostly they have to die, you have to cleanse the soul. Set ‘em free. Now, if they aren’t hurtin’ people and laying low I don’t see what harm it could due to let ‘em fade out. But you can’t talk the underworld into seeing the evil, the curse. You can’t kiddo. You just can’t.”
Except that she knew she could. She fought because not everything out there was open to a change of heart. She fought because for every Mother Theresa there was a Hitler.
Hunters met in the basement of the pawnshop. It was a safe house, a hide out and home. She helped plan missions but Harold never let her join them. As much as he was like her father she had become his daughter. So Beatrice did what she could when she could.
Now Harold is missing, or so she suspects. It’s not unusual for Harold to go under deep cover. But it’s been too long since she last heard from him. In the five years she’s known Harold he’s never left her alone, never let her down. The others in their group tell her it's fine, but she doesn’t believe them. She’ll tear New York apart to find him. Because Harold’s all she’s got left.
