<hr/><div align="center"><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: georgia;"><strong><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 24pt;">○ The Battlebabe • Ethereal Rose ○ (https://dl.dropboxusercontent.com/u/21570621/AW%20-%20Ethereal%20Rose%27s%20sheet%20written.png)</span></strong></span></div><hr/><br/><div class="spoiler_container"><div class="spoiler_header" onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button">Rough morning</div><div class="spoiler_body">It wasn’t that she hadn’t heard them coming. Subtle wasn’t Thumbs’ style, and that rubbed off on his thugs. Nah, they were loud enough pounding up the stairs, damn near snapping through the more rickety slats on their way up, and it wasn’t hard to tell they meant to be unfriendly. But none of the windows on the second floor were worth diving out even if there weren’t a couple guys waiting on the outside in case she went that way, so it’s not like there was a whole lot to do about the imminent party about to be thrown down in the shithole she’d used to catch some sleep the night before.<br/><br/>Besides, it just didn’t seem worth getting out of bed early over something as petty as a gunfight about to break out.<br/><br/>So when they broke down the door so hard it shot splinters all over the floor - not that you’d know it, as messy as that floor was already - she didn’t even lift her head off the pillow. The guy next to her, he freaked more than a little, but then, it was his place. He was probably just pissed about the door.<br/><br/>From the sound of all that clacking there had to be a good three-four guns set on her lumps in the sheets. “You fucked up, bitch.”<br/><br/>Thumbs’ conversational skills didn’t translate to his thugs, unfortunately.<br/><br/>“Go ‘way,” came the voice from under the threadbare sheet. “Had a long day, ‘m tired.”<br/><br/>“Fuck I care for? Get up ‘fore I lose my patience, blow you away anyhow.” Black John, a man whose name was a mystery to her given his rather red-tan complexion and propensity for wearing bright yellow and orange clothes, was Thumbs’ head lackey, point man, all-around annoyance. Unimaginative, but generally effective. Dependable. He tended to mean what he said.<br/><br/>That’s why Rose finally lifted her head up to have a look at the situation. Four guns and a knife. Why was someone pointing a knife at her next to four guns? Like she’d be worried that, if they all opened fire on her, she’d have to be concerned about that knife coming into play? That’s just sad. Whatever. She rolled her way around to scoot up against the crooked headboard, propped herself up on it with the sheet tucked up under her arms. “Okay, I’m up. Now what?”<br/><br/>Black John smiling was only a good thing if you were Thumbs. “Mouthy bitch. Oughta put a couple holes in you first, work ‘em in good. Think Thumbs’d like that?” The men on either side of him chuckled, nodded, fulfilled their expected roles as backup singers. “Think I will. You ain’t need both lungs noway, right, bitch?”<br/><br/>The redhead thought on that a moment. She turned and leaned to one side - slowly, reaching one arm out toward the end table by the bed, all those guns following her the whole way - grabbed a twisted scrap of paper and a lighter, straightened back up again. Took both hands to hold the spliff and lighter, though; had to let the sheet slip down to her waist. Couple of those guns dipped a little then.<br/><br/>“You could do that,” she said. The lighter wasn’t working: chk, chk, chk. Not a problem. She kept patiently working at it, talking with the roll between her lips, bobbing up and down. “No way I get out of here alive like this. You and your boys open up, I get ripped open, make a tidy mess all over this guy’s room. What’s your name again?”<br/><br/>“Randy.”<br/><br/>“Randy. Randy gets a day of cleanup, has to replace his sheets, get the stink of guts out of the place.” Chk. Chk. “Don’t sound like you want that much mess, though. Thumbs probably wants more of me than just the head, yeah? So that don’t happen.” Chk. Chk. She gave up on the lighter for the moment, handed it off to Randy to see if he could get it lit. Poor guy needed something to do with his hands anyway, get his mind off the artillery pointed in his general direction. Rose took the roll between her fingers and let it rest on her upraised knee, most of the thigh showing before the view was interrupted by that sheet pooled in her lap, all those pale folds. “Nah, what happens is you shoot me up just enough to feel safe, feel all big an’ manly, me over here bleedin’ and bitchin’ and shit. Then you come over and work me over with the guns up close, fuck me over, then just plain fuck me, feel all invincible, unstoppable. You beat the Battlebabe and got your dicks wet to prove it.”<br/><br/>Judging by the looks on their faces, Black John and crew seemed pretty much on the same page with that description.<br/><br/>Randy handed the lighter back, a little flame dancing at the top. A couple little puffs, a little maneuvering and Rose was resting back on the board again, breathing out little streamers of gray. “That feeling’ll last maybe a week,” she said. “That’s about how long it takes to notice somebody ain’t said much for a while.” The man to Black John’s right, a stout, scarred up guy with a shotgun, she stuck her eyes right through him. “This guy here. He doesn’t show up at Thumbs’ place that day. Or the next day. Nobody at his place. Nobody seen him. So you send these two,” she indicated the two men to John’s left with the burning homemade cig, “to see where he’s gone. Hardhold’s only so big, yeah? First two days you figure they’re just lookin’ hard. But they ain’t come back after that either. Keeps on goin’ that way: your little party just keeps on gettin’ smaller, gettin’ quieter, until pretty soon it’s just you and Thumbs, John. Just the two of you hidin’ in that hole of his, barricaded in, too scared of you don’t even know what’s out there. Something. Little boys hidin’ from the maelstrom under their bed.<br/><br/>“Thing is, though,” she takes another hit, blowing a gentle breeze that seems to fill the room with that warm smoke. “As forts go, a bed’s got problems. For instance, it burns real easy. All those barricades, all that fear you wrap ‘round yourselves, just makes it that much harder to get out when I burn your world down on top you.”<br/><br/>The guns are nowhere near her by then, all drifting somewhere around their knees, only a threat to the floorboards.<br/><br/>Rose took the cig out, handed it over to Randy to let him have the rest. “So yeah, we can do that if you want. Go ahead.” She set her hands in her lap, looked over at John with that empty expression she’d had since they first woke her up. No malice in it. No fire. Just cold certainty.<br/><br/>“Shoot me.”<br/></div></div><br/><div class="floatleft">(http://24.media.tumblr.com/c68d0fdd0f8fa75666b5bf1b84049ef1/tumblr_n3bghtY2aZ1rl6lzko1_r1_1280.jpg)</div>Fair-skinned, green-eyed, red-haired and standing a slim 5'8", Rose isn't exactly intimidating at first glance. At least, if that glance is anywhere but her face. Here's a gal who just can't quite manage "casual" without putting effort into it - and really, if you have to work at it, how casual can it be? Those are not the eyes of a person who can just carry on small talk over coffee without sizing up the person across the table, weighing them, making certain considerations. Just in case. You never know. Offputting, to say the least, for most folk. She travels pretty light most of the time, usually just wearing whatever the weather demands: loose, light clothing most of the time, with plenty of pockets or spare space to stash bits and bobbets here and there<strong>(non-armor fashion)</strong>. Certainly light enough to allow for the curious as to see how feminine a figure she might have, a fair answer being "modest, but soft." Far from "flat," in any case.<br/><br/>Gods only know where she keeps those chains with some of the outfits she wears, but she always seems to have one on her when she needs one and, coincidentally, when someone else would rather she didn't have one ready<strong>(chain: 2-harm hand area infinite)</strong>. Her favored handgun is less subtle, though it's not known for making public performances too frequently<strong>(handgun: 3-harm ap close reload loud)</strong>.<br/><br/>(Simplified "Look" from sheet options: woman, casual wear, striking face, arresting eyes, sweet body)<br/><br/><strong>Gear</strong>:<br/>- 2 custom weapons (just for the sake of clarity from above description): (firearm) handgun, hi-powered, ap ammo (3-harm ap close reload loud) -- (hand weapon) chain, head, hidden (2-harm hand area infinite)<br/>- non-armor fashion (cloth windbreaker going threadbare in patches, white tank top with ragged edges, faded desert fatigue pants with belt, hiking boots, hat if needed for sunny conditions).<br/><br/><div class="floatright">(http://www.rougevoguemag.com/wp-content/uploads/1308.jpg)</div><br/><strong>Stats</strong>:<br/><strong>Cool +3</strong><em>You throw me a grenade, I'll be sure to get it back to you.</em><br/><strong>Hard -2</strong><em>If it has to be like this, it's probably not worth doing.</em><br/><strong>Hot +1</strong><em>I might've turned a head or two in my time...</em><br/><strong>Sharp +1</strong><em>...and you bet I notice whenever it happens.</em><br/><strong>Weird +1</strong><em>Sometimes a job just doesn't feel right.</em><br/><br/><strong>Moves</strong>:<br/><strong>Ice Cold</strong>: when you go aggro on an NPC, roll+cool instead of roll+hard. When you go aggro on another player's character, roll+Hx instead of roll+hard.<br/><strong>Perfect Instincts</strong>: when you read a charged situation and you're acting on MC's answers, +2 forward instead of +1.<br/><br/><strong>Hx</strong>:<br/>Amanuel: +1<br/>Rez:         +1<br/>Marco:      +3<br/><del>Warner:   -1</del><br/><br/><strong>Xp</strong>:<span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 15pt;">• ○ ○ ○ ○</span><br/><br/><strong>Barter</strong>: 2<br/><br/><strong>Relationships:</strong><br/><br/>Family's not often something that lasts these days, and the concept isn't always particularly strong even when it does, so it's not exactly that Rose sees<strong>Amanuel</strong>as sort of a "special" brother who needs looking after, but the thought might've crossed her mind once or twice. The man knows his tools, his machines, and some other shit she's not sure how or why he knows when he does. Prob'ly he doesn't know so well, either, or wouldn't know how to explain if she asked, but that's not so important. He's helped her out in the past and she's been inclined to look after him when he seems to need it, though Los Buitres seem to have been doing an okay job of that lately...<br/><br/>...which gives her enough reason to think<strong>Rez</strong>isn't half-bad. Maybe a third bad. Three-eighths bad? Bad news, for damn sure, at least if you piss her off, which Rose has made no effort to accomplish. Granted, she's pretty sure the Queen Vulture would appreciate Rose spending less time with Sliver than she has so far, but fuck it, she doesn't answer to some jumped-up biker about who she'll let buy her a drink.<br/><br/><strong>Marco</strong>would be a great guy to get to know better if she could trust it wouldn't bite her in the ass. Men in power have this nasty habit of wanting to demonstrate that power, she's found, and getting close to them just offers up more opportunities to show off. Sometimes in unpleasant ways. 'Course, being closer to Marco would probably make some other problems go away. The devil you know or the<em>other</em>devil you know? Fuck.<br/><br/><del>Oh, and that guy with the future-past toys? <strong>Warner</strong> seems like a straight shooter. Which is the problem: that crazy fucker's going to get himself killed one of these days shooting at the wrong target. More power to him, but if it's all the same, Rose will be staying well out of the blast radius when <em>that</em> bomb goes off.</del>