Singularity City. The Bright, The Bot, The Rigger.

[DoubleTapThat]

Will you be creating a list of accepted players and posting it here, or are you going to PM everyone whether or not they were chosen?

[Naril]

Soo...any word on this?

[Hellis]

Accepted Players (So Far. Waiting on Decay and Veldrose to send me their CS's. They have untill the end of the week)

Naril: Really liked your character. Cannot wait to see what you'll do in game
Esper: we talked even before I began writing this, so your character was bound to be a fantastic fit. And it was
Noxious: Noxxi, your character is fantastic
Werner: I do like the fact that you made an old guy, alot. I might be biased. But badass old men are the best.
Me: Duh XD
Merle: Fantastic character. Also, I should have the part about the east block up soon
Howler: lovely Character, we needed at least one doctor.

[howler01]

Thanks Hellis. Happy to be part of what loks to be an amazing RP! Look forward very much to writing with you all!

[Byzantium]

Got bogged down somewhat by real-life but haven't forgotten about this, working on my sheet. Aiming to get it to you tonight Hellis.

[Hellis]

Ah right. I knew it was three people I was waiting for.

[Naril]

Per a PM from Hellis, I'm putting my sheet in the thread here:

----

Name: Remy Émile Baptiste Renault

Age: 30

Human Or Android: Human

Gender: Female

Affiliation: Rigger, Weaponsmith, Maker of Things

Appearance: Remy is tall for a woman, and while she has a lean, strong build, she doesn't look unhealthy or stretched out. She has a modest figure, with enough curves to be interesting without looking too much like a pinup model. Her copper-coloured hair hangs below her shoulder blades and, when not bound up in a tail, falls in gentle waves. She has fine, proud features, as though her family is descended from a line line of aristocracy, with eyes the color of Cherenkov radiation. Her skin is fair but not pale, clear and smooth, without blemish or freckles. She has a number of scars, the majority of which are in places that would be hidden under a shirt. Her remaining hand is strong and quick-fingered, with the nicks and marks from a lifetime of working with it.

Like a certain number of Singularity's residents, Remy has an artificial limb. Acquired as the result of an injury, the machinery actually replaces the limb, her entire shoulder, part of the slope up to her neck, part of her upper back, and part of her upper chest on the left hand side of her body. The prosthetic itself is, in general, a dark, gunmetal grey, marked with dark articulation seams rather than being covered with a synthetic skin. While it is bare and unadorned, the construct is anything but primitive in appearance - the entire thing is more like a beautiful sculpture, with flowing lines and arcs describing the gentle curves of its form. It does not look anything like the limb it was intended to replace - but it is no grotesquerie, either. The hand on the end is also made from the same grey, matte material, and the proportions are the same as Remy's living hand.

Her fashion sense tends towards practicality over anything else, and as her workshop is often warm, that means some kind of sleeveless, fitted shirt and loose, comfortable pants. She rarely goes without her heavy, black, steel-capped boots, and when she needs to step into the rain, has rather a collection of hats to go with a couple of long jackets. She does own formalwear - and in fact has attended a number of functions in high society - but so far nobody has a picture of her in it.


Back Story: Remy's life began in the underworld. Well, that's a little dramatic: Let it be said instead that her parents were criminals, if wealthy and well-respected ones. They were gun runners and good at it, the kind of people with a nearly supernatural gift for knowing who would look the other way, whose palm to grease, and what jobs to walk away from, even with the juiciest payout. They were cautious, careful, calculating and, when necessary, ruthless. INTERPOL, when it still functioned, had a folder on them as thick as any vodka-drenched Russian novel, but never actually caught up with them.

They were also, in their own way, very good parents. Remy had not been an accident, more of a reason to take a break from the frenetic pace of an arms dealer for a few years. They spoiled and pampered their daughter, and she wanted for little while she grew up. Her childhood, however, may not have been entirely…traditional. Her parents also had a very strange sense of humor; some of her first toys were not brightly-coloured building blocks but rather a collection of disarmed hand grenades, painted in search-and-rescue colours. She slept under a mobile made not of stars and unicorns, but of revolver cylinders, polished bright to glint merrily in the Mediterranean sun. Perhaps most formatively, her bedtime stories were not ones of princesses in towers or being saved from dragons. Instead, those princesses got themselves out of trouble with wit, clever thinking, and occasionally by being ridiculously heavily armed. And, in the spirit of fairness, sometimes that had been exactly how they had gotten themselves into trouble as well.

She grew up with a nearly normal education, going to a normal, if expensive school and generally having normal friends. Perhaps because of her upbringing, or natural inclination, she had a strong tomboy streak and preferred to spend her time in the machine shop or computer lab more than anywhere else. Machines and electronics fascinated her, and on her twelfth birthday her father offered to teach her how to disassemble and reprogram one of the palmprint-detecting handguns that had just been introduced. It was the best birthday present she could have asked for.

By the time Remy had entered college, her parents had been back into the arms dealing life, and tended to move around more than she could keep track of them, though she did get postcards from exotic locations on a regular basis. She did well in school, though she spent more weekends tinkering with something in her apartment than out drinking with her friends. She enrolled in the burgeoning field of cybernetics; self-powered prosthetics controlled directly by a patient's nervous system, and it seemed as though she had been waiting for it her entire life. She became a rising star in the field thorough her college years and even after, surprising her parents by actually getting something like a real job at one of the huge research firms in Germany.

Remy's nearly-normal life would come tumbling down, though, as the European Union began to show signs of strain. With member countries suffering under economic tensions that threatened to tear down governments, funding for the exotic prostheses Remy spent her time developing became thinner on the ground. Not only that, but less-savoury interests seemed to be gaining a foothold, with scientists disappearing or being found in four alleys at once. The tipping point came when, on the eve of the first Italian violence, she received a postcard from her parents. Without details, it implored her to leave the European Union, to go anywhere else, even America.

Two days later, Remy stepped off a transatlantic flight in the state of Kentucky, and a few minutes after she stepped onto the tarmac a mortar shell blew the plane she had come in on to shrieking, smoking metal.

Caught in the United States' second Civil War, Remy spent the next several years using all the skills at her disposal to survive. She spent nights in the wilderness, days in abandoned suburbia, and weeks on cracked highways with an improvised waterskin slung over her back. Not able to afford to be picky, she would repair a broken rifle for a Federal or a Lonestar in exchange for something to eat, a shirt, or a new pair of shoes.

Her break - if you could call it that - came when she stumbled across an abandoned research laboratory in what used to be the grasslands of Kansas. Something had scared off the people who were meant to work there, and they had left everything in situ. Even coffee mugs and newspapers, glasses, hats and coats. Less than five miles from a Federal military base, the place had either been so secret - or so unimportant, or possibly just so boring-looking - that nobody had raided it, either.

For a year, she used the lab's resources to provide clandestine support to the Federal troops, as the fighting wound down to isolated firefights and finally to uneasy truce. She became something of an open secret, an unofficial ally, a place where soldiers would go to have their weapons fixed when the gunsmiths on post couldn't help them, or to have a little something extra handy. She even helped repair or augment the first few waves of artificially-enhanced soldiers, ones who wanted their prosthetics to be a little more than Army Issue, her hands swift and competent. She didn't do these things entirely out of the goodness of her heart - she charged not only a pretty penny but a very handsome dollar for her services, and over time people came to consider even her prices to be something of a bargain for the work she did.

One day, a soldier from the fort mentioned to Remy that his time with the military was up, and that he'd be taking his skills to a new project up north. Something called Singularity City, built on the ruins of what had once been Chicago. He asked her if she'd like to come, to get out of this dusty, blasted wasteland, away from the crazy rednecks and the crazier Feds. She said that the idea of rain sounded nice.

They loaded most of the portable and some of the less-than-portable equipment from the research lab into a trailer and headed out. Shortly after arriving, the truck was attacked, her friend killed, and Remy left badly wounded in the Fall's first big rainstorm. She survived by chance and a little luck, recovered, and has rebuilt her life - again - in the lower levels of Singularity City. She's made something of a name for herself, here - her prices are higher than they've ever been, but enough word has gotten around that if you want the best, she's one of them. Remy remains famously picky about her customers, though not on any apparent moral grounds. Machines, weapons, and other trinkets with her calligraphic initials on them have filtered through every level of society. Just the other day, the news said that one city councilman had shot another with a gun marked "R.R."...

Misc: Remy's artificial limb is somewhat unusual in that it is not "socketed" into a receiver unit on her torso. Instead, it is bonded to her bones, cartilage and skin, and would be extraordinarily difficult to remove. In return, it moves much more precisely and naturally, which is why she had it done that way. Because she still has a normal skeleton and musculature, it is NOT stronger, faster, or more dextrous than a normal limb, although she has been considering modifying the elbow's range of motion so she could reach behind her easier. It has quite a complex web of sensors that replicate nerves, allowing her to feel hot, cold, pleasure, pain and perhaps most importantly, pressure. The fingers, while metal, are slightly pliant and are an excellent analog for her old hand. They may give her an unfair advantage in playing guitar, seeing as she doesn't have to build up callouses.

Her prosthetic is not registered, but she has forged documentation suggesting that it is.

Remy's apartment is above her workshop, which is in one of the lower areas of the city; near to her customer base but not in such a foul area as the cockroaches and rats have actually formed a peace treaty so they can gang up on the humans. Her place is small but cozy, and has a lot of books, carpets, and comfortable second (or third) hand furniture. She likes tea, and has some quite posh ones on the shelf. She has been adopted by a cat, a very large grey and white tabby with long hair, and it spends most of its time sleeping next to her fireplace. She owns, and plays, a guitar.

It probably isn't surprising that Remy can take care of herself. Rather than being obnoxiously heavily armed, Remy owns a beautifully-made large-caliber handgun (Think something along the lines of a 1911) and a side-by-side shotgun, one of which is almost always nearby.

[Hellis]

TOuching up anbd adding some infoo on the East Block aswell as Different Factions within the city.

Veldrose Profile has been accepted. She should have it here soon.

[Wernher]

Do we post our CS here once it's accepted or is it specificaly certain people?

[Veldrose]

Ack! I'm sorry. Always late to the party, I know. I know. For shame. Etc.

On to official bio-ness (As approved by Grand Master Hellis)

Name: Vanna (Ivanna) Wells
Age: 32
Human Or Android: Human
Gender: Female
Affiliation: Full time American businesswoman, part time smuggler of items of a chemical nature.

Appearance: Vanna just has one of those faces- pretty, pleasant, and almost immediately forgettable after you move on. It's just one of those faces that just can't seem to keep from slipping through your memory no matter how hard you try. It has a pleasant round shape to it set with slate grey eyes with perfectly and nearly applied makeup enhancements and full lips that are always painted that pleasant shade of ruby red. Her hair is a bleached, platinum blonde and is so pin-straight that in idle chatter she'd tell you that while it may have a healthy shine, she "just can't do a thing with it." No birthmarks, no flecks of color across the bridge of her upturned nose. If they do exist upon her face, she covers them well with the cosmetics she manufactures.
Very little about Vanna is thin and dainty and that includes her figure. She is of average height- not that you would ever be able to really tell unless you realized that most of her taller stature is in thanks to her heeled shoes- and a full and pleasant figure. Pleasant, but again, not memorable.

As "beauty is business" as she would say, Vanna is horribly out of sorts unless her nails are always manicured and her clothing of the latest style and cut. But she can, of course, dress unrecognizably if the occasion calls for it. And, as it so happens, the occasion calls for it quite a few times. She does have ever so challenging hobbies.

Back Story:
Save for a childhood accident which rendered her completely deaf in one ear, Vanna's childhood and early life was that of normal, middle class, ignorant bliss. Her ability to be largely unnoticed is a learned, family trait after all. Her mother, father, older brother and herself largely escaped much of the American riots by being well off enough not to need to participate and not well off enough to be a target of disdain. It is an artform that her parents perfected long before she and her brother were born and it served them well in their immigration across the Atlantic. She learned early to be what people wanted when they wanted it. And if you weren't what was called for? Lie. And above all else: stay off the radar and out of trouble. It would get her rather far in life.

An intelligent and innovative young woman, Vanna became a chemist who, in turn, married another chemist named Seth Wells at the young age of twenty three. At this point, she went from going by her birth name of Ivanna Maslak to the more typically American moniker Vanna Wells. When a poor judgment call on her husband's part led to the demolition of his reputation as a chemist and thus made him unhirable, she was forced to seek out alternative methods of funding their understatedly lavish lifestyle that they had become accustomed to. She learned to use her knack for being inconspicuous. A chemical agent here, a biological sample there, a few willing buyiers, and suddenly the halved "official" income was no longer such a problem. Seth, unfortunately, passed away after only five years of marriage. Vanna kept his name out of love and respect.

Eventually, Vanna would come to start her own small cosmetics business- still serving the elites of Singularity City- using her skills which chemicals to create cosmetics without any petroleum additives due to the shortage of such materials. With the financial advising of her brother Lukas Maslak, "Vesta's Visions inc." was started up when she was only twenty nine. Practiced at staying under the radar, the company stays just large enough to be profitable- and just small enough not to draw too much attention. Lukas, now vice president of the company, still makes many, if not most, of the public appearances for the company. Vanna, of course, is always present, but prefers to be watching from among the crowd. She likes to keep her face out of the media as much as possible, given that her methods of supplemental income have still not changed- and also largely funded the startup of the company to begin with.

Legally registered, Vanna only has a single mechanical augment on her otherwise natural, biological, body. In effort to make up for the deafness caused by her childhood accident, she has an artificial ear. Of course, any other augments she may have added to the piece for other purposes are strictly off the legal record.