Name: Natasha Serbjia Milisevic
Alignment: True Neutral
Appearance: Natasha does not like being looked at, perhaps with good reason. She has hair, white with dust and ash that she must seek whenever she can, and a face that is rarely exposed to dirt; the constant desire to be 'clean' compels her to be spotless, except her hair, ever-white, as though the grave has taken her from the forehead up. There are the looks of a pretty young girl amongst her, underneath eyes that constantly dart around trying to avoid staying still. She has thin lips, often pressed tight, and rubs her hands intently, constantly, scratching away at the tiniest speck of dirt as though it were a fire that must be extinguished, leaving nasty marks up and down her arms and legs. If they bleed, it must be scrubbed away, and this often causes other injuries to open, not stopping until she is sedated or satisfied, her pearl-white skin clean again.
Those eyes have seen many things, things they should not have seen, and inside those eyes, the window to the soul, hide secrets that will not reveal themselves, sheltered behind quick blinking and constant survey, refusing ever to stop except to stare at something that has captured Natasha's mind, what is left of it. They are ice-blue, in solid colour which can frighten the unprepared-indeed, she often looks like a corpse when asleep, her eyes open. Never can she close them, because they come when she blinks. They must never arrive, never! Please, no, go away go away go away!
Weapons: Being her only friend and permanent possession, Natasha shares a full, happy, and two-way relationship with her sniper rifle, 'Jagjielka'. She hugs him and loves him and won't ever let him down, she'll never run away, and she'll never desert Jagjielka. In return, he keeps bad people away, and loves her lots, foreverandeverandeverandeverandever. He's really big and really strong and really likes to eat magazines of high-caliber ammunition.
Other Equipment: Natasha doesn't keep other objects-they're all filthy and covered in dirt, and if she carried them she'd have to scrub herself clean again and again and again! The food for Jagjielka is important, obviously, and she'll happily carry that around, but anything else has to be dropped. Eating is difficult enough-besides, who would need things when you have a friend like Jagjielka? Hmm? Well, who would? After all, money can't buy you love. She does have a pair of cheap deck shoes, jeans, and a large grey hooded top underneath a tattered old trenchcoat, but you didn't ask me about that, now did you? Silly person.
Abilities: Jagjielka is very good, yes he is my hood/
against the darkness with a flash and burnt flesh/
I pull his special place and it brings a smile to my face/
To see the fancy booms explode and lower my heavy load/
When I see them come at me he is there and it is he/
Who brings them down to the floor and they don't follow me anymore/
He makes them dead and I am glad because I make other people mad.
History: Natasha does not remember anything before the age of thirteen except images; lots of houses, someone who was not her mother, other children, being moved around a lot. Hospitals. Doctors. Blood. Then, aged thirteen, everything is clear. She travelled with a group of other children, some older and some younger with one leader; a pretty young man with blond hair named Michael. He always knew what to do, and always looked after everyone. When Natasha was sad, he made her laugh, and when the voices came he was there. She was always scared, and still is, because one thing hasn't happened-they haven't gone away. They are always waiting for Natasha, always chasing her. They are inside her head, but so are other people and sometimes they make the nasty ones go away. At night, however, they come and they don't go away. They fill her head and make her dreams bad, ruin her mind and force her to look at them. Natasha always tries to look away, really she does, but they are so strong and they can make you do what they want, whatever they want!
Anyway, when she was sixteen, bad things began to happen. Men with guns fought other men with guns, and her group kept getting caught in the middle. Eventually, they found guns and began to fight back-this is when she met Jagjielka. He was lovely to her, and she fell in love with him. The pretty lights he made and the scopey thing she could stare down made things much, much bigger. This is fun! Everybody likes lights and telescopes, right? Jagjielka promised to keep her safe from them whenever they came, and he could. He slept with her at night, held tightly in Natasha's arms. They can come at night, but if she has to Natasha can always ask Jagjielka to make them go away-but he needs his sleep to. He really is very nice to her, and he deserves to be able to go to bed for a bit now and then. Besides, she's a big girl now and she can fight some of her own battles if needs be.
It was after she found Jagjielka that Michael got broken. There was a fight, a really big fight with lots of guns and blood and voices and shouting, and everyone got shot. Natasha got a bullet in her head-his name is Christian-and he is a nice voice. He told her not to speak, only to sing and rhyme, and Natasha didn't see why not, so she does. Of course, everyone else being dead was a bit of a problem, and Christian noticed that they were all dirty, so surely the best way to avoid being dead was to be really clean all the time! Jagjielka doesn't think so, but he isn't always right. Christian is a bit smarter than Jagjielka, but only by a few millimetres, because they're both really great and they give Natasha someone to talk to, which is nice because after this fight she realised that everyone else must be dead because they were all dirty, and talking to dead people is silly, you big silly! SILLY! SILLY, SILLY, SILLY! STUPID, DIM, MORONIC. OBTUSE, FOOLISH, SILLY!
There really isn't much else talking about, because most days are pretty boring, just the same running away from them, the ones who keep chasing her and getting inside her head, and there isn't any point talking to you any more because you're dirty, so you must be dead? Why did I start talking to you? Why am I still talking to you?
Maybe Christian knows.