Prancing through life with an infuriatingly cocky grin and enough cheerful arrogance to power a small regiment, it’s little wonder this kid makes enemies nearly everywhere she goes. She is quick to judge and even quicker to dismiss; it’s this flippant sort of insouciance, especially regarding serious situations, that makes those enemies turn to nemeses. (She’s been keeping a running tally of how many people have publicly declared her their eternal archenemy. It’s about as big as her ego.) She’s brash, she’s brazen, and she’s six kinds of reckless. She’d grind every bone in her body to dust if it meant inflicting even a single bruise on her adversary, and she doesn’t care if achieving her goals means tearing down the structure of society brick by dusty brick. Insurmountable odds are viewed as a fun challenge; even the biggest threat can be broken down into smaller, more manageable chunks if you pummel it hard enough.

Wreathed in an ephemeral aura of vitality, and armed with an abundance of smarmy grins and a veritable battalion of bawdy jokes, Scout is generally always worth a good laugh. She’s confidence incarnate – she doesn’t walk, she swaggers. A lonely childhood bestowed upon her an impressive imagination, and she’s always conjuring up some sort of wild scheme. This, coupled with poor impulse control and a predilection toward improvisation, means she can orchestrate some truly nefarious plans.

Governed almost completely by her bellicose nature, Scout absolutely loves to fight - loves the dizzying, intoxicating rush she gets whenever the adrenaline starts coursing through her veins, loves the flutter she gets in her heart when she think she’s about to die, loves the thrill of the danger - of the possibility she might lose. Nothing gets that unsettling battle grin of hers going more than a proper brawl. Scout’s an adrenaline junkie born and bred, and she’s yet to realize that just because no one’s died doesn’t mean it can be considered a victory.

Her brash attitude, abrasive humor, blatant refusal to follow the rules can often infuriate any by-the-books squadmates to whom she’s been assigned. She treats orders – and occasionally boundaries – like broad suggestions. Continuing along a similar vein, she’s a notably physical person; she’ll sling an arm around a comrade’s shoulders for support, playfully tousle their hair after emerging victorious from combat, or plop down beside them and drape herself across their lap. She’s like an affectionate stray dog that’ll turn up on your doorstep routinely if you offer it food or a scratch behind the ears even once.

As her background might lead one to surmise, Scout is vehemently opposed to materialism, and harbors a certain degree of resentment toward the affluent and influential. She’d destroy the financially elite in a heartbeat, provided someone could equip her with a sufficient alibi. When holiday gift exchanges or birthday celebrations roll around, she doesn’t like asking for physical possessions for presents. A lifetime of poverty has conditioned her not to want or request such things from other people. Besides, she figures if they’re giving something to her, it means they’re going without, and the subsequent guilt is enough to send her teetering over the edge.

Scout is also hopelessly naive, interpreting everything at face value, be it her surroundings or what she perceives as a factual statement, leaving her fairly oblivious to the nuances of human nature. She's a tinkerer, not a thinkerer - weapons and machines provide far better company than people, and they’re easier to beat in a fight, regardless. (Where she grew up, disputes were settled with quick-and-dirty scuffles.) Because she's new to this particular line of work, she's yet to learn the importance of verifying testimonies; she equates emotional intensity with honesty. This has made many love confessions awkward and kind of unbearable; poor kid’s denser than a slab of granite. She’s shockingly good at detecting potential romantic or concupiscent partners, yet consistently comes up short insofar as long-term commitment is concerned.

Extremely self-reliant and obstinate to a fault, Scout is as stubborn as a scorned mule, especially when it comes to injury management. She’ll bristle and bare her fangs and skulk in corners, preferring to suffer in dignified silence than allow someone else to nurse her wounds – that is, if she’ll even admit they’re present. She doesn’t like admitting she’s not capable of handling herself – it makes her feel weak, vulnerable, and useless.

And when kids like her lose their purpose, when they stop holding any value, they die.

Because of her rambunctious, rowdy nature, she’s antsy and prone to restless fidgeting when forced to sit still, making her not at all suited to reconnaissance, infiltration, or gathering intel through ass-kissing or elbow-brushing. Cart her to some sort of formal, extravagant gala, and she’ll have you both ejected from the premises in half an hour’s time. (In her defense, there’s something absolutely hysterical about how god-awful those ludicrous, faux-posh rich-person accents sound. Especially when they know she knows they’re faking.) She’s got issues with impulse control, particularly when asked to follow orders. Her plans derail as quickly as her attention span. Her ability to read the flow of battle (and the wherewithal to almost unconsciously discern weak points, such as a faulty prosthetic, atrophied muscles, or old injuries that never properly healed) is the closest she’ll ever come to devising combat tactics.

Her manner of speech is gruff, brazen, and hopelessly impetuous, and her sentences consist primarily of short, choppy words - her brain moves faster than her mouth, so she prefers terse fragments to get her point across. Though her favorite method of communication is fists on flesh, she's also quite fond of employing a vast array of gesticulations to further illustrate her point.The only part of her vocabulary one could consider even remotely extensive is her repertoire of creative vulgarities. It’s rare to see her compose any sort of oration, formal or otherwise, that isn’t peppered liberally with profanities.

Scout’s face is thin, all prominent cheekbones and angular cheeks and narrow, mischievous eyes. A faint, barely-distinguishable smattering of freckles spans a sharp, slightly upturned nose. Small lips born to twist into a crooked, devil-may-care grin host pristine white teeth. Cursed with a truly tiny stature, Scout clocks in at approximately five feet, two inches - and the term is used extremely loosely – tall, meaning one could conceivably hoist her over one’s shoulder and carry her off mid-argument.

Layered, side-swept dark hair falls in choppy waves past her shoulders. A portion of the hair on the left side of her head has been buzzed down to a quarter of an inch, as she's always had a certain fondness for undercuts. It’s got this windblown, perpetually tousled quality, voluminous and full of life.

She’s lean and narrow, olive skin stretching taut over a reasonably toned physique. Power is written into every movement, every challenging stare or cocky smirk, brimming deceptively beneath her skin. Years of acting on the ‘fight’ portion of her instincts has imbued within her a certain sense of confidence – her posture is aggressive on the battlefield and assertive everywhere else, and she typically stands with her feet spread, hands planted firmly – defiantly – on her hips.

Despite her preference for comfortable clothing - hoodies, tank tops, shorts, loose, baggy pants - she can be wrangled into somewhat professional garb, on rare occasion. Said attire typically consists of a bright zip-up hoodie and a dress shirt left untucked over slim-fitting dark pants.

Thanks to her tendency to instigate fist fights, she’s learned how to accessorize the common bandage, and is usually found boasting no fewer than three at any given time.

WIP

Shoot me a PM if you'd like to figure out some memories!

A pair of bulky, robotic claw-gauntlets that serve as both an amplifier for Scout's natural strength and a medium through which she can channel certain spirits. They're the product of the better part of a decade of iteration, of perfection, of destruction and rebuilding, malfunction and repair. They’re cobbled together from the best parts of the worst technology, made from anything she’s been able to steal from the lowlifes and the scumbags of the city - and they're amazing. They're oversized, entirely impractical, and work perfectly despite all available evidence suggesting otherwise. Scouts’s conceptual designs often turn out that way.

The compartment in the palms contain concentrated amounts of nitroglycerin, meaning when she invokes her spirits' power, her punches become significantly more explosive. She can also use the resulting force to propel herself for short distances, meaning her combat style is as erratic and energetic as its wielder.

"Cherry Bomb"
Effects: Fire, Might
Description: Conjuring up four small, spherically-shaped balls of fire, Scout cradles them carefully between her fingers as she winds up for a powerful swing. Right as the punch connects, she crushes them into her palm, where they explode on contact, flames streaming out behind her hand like a comet's tail. This spirit is energetic, zealous, and a tad rash.

"Ice Dynamite"
Effects: Blind, Slow, Imperil
Description: Encased in a protective icy shell, this spirit manifests as a fist-sized ball of clean, sparkling water. Balancing Cherry Bomb in one hand and this spirit in the other, Scout crushes her palms together. The heat and the water combine violently, spewing copious quantities of steam, generating a makeshift smokescreen to temporarily blind her adversary. This spirit is volatile, moody, and sullen.

"Firewall"
Effects: Fire, Shell, Protect
Description: With the aid of this spirit, Scout conjures up a writhing, flickering mass of bright orange flames that will destroy most ranged projectiles. Its size varies depending on its intended purpose, but it typically serves as a makeshift shield.

"Burning Wing"
Effects: Fire, Faith, Pain, Zombie
Description: Fueled by the flames of war, Scout channels this bellicose, vengeful, ruthless spirit through her hands. Each punch to the ground splits open the earth's crust, generating a small shock wave and conjuring up towering pillars of fire to cremate her enemies. Gauntlets ablaze, entire body wreathed in tufts of white fire, Scout incinerates her foes in a fury dance of death, ensuring the last thing they see is a glimpse of hell.