:: Personal Information ::Full Birth-Given Name: “My name?....alright, but if you effing laugh I swear to god I’m going to slap the shit out of you. It’s Navarro Ethan Harper. Happy?”
Preferred Name // Nickname: “Anything but Navarrro. Or Nav...Only my good friend Nellie can call me that. I SUPPOSE you can call me V--IF you know me. If you don’t, it’s Staff Sergeant Harper to you.”
Sexual Orientation & Gender: “I’m a straight guy. Do you really need to ask my gender? Are you blind? And what’s with the orientation thing? You hitting on me or somethin’?”
Years Since My Birth: “It’s been 27 years since I was born--Birth Date March 15th, 1986.”
Also Knowing: “Wanted to join the Marine Corps since I was a kid. My dad was a Marine, my grandfather was a Marine, and goddamnit I’m a marine too--OORAH!”
:: General Information ::A Secret Told to No One: “I got a crush sure. I ain’t namin’ names though. You’d be better off pullin intel outta me--so in other words, you’re fucked.”
My One and Only Reason For Existing: “You laugh I swear I’ll kill you. My cat, Mila. She is one of my reasons for existing anyway. My other reason is a good friend of mine, Daniella. I call her Nellie though. If it weren’t for them two, I’d probably have said ‘Screw This’ to the apocalypse.”
Those Who Brought Me Into This World: “John and Marissa Harper--both of whom are dead.”
Those Made To Survive This World Alongside Me: Petty Officer Second-Class Genevieve Lily-Marie Deveroux--she’s the only sister I got, my sister in arms. We met during a rather heated Joint Op--that girl is bad-fuckin’-ASS.”
Faithful Furry Companions: “Mila is my furry companion. I’ve had this girl for about...2 years now? I bought her as a kitten to keep me company in my down time. She's my best friend--and funnily enough, has a piss ass attitude towards most people. She likes Deveroux though!"
Mila:
:: Other Information ::Song That Best Describes Me: “‘The Ballad of Serenity’ describes me pretty damn well. I know it’s a song from a TV show, but it don’t make it less true. You can’t take the sky from me.”
Weapons Carried on My Person at All Times:*<Assault Rifle>FN SCAR-L Mk 16 CQC [shotgun attachment and scope] (.556 mm)
*<handgun>M45 MEU SOC [Tactical Flashlight attachment] (.45 ACP)
* Combat Knife
Here's the Story of My Past and How I Have Survived This Long:“So you wanna know how I survived? You wanna know about me, a bit of who I am? Well alright then, I’ll tell you. I’m a Force Recon, born and bred--like my dad before me, and his dad before him. I still don’t know what happened to him though. He was called out on a mission, came back in a pine box--KIA, but nobody told me how. My mother was crushed, heartbroken even. Me and her, we got through it though. I was 9 and she was 37. Anyway, we were there for eachother, and with the two of us against the fuckin’ world, well….we got close. She was my best damn friend, and though I never stopped thinkin’ about dear ol’ dad, I was able to move past it insomuch as anyone CAN move past such a thing. I still wear his tags around my neck when I’m not in the field. Sort of a memory to him, ya know? They won’t let me take em in the field though, told me if I get killed they might mistake the names and serial numbers...what the fuck ever. You’d think they’d see “KIA” in the system and no the diff, but whatever.
Anyway, I knew when I stood lookin at that casket, watchin’ my mom stare at the flag over draped over the coffin, that I’d follow in his footsteps. That I’d do what I always knew he wanted me to do--I’d join the Marines, and I’d do him proud. EVERYTHING I do, everything I’ve done to get here where I am today, is to honor his memory. He was a do or die man, and while I still don’t know what the hell he did, I DO know he saved a lot of lives out there. And he died fighting. So if I can honor his memory, I damn sure will. *Turns gaze up to the ceiling, letting out a soft sigh* I know he’s watching me, from somewhere. And watching over me. In fact, he’s with my momma now, ya know--hand in hand. Thanks to the end of the world. She didn’t survive the infected...the walkers, the zombies, whatever the hell you call em.
*sighs again, this one much more bitter, learning head back against the chair.* That was my goddamn greatest failure. I failed my mother. I failed to keep her alive, to look out for her, like my dad always told me to. THAT is something I gotta live with. It ain’t my only failure, I’m Force Recon but I’m also human. But it was my biggest. I just hope as she’s watchin’ me from above with my dad, she forgives me for not being able to keep her alive. I umm…*swallows, hands balling into fists* I sure did a fuckin’ A job keepin’ myself alive, though. Heh, go figure that one out, yeah?
Anyway, 17 I early enlisted into the Marine Corps and I was top dog in bootcamp. *smirks a little* In fact, I got top scores in marksmanship, was told I had outstanding teamwork and leadership skills. But I’m most proud about my marksmanship. That right there--I know how to put a bullet in somethin’ and I do it well. After bootcamp I was stationed overseas--in Alaska, go figure that shit out. Everyone else, they go to Germany or bumfuck Egypt or whatever. Me? I get sent to cold ass Alaska. Don’t ask me why, cause I sure as hell don’t know, but almost nobody was happy about that one. So I was a good little Marine, followed orders, upheld the Marine code, oorah, and at 20, tried out for Force Recon--guess what? I fuckin’ made it. Training was hell, about the only tougher is Navy fuckin’ SEALs. For the record, swimming is a bitch. I didn’t grow up in no water state, so I ain’t no natural born floater, though my Drill Sergeant called me a floater several times in training. Different meanin’ though. So you might wanna know what I do, huh? I slip behind enemy lines. I collect intel, I see how many guys there are, how many gotta be killed, I sabotage if need be, I do whatever it is I’m told to do--and I get the job done. Me an’ my team, we kick ass like all Marine’s do. We’re the first ones in, we report to the cleanup crew. And sometimes we get to do some major fun BLACK shit, let me tell ya--well, better not or I’d have to cap your ass.
Now I *can* tell you how I met my best friend. She’s like a sister to me, and if somethin’ were to happen to her, I honestly don’t know how I’d take it. Not well, that’s for sure. She’s the best goddamn thing that’s happened to me--my sister in arms. She’s alright for a SEAL anyway *chuckles softly, faraway look in eyes* She’s a good girl. It was a joint-field op--SEALs were on standby waiting for OUR asses to get some intel so they could make their fuckin’ raid. Well, shit hit the fan, the damn bad-guys knew we were commin. It was a fuckin’ ambush, and my squad was getting the shit kicked out of us. Navy SEALs to the rescue. Petty Officer Second-Class Genevieve Lily-Marie Deveroux….she saved my sorry ass that day. Took a goddamn bullet to the ass--the ASS I tell ya. I was limpin’ tryin to hightail it out of there with my squad, got cornered by 5 fuckin guys, shootin’ at me--cut off from my boys and fuck. Then I hear the sound of an M4, I see two of the bastards go down, meanwhile I’m in hand to hand combat with another of em--WITH A SHOT-UP ASS! Deveroux comes storming out of nowhere, throws her knife at one of the other guys about to cap me while I’m fighting his buddy, and then shoots his friend. I snapped the SOB’s neck that was fighting me, and she helped haul me to safety. If she hadn’t been there that day, I’d have been fucked. From that moment on, she and I were best of friends--always stayed in contact, wrote letters, sent emails, talked on the phone. Spent time together in our downtime--when we were in the same area.
As fortune would have it, we’d meet again shortly after the outbreak. Ironically enough, it was another joint op too. Only shit hit the fan (doesn’t it always?). Long miserable story cut short, there was a zombie mob, a few fuckups, and she and I were one of few survivors. Another few fuckups and bad luck, it was just me, her, Mila, and Daxx. We decided it was for the best if we formed our own pack--and I got the one scar I go out of my way to show off--the one on my hand. She bit fucking HARD though, let me tell ya...felt like I got shot. That girl plays *rough* *gives a small wink and a smirk.* Anyway, we eventually found Cook County prison, and decided to play the good guys, helpin defend the civilians. Ain’t we special? Seriously though, it’s what we did before the outbreak, so hell...ain’t much diff except most of the world has gone to shit. You wanted to know earlier who my secret crush was? if you can’t guess after this story, you’re deaf or fuckin’ stupid. Take your pick.
How Some People Might See Me:
“How some people see me huh? Shit, I don’t know. I’m Recon and we are used to bein’ pretty quiet. I don’t talk TOO much, but I’m sociable. I think people see me that way. I don’t think they’d see me as the majorly outgoing type but I’m no pariah either. I DO think people see me as the tough guy, Alpha dog that most Spec-Ops are. They don’t realize that we Recon guys avoid combat most of the time. Anyway, I think people see me as competitive, a team player, a leader. Wouldn’t be Spec Ops if I wasn’t, would I?
Standing Before a Mirror, I See:“So in other words you want to know what I look like. That’s fine, but there IS a picture...oh you want both?? Is this some kinda psych test or somethin’? OH give me the inkblots! I LOVE the inkblots! I once saw a….*coughs, clearing through* Nevermind. Onto my looks, right. So I am pretty effing short for a guy--about 5’9.” I’ve got grey eyes, short cropped brown hair (we ain’t called Jarheads for nothing), and...shit, what else can I tell you? A few tattoos. I’ll show you some of those too. I’m Marine to the CORPS baby! Of course I got tats! I’ve got a wolf tattoo oh shit hang on
The Beast Within Me:Snowball:
“My wolf, I jokingly call him Snowball, stands at about 4’3” and weighs in at around 170 lbs--maybe a bit more. To be honest, never decided to weigh myself in wolf form….might be kinda fun to do, if I can find a working scale. Anyway, description--yeah. Got sidetracked there. I have orange eyes--I’m the right hand to Deveroux, after all. Heh, she’s definitely the Alpha though. I may be a bit bigger and outweigh her...but that doesn’t mean much. She is one tough wolfie! Got kinda sidetracked again, didn’t I? So, all white fur, orange eyes, and some mean fuckin’ teeth. Don’t get on my bad side, yeah?”
Photographed Picture of Myself:Me:
Me Going Black:
Tattoos:
.jpg)
--------
:: Personal Information ::Full Birth-Given Name: “My name is Lucinda Julianne Clarke.”
Preferred Name // Nickname: “I’ve gone by many names. You’re lucky to learn my real name, you know. Anyway, call me Cinda--I *hate* Luci.”
Sexual Orientation & Gender: “I’m a bisexual female--one reason I made such a great spy. I knew how to play both sides….”
Years Since My Birth: “March 10th, 1981. I’m 33.”
Also Knowing: “I’ve done fieldwork for the CIA for years; I’ve gone by many names, seen a lot of places. And yet, I’ve no place to call home.”
:: General Information ::A Secret Told to No One: “I don’t have one.”
My One and Only Reason For Existing: “Simply put, I want to survive as long as I can. Who knows, maybe I’ll find my sister one day--if she’s still alive.”
Those Who Brought Me Into This World: “Grew up in an orphanage with my sis. I don’t know my birth parents. Never was adopted, either.”
Those Made To Survive This World Alongside Me: “I have my sister...well, maybe. If she wasn’t killed by the zombies...her name is Marissa Leanne Clark.”
Faithful Furry Companions: “Sadly, I never owned any pets. The Orphanage didn’t allow them, and my life as a spook was too unpredictable for that.”
:: Other Information ::Song That Best Describes Me:“Out of the Shadow” by Iron Maiden describes me pretty well...and all of us living in these times.”
Weapons Carried on My Person at All Times:* MP5SD (9mm)
*Five-SeveN with Tactical knife and silencer (5.7×28mm)
*LHR Combat Knife
Here's the Story of My Past and How I Have Survived This Long:“My training, pure and simple. Not to undermine my wolfish secret or anything, but I’ve spent a lot more time in human form. I know how to survive. I’ve been trained to infiltrate, to slip into a country with zero support, do what I have to do, and slip out without anyone even knowing I was there. Of course, I also have training in more...violent measures for survival. I used to be a member of the Army--four years later, I was in Delta-Force; i was the first woman to ever be recruited by the group. After serving in Delta doing various counter-terrorism ops, among other more “black” projects, the CIA recruited me. I spent a few years at Quantico, was trained in The Farm, and I became a working Field Agent. You might wonder what I did, what my missions where...let’s just say, I’ve killed my fair share of people. It’s a wonder my eyes aren’t blue….
I don’t talk much about my past beyond that. I grew up in an orphanage with my sister. You wanna know what happened to my parents, well...you’re asking the wrong girl. My sis might’ve told you, but I won’t. They’re dead, that’s all that matters. I got along well enough in the orphanage though, just me and Rissa, as I called her. We weren’t the most popular where we grew up, got picked on by the other children. We never did get adopted--and my sister, being a year older than I am, left the orphanage first. When I was able to leave at 18, I managed to find her, she kept close tabs on me, even kept in contact. Soon as I was able to leave, I spent about 3 months living with Marissa….and then I joined the Army.
From there, well...it was the usual stuff. Excelled in bootcamp, made promotions rather quickly, ended up seeing combat in Iraq, proved myself...was offered a spot in Delta, and accepted...then operated in various ops around the world. Believe it or not, I was a sniper for the Delta Force, and those are some top spots. Yeah, I was that good a shot. Anyways, I was later recruited, as I said, but the CIA where I learned...other things. More covert things...Anyway, my last mission was in Afghanistan where I was...well I can’t tell you that. But I was overseas in the sandbox, only not as a soldier. I was dark, if I got caught, government would deny that they even knew my name. I’d completed my mission, and came home just in time to witness the end of the world. Of course, my sis never knew what I did, she thought I was army Spec-ops. Had to tell her that, she wasn’t even allowed to know I was Delta Force, let alone involved in the CIA as a spook. After the outbreak, I tried to find Rissa, but she wasn’t at home. All I saw was blood. So much blood...could’ve been walker blood, I suppose. Might’ve been hers too. I don’t know.
Ever since I saw the inside of her house that day...I wasn’t the same. The one person left on the planet I cared about, probably dead. I vowed to find out what happened to her though. Every time I kill a walker, I look at their face first, just to be sure. JUST to know if it’s her or not. I wonder what I’d do, if I found my sis among the walking dead...could I do it...could I end her life again? I hope it doesn’t come to that...
How Some People Might See Me: “I’m dedicated, loyal, and short. I don’t hesitate to do what I have to to finish a mission. Any mission. Back when I was a field agent, before all this shit went down, I was one of the best. That’s not me being a narcissist, that’s me being honest. When it comes to survival, I do what has to be done. And I will do *whatever* I have to do, to find my sister. I just hope she’s still alive, and not one of...of them…”
Standing Before a Mirror, I See: “I’m rather pale skinned and I have very light blue eyes. My hair is short and black, not quite down to my shoulders. I often cover the bottom of my face whenever I walk; makes my breathing harder to hear and I don’t like people knowing who I am. Call it old habits. I’ve lived my life in the black, hiding my identity, blending in. Had to, or my sister would’ve been killed by some fucking asswipe terrorist a long time ago...I’m not overly tall, either, only about 5’ 4” and I weigh in at about 130.
The Beast Within Me: “My beast, if you insist on calling her that, has bright violet eyes, grey and white fur, and is rather small for a wolfie, standing at 3’ 11” at the shoulders. I call her, Verelle...
Verelle:
Photographed Picture of Myself:Me: 
