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[hider=Character Sheet Application]
[center][img]http://olivervaughn.co.uk/wp-content/uploads/2013/04/Picture-8i.png[/img][/center]
[center][h3]”Age Gracefully.”[/h3][/center]

[center][h2][color=#4df29f]General Information[/color][/h2][/center]

[color=#a0f24d]Name:[/color][color=#f24da0] Edith Baudelaire[/color]
[color=#a0f24d]Legend:[/color][color=#f24da0] Granny B[/color]
[color=#a0f24d]Species:[/color][color=#f24da0] Old Lady[/color]
[color=#a0f24d]Gender:[/color][color=#f24da0] Female[/color]
[color=#a0f24d]Age:[/color][color=#f24da0] 73[/color]

[color=#a0f24d]Appearance:[/color][color=#f24da0] Waltzing around in her own atomic fusion of gaudy colours and post apocalyptic wasteland armour, Granny B carries herself like an ancient goddess. Each move is packed with the poise of a distinguished gentlewoman and the punch of a weathered survivor. Her dark eyes are decorated with wrinkles, her hair is kept as carefully styled as possible. She meticulously maintains personal hygiene whenever the opportunity presents itself.[/color]

[color=#a0f24d]Personality:[/color][color=#f24da0] Honestly? You’re better off meeting her IC. There is no physical way to describe Edith’s personality without making her seem like a two-dimensional, shallow sort of character. I’m afraid you’ll have to settle for a traits list for now.
+ Charismatic
+ Elegant
+ Stern
+ Protective
+ Cheeky
- Brash
- Merciless
- Arrogant
- Worldweary[/color]

[color=#a0f24d]Condition:[/color][color=#f24da0] Wasted[/color]

[center][h2][color=#4df29f]Recreational Knowledge[/color][/h2][/center]

[color=#a0f24d]Likes:[/color][color=#f24da0] Bargains, Arts and Crafts, Family life, Authority, Smoking, Vintage old-timey music (Early 2000s), Appearances, her ‘Grandkids’[/color]

[color=#a0f24d]Dislikes:[/color][color=#f24da0] Disloyalty, Being told what to do, Injuries, Illness, Rudeness, The cold, Poor hygiene, Zombies[/color]

[color=#a0f24d]Hobbies:[/color][color=#f24da0] She’s an avid knitter and seamstress. Edith also likes to keep herself clean and fashionable, so often she’ll take baths, brush her teeth, preen herself in any way possible.[/color]

[color=#a0f24d]Strengths:[/color][color=#f24da0]
Her charisma. You’d be surprised at how many survivors have a granny-shaped, family friendly hole in their hearts that yearns for that sort of affection. Edith exploits this to her full advantage, dishing out some (occasionally genuine) tough motherly love to anyone she meets and reaps in the dividends.

Her experience. She’s been there and survived long enough to knit a T-shirt about it. She has common sense by the bucketful, but her attitude can cause her to intentionally disregard it from time to time.

Her protectiveness. It’s a very selective process but once you’ve been ‘adopted’ by this woman, there’s nothing she won’t do to keep you safe. Unfortunately, this often puts her own safety at risk.[/color]

[color=#a0f24d]Weaknesses:[/color][color=#f24da0]
Her pride. She’s lived too long to take any young upstart seriously; god forbid you make a bad impression on her because then it doesn’t matter if your plan is the most reasonable of the bunch. She puts herself on a pedestal and demands respect for it. Most importantly, she doesn’t take orders from ‘unruly children.’

Her age. She’s...sick. Or tired. There’s something distinctly wrong with Edith that you only get to see when she isn’t in the zone, caught up with whatever fresh chaos is being flung her way. She falls asleep a lot, she gets sick a lot (but recovers fairly well, see below) and she can’t travel for too long without needing a break. Her hands tremble and she loses herself in thought.

Her recklessness. Edith’s decided she’s lived too long on this fuck-up of a planet and sometimes she’s swept up with the overwhelming desire to go out with a bang. Obviously, this puts everyone at risk, especially herself. She needs people to hold her back.[/color]

[color=#a0f24d]Theme Song:[/color][color=#f24da0] Gwen Stefani - Hollaback girl. [/color]

[center][h2][color=#4df29f]Combat Ready[/color][/h2][/center]

[color=#a0f24d]Weapon:[/color][color=#f24da0] Granny’s Cane: A heavily vandalised light-up walking stick, shaped like a traditional cane but made out of some sort of silvery metal alloy. It splits into a laser pistol that uses the handle and a small part of the cane itself and a solid metal staff that she can use to bludgeon things with.[/color]

[color=#a0f24d]Powers:[/color][color=#f24da0] Edith has Wolverine-esque healing abilities. She fucking hates it. It’s a significant factor in her continued existence. She receives all of the pain, all of the trauma of getting hurt and all of the symptoms of illness, only it takes much less time for her wounds to heal and sickness tends to pass in a matter of days as if she was some sort of spritely youth. It’s uncertain whether or not she’s immune to the zombie virus and hasn’t been dumb enough to let any of them bite her to find out.[/color]

[color=#a0f24d]Techniques:[/color][color=#f24da0] 
Knit one, Purl one: Edith fires her laser pistol in rapid succession, forcing the enemies to duck and dodge out of the way until they’ve been pushed into a close-knit group.

The Granny Grapple: Using a burst of energy, Edith’s bony little fingers latch onto a foe’s wrists in close combat as she twists them and sharply tugs to one side, forcing the opponent to fall over.[/color]

[color=#a0f24d]Skills:[/color][color=#f24da0] Edith’s domestic skills are unparalleled. Cooking, cleaning, minor repairs and first aid are her a few of her strong suits, primarily because she was a bit of a traditionalist and her previous occupation demanded she learned those sorts of things. Post-Hellweek, Edith really focused in on inventing; she uses whatever she has around her to make scrapyard machinery that’ll make her life easier.[/color]

[color=#a0f24d]Gear:[/color][color=#f24da0]
Hoverchair: It’s...a wheelchair that floats. Running on a long-lasting but fairly weak nuclear battery she nicked from a robot, Edith uses this handy-dandy machine to get a couple of naps in whilst on the move. She made it herself.

Repair kit: Decorated with doilies and organised in the way only a grandmother could manage, this old lunchbox contains all the tools necessary for a good bit of tinkering.[/color]

[color=#a0f24d]Level:[/color][color=#f24da0] 1[/color]

[center][h2][color=#4df29f]The Story Behind the Grandma[/color][/h2][/center]

[color=#a0f24d]Backstory:[/color][color=#f24da0]Picture the scene; it’s two in the morning. You just emptied your wallet of money and filled your body with drugs and alcohol. You’re walking home, when suddenly two men pull over and politely ask you to get in the car. You refuse, so they ask you again. You refuse a bit louder and one of them, with slicked-back hair and a cravat, opens the door and ‘assists’ you in getting inside. The car pulls off and you gingerly rub the fresh bruise on your forehead whilst you shudder with fear. You’re ‘assisted’ into an old warehouse on the outskirts of town, just by a freeway. You can hear the cars but you know from the muzzle pointed behind your back that calling for help wouldn’t work. There are many more men like the ones that have been so kind and helpful so far, flitting in between shipping crates, moving around boxes full of illicit substances, illegal weaponry, outlawed technology. Leaning on the metal railing of a catwalk suspended high above you and accompanied by a beefy man in a hawaiian shirt is a middle-aged woman, skinny like a gazelle, a curtain of blonde hair and the plume of smoke from a cigarette partially obscuring her features. “Where’s my fucking money?” she calls out demurely, pointing her cigarette down at you. “You promised me Tuesday. It’s Thursday. Where is it?”

Edith’s always been a traditionalist, for as long as anybody could remember. The Baudelaire Company was, at the time, one of the most prominent organised crime syndicates simply because it worked against the grain. They did things the old fashioned way, with books and pens and pieces of paper instead of smartphones, holotapes and AI. They were by no means the largest but they were undeniably the fastest and the quietest. It was Edith’s personal involvement in her business that built up such a strong rapport with her colleagues and that provided a sense of loyalty and job security that was highly sought after, especially in the days where a robot could do everything you could do and then some.

Edith shoudld’ve been living the life of a socialite but she focused entirely on her business, opting for a humble household and a bespoke wardrobe. When she went to parties, you knew she was looking for someone or something and just so happened to be enjoying herself whilst she did it. She funded some...morally questionable projects and gave out loans with insidiously high interest rates. The business was founded on the smuggling of contraband goods in and out of the city. At her peak, she was nigh-untouchable; the cops could never find her and when they did, their silence was easily bought or coerced.

Of course, all good (and highly dangerous) things must come to an end somehow. Edith doesn’t know who did it to this day but an ambush was set out; she was caught in a gunfight in an industrial site and in a desperate attempt to escape she accidentally set a petrol tanker alight. The resulting blast killed several, burnt down the site, caused significant damage to nearby buildings and caused Edith’s car to crash. Edith and her chaffeur were arrested under the charges of arson with the intent of murder and given life sentences. They were sent to a maximum security prison, a state of the art affaire with a fully automated security system and robot prison guards. You can probably guess what happened.

Edith spent almost two decades trapped behind those four walls where she elbowed her way to the top and enjoyed the little luxuries that she could squeeze out of people, such as longer showers and a larger selection of items from the Commissary. The fact that the guards could not be reasoned with was a significant factor in her stay in prison. She certainly tried and passed the time by studying electrical engineering and robotics in the hopes of somehow hacking one of the guards to escape. Whilst incarcerated, she was somewhat knocked off her high horse for a while and settled for second best right up until the world ended.

As expected, Edith made a speedy escape the moment the system started to malfunction. She escaped with her bag man and took off into the wilderness, hellbent on finding the fucker that set her up. The first few post-apocalytpic years saw a pissed-off 60yr old tearing her way through the wastelands looking for her old colleagues and putting a laser ray through the skulls of the infinitesimal fraction that survived the initial chaos. The more she searched, the more she reflected on this senseless path of vengeance; she only really killed 2 or 3 of her old friends before she realised that, ultimately, hunting down the people who ruined her life meant nothing now that life as she knew it was basically over.

Instead of tumbling into a spiral of despair or reverting back to her wicked ways, the sudden realisation that the rest of her life will never compare to her golden days was a very liberating experience for little old Edith. The acquisition of wealth was pointless, the stress of organising and running a business was pointless too; she was going to die sometime soon and it didn’t matter if she died penniless and alone. As a result, Edith reverted to her natural state of doing whatever the fuck she wanted. That meant travelling from town to town looking out for the youths, making sure they were happy and somewhat healthy, trying to deter them from the temptations of violence and crime and ultimately collecting the most loyal and naive ones under the umbrella term of her ‘grandchildren’ with the promise that if they continued to do good out in the world, she’d eventually come back once she’s found a safe haven and bring them there.

It’s all bullshit, of course; a happy little lie to keep the kids of the wastes content and hopefully lessen the amount of human-on-human conflict. Edith has no intention of finding that paradise, nor does she think she’d live long enough to reunite with any of them. Nevertheless, her good samaritan act has caused minor ripples amongst the grapevine, making her out to be an urban myth; some sort of chainsmoking fairy godmother with a gun.[/color]

[color=#a0f24d]Ambitions/Goals:[/color][color=#f24da0] Deep down, Edith really [i]does[/i] want to have the safety and security to take all of her adopted bandit fuck-up ‘children’ and start a big family in The End. But frankly, she believes her life expectancy was meant to run out a solid 15 years ago. Nowadays, even waking up in the morning is enough to spur her on; she’s here for the journey, not necessarily the destination.[/color]

[color=#a0f24d]Addiction/Mental Health:[/color][color=#f24da0] As normal as it gets out here. [/color]
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