NAME
Vix Blackwater
AGE
30
GENDER
Female
SPECIES
Human
HOMETOWN
Alexandria - She thinks.
FACTION
Swamp Dogs - Formerly.

With a glint in her eye and palms on hips perpetually stained with soot and swamp muck, Vix is the afforded representation of a fatale with the lack of a fairer facet. She's all dark with hole-punched skin and razor smiles, leather cinched fists and loose in all the furnishings of a bad-mouthed Raider on a good day. Fed a persistent cardio on the daily and the preference for a volatile cocktail of Mentats, Physchos, Jets and the occasional abuse of the nearest whiskey neck on hand begets to a waif figure corded with sinew liken to rigid scar tissue, and the incredible magnetism of bygone morality. She exhibits most stereotypes of her less inclined brethren; foul mouthed and crude exteriors with aggressive penchants perpendicular to Super Mutant brutality - albeit, not as mindless. There's shoddy penmanship scrawled permanently across ecru skin, golden dusted and dirt smudged, marks eternally displayed by her wears of low ridden trousers, always black, and cinched, cropped blouses criss-crossed with leather and chain edged bindings that make up some trend of archaic armor.

Vix heralds confidence and oozes such with an almost arrogant fanfare, she's got alpha complexes in spades, compounded by her notched up chin and sneer that exposes nicotine shaded teeth and a tongue bathed in corroded silver to match her chafing wit and blunt repertoire. Aside from her rather commanding display, there's a visible weight in her dark eyes and across those whip-marked shoulders, a sort of droop that depresses in solidarity, the experiences honed into needle points that drag across her spine covered by long, and some uneven, pieces of dull, black hair. Years of smoke abused lungs has risen to a slight husk within her annunciation, her voice often catering to whispers.

TYPE ENTJ
SPECTATOR'S REACTION
She's kind of, well, a bitch. The foot-stomping, hip swaying, laughing kind of bitchiness that demands others to follow in her footsteps or ignore her bolster; Vix is demanding and severe, if nothing else. It's like watching a train wreck rampant with Ghouls or Deathclaws. She scoffs in the face of challenges and rises to any that would go against her own agenda with her willpower wielded like a properly thorn embedded fist. You better come equipped with your own sense of confidence and power if you're going to tackle this former Raider down.

TRAIT
One Hander - You have a specialization in using your dominant hand. Single hand weapons (small weapons) receive a bonus. But if you ever try something in your other hand, well, good luck there soldier.

SKILLS
Combat Skill
Throwing - The skill of muscle-propelled ranged weapons. Throwing knives, spears and grenades.
Active Skill(s)
Survival - You’ve lived in enough hostile environments to know when you might die or when you might make use of your situation.

PERK
x x x

STRENGTHS

• Wasteland Charm: There's something about Vix's demeanor, that rough edge and imperfect illusion of being on the wrong side, that attracts others to her person, sober or not. People will listen well enough and be seduced by that sometimes dominant perplexity, or insanity, until she's over exhausted her charms.
• Perception: Having been on both sides of the fence, as it were, Raider and non, selfish and yet not. She's got a keen eye and a quick tongue; always sharp.
• Command & Demand: While not entirely a leader, and by no means should be one, Vix has a penchant for taking control through various situations. Her dominance applies onto individuals as well, even against their will.

WEAKNESSES

• Personal Space: Vix thrusts her way too often and too quick into the presence of others, almost always abrasively. Sometimes she doesn't know when to just not be and leave some people well enough alone. Personal space? No such thing.
• Nicotine Addict: She's got an over bearing attitude even with a smoke betwixt that smile, without one, she goes on the offensive. Coupled by years of addiction, it has slighted in Endurance.
• Raider Reps: Being marked by their ink and being a former mutt has got her on the ropes about her reputation, despite all the charm and whims of sex appeal, she's still got that shadow riding on her skin - literally.

WEAPONS
Throwing Knives: Totaled to six, at least the last time she counted, these sharp projectiles are ritually maintained and span the length of her hand from palm to finger tip, and then some. Usually wielded with her dominant hand: left.

Molotov Cocktail: Vix tends to keep two, or three on her person, simply for the sake of keeping enemies at a distance. She's not a close range fighter in the least.

Handmade Rifle: Because you never bring just a knife to a gun fight.
ARMOR
Fortified Leather Segments: Being a creature of bare minimum clothing on the normal routine, Vix has segments of leather customized to the fit around her torso, usually across her bust at an angle and swung around her hips with small chain pieces worn onto them. These pieces can also be worn across her arms if she so desires, her wardrobe can sometimes change on a, sometimes, practical whim.
CHEMICALS

• Stimpaks - 2
• Psycho - 1
• Water - 3

MISCELLANEOUS
Crumbled Smokes: She's got maybe a handful of smokes left, that's going to be a problem.

"What's a Raider doing up here in the Port?"
It was one of those a dime for a dozen inquiries, brought on by the insignia's branded onto her skin, tell-tale brandishing of darker times and deeds done under a film of Jet and Psychos. Leather slapped over skin, nails curling inwards to impale against the looping scrawl of "Charlie's Mutt" curling along her shoulder blade and peeking from beneath her blouse. Vix turned a careful glance over her shoulder, oblique gazes through a fringe of soot lashes turning a shade of crimson with near shame.

"Former Raider friend, swear on Mike."

"You're - ?!"

"Kidding!" Vix barked, laughter spreading through the back ditch alley way of the bar where she had retreated to under the glares of drunken patrons. She'd only been through the city for maybe a week, and none could mistake her candor, Vix was nearly incapable of blending in, no matter where she was or who she was with. "I'm not into worshiping pyromaniac dogs. But, I'm not kidding about the Raider part, I'm not into that either."

It took a drunken second for him to catch on, the haze over that washed out stare, tinged blue, shuttered by rapid blinks and a quirk of whiskey spotted lips. "... You expect me to believe that?"

"You've no reason not to, I haven't been marking my territory around here; no fires and all that." Internally, Vix berated her choice of words, each syllable that slid past her lips only seemed to agitate her sudden interrogator. She turned, angling her profile just so to shield the view of further ink markings across her spine, allowing only the ones across her mid drift and peeking amidst her hips to be seen, his gaze drooping low with her angled shift. Her chapped lips curled like a Cheshire feline, all fatales of this simper knew when they had a skittering rodent within their claws, and he was entirely rapt with the faded black etched onto her hip.

"Speaking of territory though, looked like your boys in there earlier were about to mark theirs. Sure you should be out here with little ole' me?" Vix canted her head, perplexity donning over her features with lilting tones coating over her hoarse voice, teasing, almost playful. He rapidly blinked, his former suspicions ebbing away with the increase of her tantalizing display, only to be displayed with an entirely new degree of interrogation.

"They - I mean. We're celebrating! Got a whiff of a new job out with the Governor, 1000 caps you know."

Vix's eyes lit up, dark pools panning wide at the mention of caps, sinful greed turning that smile almost carnivorous. This was the tip she'd been waiting for, running low on caps and means was running her ragged; a dog almost at her ends without the support of her former pack.

"Yeah? Sounds too good to be true almost."

"It's all legit, we're heading out in the morning." He almost seemed pleased with himself, with Vix's angled profile rippling, coy tilts of her head and smile, so he began to step forward, inviting in all the wrong ways until pain blossomed through his palm. His roar was sudden, lifting high into a wail until another sharp lance landed through his opposite gesture, his arms trembling with the intensity of agony that flamed from his hands uselessly dangling at his sides. With knives sheered through flesh and tendons, there was little he could do but just stare after Vix donned with shadow and mirth.

"I don't think you'll make it babe, but that's okay. I'll take your spot. Momma' has got to eat after all." She fanned her fingers in a wave, genuinely grateful with her swagger out from the alley way before she snapped, and pistol-shot her fingers back over her marked shoulder originally responsible.

"Think your boys could cover my tab? Thanks!"

⚜️. fighter .