Headshot:"It's a dirty job, but someone's gotta do it..."
Full Name: Camille "Cam" Fairfax
Age: 23
Appearance: Rejecting boring concepts such as professionalism, unless facing the most serious of demands, Cam avoids anything approaching business casual or professional attire. Average in height, she stands out due to her fashion choices and lazy mannerisms. Her shoulder length hair is a jagged mess of silver, providing no indication of how early or late Cam has woken up. Her skin is pale and more than one of her coworkers has suggested that Cam should really spend some more time outside. Her eyes, often heavy with boredom during office hours, are a faded gunmetal grey. Perhaps as a joke, Cam insists that she once looked much different, and the as part of her bargain with Stella, she had to accept modest changes to her appearance, leaving her looking like some distant cousin to the enigmatic celestial.
Dressed in clothes that seem to be summoned from a punk show in the 1980s, Cam wears misplaced and poorly sized ties, combat boots, chokers, and anything that will ruin the most recent unwelcome attempt by her superiors to tame her. Is a leather jacket appropriate for the office? Of course it is, provided you scowl enough. Are knuckle dusters an acceptable fashion accessory when conducting the annual mandatory employee training seminar? Certainly, fear helps keep people awake.
Like a magpie, Cam is fond of shiny things. Cam cycles through an endlessly growing collection of earrings, necklaces, rings, bracelets/bangles, arm rings/armlets, pins, brooches, and piercings. Never one for gold, most of Cam's jewelry is wrought out of silver.
Worldview (Personality): Brash, loud, cynical and full of all the righteous anger of a caffeinated Riot Grrl, Cam is not what anyone expects when they find themselves meeting with HR at Magicorp. Kept in line by her patron, first, and her management second, Cam reluctantly works to keep Magicorp a safe, happy and productive place for her colleagues. Beneath a layer of annoyance and exasperation, Cam has buried a sympathy and concern for mundane mortals, finding it impossible to not root for the underdog in a world full of magic and monsters.
Brilliant streaks of professional accomplishment are scattered between pages of troubling behavior. Cam prefers action. Cam believes that violence is more often than not the answer, especially when faced with supernatural threats to the mundane world.
It's a dirty job, but someone's gotta do it, at least that is what she tells her self...
Position: Human Resources
Magic: A warlock, warlockess? has made a pact, a deal not with a devil or demon, but with a celestial being that resides on a plane of good and ever-lasting bliss. The radiant magic that she channel is bright, warm, and all too fuzzy. Cam can heal, she can harm, and she can dish out some soul-crushing performance reviews.
Resume (Background):Born in the Big Apple, Cam grew up in the Bronx. Her parents were strictly middle class. Middling wizards whose day job was running a family pharmacy they had inherited from her maternal grandfather. An early rebel, Cam spent her early years engaging in petty acts of vandalism and actions that screamed of a deep seated need for attention, any attention, emotional valence be damned.
Middle school was Catholic School. Too much prayer. Too strict nuns. And too many rules. High school was a roller-coaster ride. Fresh freedom. A drivers license. Punk shows. Goth music. Metal. Her first guitar. And getting into more trouble.
College was Columbia. Columbia University. A hand written zine was the majority of her application, scribbled across her transcript. She spent more time partying than she did studying. She went to every show. She experimented. She found a boyfriend. She found a girlfriend. She found an arcane punk rock collective. She found a mentor. A hippy wizard selling peace, love, and rock-n-roll. Graduating with a degree in archeology despite her best efforts, followed Jean to Chicago, learning as she went.
Convinced that she knew better. That she had learned enough. Cam struck out on her own. Jean wished her well and handed her a battered guitar labeled "This Machine Kills Monsters." Uncertain of what that meant, Cam did her best to find out. Seeking out danger as only an adrenaline junky can. Relishing every close call and every time she could could feel her life was on the line.
Following a long series of bad choices, Cam found herself in a jam, bleeding, dying actually, surrounded but a horde of slathering cultists and the hellion commanding them. Convinced she had played her last show, Cam prepared to bring the building down on her and everyone in it. She wasn't going to go quietly, she'd decided years before.
That's when the light hit her. Bright light. Light brighter than the brightest stage lights. Light that burned like the sun. When the light faded, Cam was alone. Almost. Gone were the cultists. Gone was the monster. Instead there was a woman. A woman in a black cocktail dress, with feathery wings. Stella she called herself. She said she was a seraphim or something like it. Cam didn't care. She had bigger things on her mind.
Stella offered her a deal. And Cam accepted. Even though she suspected that she shouldn't. Nothing was free...nothing was ever free. However, Cam had little interest in dying, so a deal at an existential gunpoint was good enough.
Cam had thought herself ready to pay the price. Unfortunately, her patron wasn't evil, corrupt, or interested in self-indulgent hedonism. It was worse, so much worse. Stella was good. Entirely good and completely good. So good it hurt. She was an entity created only to do good, willed into existence with incorruptible purity and only righteous anger. Cam despaired, realizing the chains that now bound her.
There were rules, so many rules.
Don't drink before 10.00 AM
Don't do drugs, too often
Clean your room
Do the dishes
Help people
Help people for free
Save the world
And worst of all...
Get a job, a real job, a job with a 401K, health insurance, and PTO
Unwilling and largely unable to disappoint her new mistress, Cam buckled up and sought out proper employment. Magicorp came calling. No doubt sensing her desperation. One questionnaire later. One excruciatingly painful online test involving spreadsheets later. And three interviews later, Cam found herself suffering through a month of on-boarding at Magicorp. Her one solace was that she had been assigned to the much feared and maligned Human Resources department.
Two years have passed since Cam started working at Magicorp and despite recurring disciplinary problems, she has somehow managed to not only keep her job, but be promoted to a senior human resources representative position. Convinced that doom must be close at hand, Cam merely coasts along, relying on her remarkable talent for field work and ability to navigate high stress situations. Her chief goal is to avoid the unwelcome moments when she is asked to step in to perform the mundane tasks demanded of a HR rep.
Interests (Likes):- Loud, poorly performed music (and music in general)
- Attending all of tomorrow's parties
- Avoiding too much work (what exactly working hard means varies by the day)
Non-Interests (Dislikes):- Formal attire
- Meetings
- Rules
Other Junk (Misc.):- Keeps an electric guitar and small amplifier in her office
- Chain smokes when stressed
- Has a picture of Tecumseh Sherman, framed, hung up on the wall behind her chair.