Snowdrops
CarlyleName: Marietta Barbachollo
Gender: Female
Age: 41
Nationality: Calarian
Appearance: Standing on the shorter side, at five foot even, she wears her graying hair in a chignon. She’s a bit on the heavier side due to the relative success of the press. As a result, her rounded face has it's limited angles smoothed out a little further.
Personal Effects: Her typewriter, a suitcase jammed with; papers, hay, a family photo book, a spare set of clothes, and a kennel containing her pet rabbit, Cidric.
What is your job: Typist
The daughter of a family that sat on the edge of being middle class, her prospects for employment were limited, hampered by her father’s political stances and her family’s size. Wanting a modern profession for her gender. She asked her father to permit her to attend a typist school. Upon graduating, she went to work as a copy typist for a minor notary. Meeting her husband working at the notary, the two got on well and married quickly. She retired from the notary to take up the role of child raiser, keeping up her typing skills by writing for her husband’s right-wing press in her limited free time
During the revolution she fled her home as the fires started burning, fleeing with her husband and younger children while her older sons fought the communalists. They settled in among the fellow émigré population and the pair set their press back up. They were distributing magazines, leaflets, and hawkish texts and finding financial success in their new home due to sales with their fellow calarians, right-wing inburians, and the curious passerby.
The very rapid invasion of the Empire took her and her family by surprise. With her sons taking up arms in a Calarian emigre militia fighting alongside the Inburian army, and her husband being killed protecting her the fifth column with a .32 pocket pistol. With her ways out rapidly being closed off by the fifth columnists and the encroaching army while she’s getting equally desperate, from an apartment she is hiding in to evade shelling, she can see a moored airship...
Gender: Female
Age: 41
Nationality: Calarian
Appearance: Standing on the shorter side, at five foot even, she wears her graying hair in a chignon. She’s a bit on the heavier side due to the relative success of the press. As a result, her rounded face has it's limited angles smoothed out a little further.
Personal Effects: Her typewriter, a suitcase jammed with; papers, hay, a family photo book, a spare set of clothes, and a kennel containing her pet rabbit, Cidric.
Background:
What is your job: Typist
The daughter of a family that sat on the edge of being middle class, her prospects for employment were limited, hampered by her father’s political stances and her family’s size. Wanting a modern profession for her gender. She asked her father to permit her to attend a typist school. Upon graduating, she went to work as a copy typist for a minor notary. Meeting her husband working at the notary, the two got on well and married quickly. She retired from the notary to take up the role of child raiser, keeping up her typing skills by writing for her husband’s right-wing press in her limited free time
During the revolution she fled her home as the fires started burning, fleeing with her husband and younger children while her older sons fought the communalists. They settled in among the fellow émigré population and the pair set their press back up. They were distributing magazines, leaflets, and hawkish texts and finding financial success in their new home due to sales with their fellow calarians, right-wing inburians, and the curious passerby.
The very rapid invasion of the Empire took her and her family by surprise. With her sons taking up arms in a Calarian emigre militia fighting alongside the Inburian army, and her husband being killed protecting her the fifth column with a .32 pocket pistol. With her ways out rapidly being closed off by the fifth columnists and the encroaching army while she’s getting equally desperate, from an apartment she is hiding in to evade shelling, she can see a moored airship...