Rockette — Roleplayer Guild

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. c a ѕ ѕ a n d r a . . . т e r e ѕ a . . . p a c н e c o .
 .  p.  a.  т. . c.  н.  e.  ѕ  .. .
Twenty-Six ❖ American ❖ Hispanic ❖ Female
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160 cm ❖ 120 lbs. ❖ Cinnamon Brown ❖ Black ❖


. a p p e a r a n c e .
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. Perpendicular scarring running in an "X" formation across her left cheek. & Circular scars randomized betwixt spine and shoulder blades; thighs and torso - sizing varied .
Weighing a buck-twenty sopping wet and certifiably adorned with a lackadaisical sneer, Cassandra is afforded maybe the brief, but appropriate, impression of a sour drenched feline; bite, hiss and all. Her aesthetics are ones of soot stained threads and twisted locks always cinched around the vice of a finger or clenched through the bone of her apathetic glower. Fed persistent cardio towards the alternate beauty has given way to lean tissue and a sinewy figure, hardened by the conditions of sporadic nutrition and fluctuating dependencies, thus nearly forcing Cassandra to don for clothes a size or two larger than her usual frame should permit, allowing such threads to hang off of her shoulder upon a tightly cinched blouse.

With a swarthy complexion befitting to her heritage and time spent scouting through various scraps and patrolling through the whims of her curious mindset, and coupled with a gaze of cinnamon brown that bubbles to wine,
her initial debut is a bit severe in reflection to paler, more slight figures of her fatale kinship. Once known to flair proudly within vanity with her plume of ebony hair with the thickness akin to a equine's mane, she's been forced to sacrifice the luster of well groomed tresses for practicality; though still thick and just as unmanageable. Cassandra has opted to keep most of such secured in a half twist that accomplishes to keep most from interfering with her professions. Her scarring is most visible when her saturnine skin darkens and tones to a golden sheen under sunlight, the pale lines in almost harsh contrast to her usual parlour.


. b i o g r a p h y .
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Life in a household akin to the furnishing of the Pacheco farm was rudimentary at best and cramped at the worst. Considered quite sizable by outsider standards, the actual landscape was a bit more littered with forgotten automobile projects and the occasional farm animal — namely a lame donkey called Jackson and a few geldings grazing out back — outside their two story farm home. And if you want to count the amount of children loping about as livestock, their parents wouldn't even mind it.

Cassandra was among the middle brood, a definite surprise to say the least, especially to the older boys when suddenly — hey, they had to play protector and role model to a girl. Between scuffed knees and grass stained shoes, service attendance twice a week, Cassandra grew up rather normal with a life smudged only by the massive family unit of the Pacheco and Diaz-Pacheco pool among the farm. It was a soft of transition and rough choice of how to bring her up, and countless others, from older traditions and newer immersions with the coming day and age.

Older generations felt that a young girl had to become proper and inherit any and all of the Pacheco traditions, with old hand me downs, tutoring within domestic skills, and reciting prayer. Cassandra, however, found herself naturally within rebellion when they attempted to combine the two methods and when her favourite brother, Jacob — the one who passed candies during service and took her to the creek out back to catch frogs — encouraged her to sneak away whenever possible because it just wasn't the same without her otherwise. Their cousins were getting older, they never cared to try and ride the geldings out back or to try and stay on Jack for however long as possible, but Cassandra was a wild spirit, a creature that wanted to try and experience it all.

Her Grandmother almost despaired and tutted and scolded her often for wasting her potential on digging mud pools in the creek, for how else would she learn all she needed to know. Thus a typical farm life commenced for a reckless child such as she, with unique eyes and thickening hair, who learned to bat her lashes and smile endearingly just to get her way. A simple tear here, a slight sniffle and she had her family catering to her whims; in hopes she would turn a new leaf. Jacob eventually began to use such to his own advantage as well, if Cassandra mentioned that Jacob didn't do it — then he simply didn't. A sort of well done pair, they had each other's backs. Cassandra adored her brother, he was older, he was wise in her youth eyes and he would anything for her.

Until the fire.

The barn was an old pile of rubble to the eyes of many; decayed in multiple areas, and used as a junk house rather than for tools and resources. At best the horses would use the critical awning to shield themselves from the rain. Terrible heat surges usually followed the rain season, drying out the air, curling the grass to brown, thus making outside almost unbearable, especially if the creeks dried up. During one such afternoon, school having let out the week before, Cassandra had gone to the barn, some wild hens were using the shed, she wanted to see if she could get close enough to tease and harass; get them away from the eggs. But Jacob had become increasingly rebellious, and a slight with their father the day before had turned him to snatching his lighter from the counter, thinking nothing of it, and following her outside. The dried up heaps of hay and stock came into view, a spur of something struck him that day, to twist a lock of it through the flame with Cassandra watching on with wide eyes of fascination and fear — they could get in so much trouble, but it was fun, just like always. She suddenly wanted her turn.

The fire started small, but the dry air and the mass of sudden kindling brought the flame to swell and rise,
both children bolted from the barn, only to watch it become quickly consumed in the fire and spread outward along the grass. Their parents noticed the fire immediately, snatching both Cassandra and Jacob, stained in smoke, and locking them within the house as they tried putting out the flame until officials arrived. It was labeled as an accident, but they knew better, both Pacheco parents had suspicions that one was responsible, but in a quick turn of sudden betrayal, her brother hid the lighter within her own room and told the story with convincing cries and wide eyes; claiming that Cassandra started the fire, placing all blame at her feet.

Perhaps, they thought, she was becoming too spoiled, they were allowing her to get away with too much in their adoration for their only daughter among a crowd of boys. She was young, a first time offender, but they became strict on her, curfews, restrictions and all sorts of rules she suddenly had to abide to. Lessons became harsh,
prayer thus now mandatory, and her parents almost cruel in their disappointments and loss. Cassandra only appeared to worsen, she slipped out under night from the farm, never sparing care or a glance, she began to mingle with the wrong crowd. The kind that induce empty promises and words to a youth barely of thirteen.

Her first overdose came at fifteen with scars burned into her torso, undone by the cherry end of a cigarette,
 so that she might feel something.

Cassandra continued down this path whilst Jacob flourished in his new and sudden spotlight, she was a hopeless cause spurned by his betrayal to her. He no longer supported her in any given form, no longer saw her as that unique sibling when no one else was around. Jacob wrote Cassandra off without a singular glance and she learned to hate him vehemently. 

Ironic then wouldn't it be that now they are all they have in the world, with their Grandmother roped between them. When Hell descended in the form of Blackened Rain, the farm perished, along with their parents and family,
 life thus suddenly becoming a struggle when people came to rob them of their home; claiming the location beneficial to their own plights and chasing the survivors away. A few of their cousins came with, suddenly returning to the farm when their own lives became deformed and deadened. But Ghouls in the night reaped their remains as they traveled, following the promise of Refuge and safety, witnessing as horrid creatures tore them apart. Cassandra, unwillingly, relied on her brother and he came to rely on that queer intuition she began to develop through their trek.

They came upon a caravan of sorts traveling in the same direction, finding protection, skill, and mild tutoring among their troupe in order to survive. Cassandra slowly developed her niche for the bat and her compulsive orders to hoard, eventually electing herself to always scout ahead as they journeyed. Their adjustment into Refuge was slight, if not a little manic by her crippling addictions and horrid attitude. But they've adjusted thus far, if not for the sanity of their selves, then at least for their Grandmother's dwindling years.


. r e s i d e n c e .
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Top floor in a two story complex — faces out onto the coast with The Wall looming yonder her windows often left ajar.


. p r o f e s s i o n .
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. Scout — amateur navigator .
. Scavenger — dismantles pieces from her routine browsing .


. a l i g n e d . . f a c t i o n .
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Refuge Survivors.


. r e l a t i v e s .
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. Teresa Diaz-Pacheco — ⦗ 74 ⦘ . The Diaz Matriarch, surprisingly well preserved and sharp as a tack; albeit with a fine layer of rust. Lives with Cassandra on the bottom floor of their shared complex .
. Jacob Daniel Pacheco — ⦗ 32 ⦘ . Her slightly estranged elder brother, the two conflict often over the well fare of their grandmother and their contribution to The Refuge. Currently lives elsewhere within the haven and is a potential Recruit of the RSO .


. w e a p o n s .
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. Rail Bat . — Fond of the, now considered, near medieval equipment, Cassandra has opted for them as her main choice of weaponry. Call it a melee fanaticism. Her primary favourtism applies to a unique 'slugger that has been endowed with three rail road spikes to compensate for her psychical draw backs.

. .44 Revolver . — Because it's not always sane to bring a rail bat to a gun fight, Cassandra has had to dig out the Diaz handgun, upon the request to her elder, in order to secure her own safety when in pursuit of whatever whim has taken hold of her. And should her bats ever falter.

. Survival Knife . — A multi purpose tool designated for any assigned task; hacking, sawing, slicing with the trio edge design it's known for and it's ebon colour with a sawback that gives that primitive glamour. The 420 stainless steel blade was a gift originally from her brother when they first began their trek towards Refuge, Cassandra possesses a sort of harsh prejudice against its' use.


. e q u i p m e n t .
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. Backpack . —Usually kept barren, as such was previously used to contain various scraps and findings. She's traded such for a near threadbare knapsack, but finds herself drawn back to the token from a previous time when things were much more simple.
. Swiss Army Knife . —A basic necessity tool that as become a near life savour on numerous occasions.
. .44 ammo . —Her grandmother collected enough before they left their home, despite Jacob's protests that she use them.
. Rope . — Various lengths for a multitude of uses.
. Lockpick Tools . —Rusted and bit worse for wear, but locks often prove adamant despite common wear and she has a knack for finding objects of value and worth.
. Black Mask . —When scouting about or rooting around in relief and refuge, Cassandra adorns a black cloth mask over her nose and lips, stating it for functionality when you poke around in tangles of undergrowth and unknown flora.


. m i s c e l l a n e o u s .
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. Crumbled pack of smokes .
. Various lighters; mostly pocketed with her sleight of hand .
. A Diaz-Pacheco Rosary looped around her dominant hand — right — given from her parents .


. t r a d e . . s k i l l s .
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. Amateur Navigator . —Cassandra is adept enough with an implied sense of direction and keen memory, with a map in hand, be it crudely drawn in comparison from actual layouts, that she can find her way among most locations and pinpoint points of key interest.
. Scout . —With her navigating sensory within hand, Cassandra applies her sense into scouting locations deemed accessible and measures the scope of their potential uses and levels upon her intuition.
. Salvage . —When scouting and browsing through various selections, Cassandra brings it upon herself to gather various objects she finds worthy enough to be dismantled and salvaged later on. On routine, she tends to leave such aspects to those of assigned recycling, but her twinge of kleptomania often burdens her to keep junk to herself.


. t a l e n t s . . & . . h o b b i e s .
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. Dexterity . —Cassandra is freakishly flexible, bordering contortionist proportions.
. Heavy Hitter . —Cassandra likes to collect bats of various origins, make and use, not all are designated to become weapons. She just finds them queerly nice to have. She's not a terrible batter though, her swings are controlled and harsh, if not a bit manic.
. Smoke & Mirrors . —It comes so naturally, with embellishments and sly words, nothing that a biting grin of felidae manipulation can't achieve even during the crisis of a apocalypse.


. l i m i t a t i o n s .
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. Nicotine Addiction . —She's got a bad attitude even with a smoke betwixt her smile; without one she becomes ridiculously hostile.
. Kleptomaniac . —Cassandra sometimes cannot help her collecting penchants and refuses to explain them otherwise, even if what she hoards is labeled as primary junk and useless refuge. 
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𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶.

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