ScoundrelQueen

S.C.I.O.N - The Supernatural Concealment and Investigation Operations Network

The back door to the kitchen from the training field swung open to the bright morning light, and was held open by Thunder Moon Leader Missy Tsavo. “Uh-uh. Absolutely not. No ma’am,” the woman chided, sweat-splotched from some early morning training, clad in a ponytail, leggings, and a sports bra. Her honey-brown glare was directed toward whomever she was holding the door for, one hand on her hip, the other on the knob.

Missy had a very short list of people on her “bad side,” but it was generally considered an unfavorable place to be.

“If you were supposed to have access, you would have a key. And as I have not given you a key, you know you aren’t supposed to have access. And that’s just the end of it, Miss Martin. If I have to go over it again, I may very well- Oh, good morning, Agent Campbell.”

Her tone changed at the sight of someone else in the kitchen, and she gave a quick nod toward the other agent. “Awful early for you to be here, isn’t it?"

She cocked her head to one side at the various sounds coming from down the hall. Noisy for an early morning.

But SCION was not often a quiet place. She turned her attention back to Aries, holding the door with the side of her foot. "But yeah. Graveyard shift?"

S.C.I.O.N - The Supernatural Concealment and Investigation Operations Network

Something more his speed.

Silas nodded, unperturbed by the change in scenery. He took a quick glance around, but was not alarmed. One of his bosses turned into a cat. Avalon had poked around his brain more than once. He had fallen into a chamber an been possessed by an entity that had slept for millennia.

He was not alarmed by benign changes.

He looked at the chart, squinted a bit at the question, and then fixed his glasses again.

"Well," he started, "I can't know that which I don't know. But um. You don't really know what I don't know until I say what I do, so I guess you're right for starting with that which... Sorry. Yes. Runes.

"Allegedly, and according to the- the Hávamál? I think? Forgive me, my Norse mythology is rusty. Very. But according to that poem, Odin envied the Norns, the... I believe they were the destiny makers of Norse mythology, who wrote the fate of the Nine Worlds by carving runes into... Was it Yggdrasil? The tree that supports the worlds. Yggdrasil, I think. And they lived at the bottom of the Well of Urd at the base of the tree, carving the future of the Nine Worlds into the trunk. And. Um. Odin, who was a big man, king og the gods, he was jealous. He wanted that power. But he knew the runes were only for the worthy, and only revealed themselves to such.

"So, like any God in a pissing contest with the universe, he hung himself from the branches of the tree, impaled himself on his own spear, and stared down into the depths of the Well of Urd with no food or water, in tremendous pain, for nine days, until the runes deemed him worthy in his suffering, and revealed themselves to him. They granted him mighty powers beyond that which he already had, because he was... Um. Well, when you engage in sacrificial masochism, I suppose you are now worthy, according to the runes.

"Which does make a lovely story.

"But they were really more than likely, ah... Well, historically speaking, as opposed to religiously- I don't want to step on any toes- But historically speaking, they were probably derived from the old Italic alphabets, at the point in history where Germanic mercenaries working for the Roman Empire traveled to the Italian peninsula and were involved in cultural exchange there. And they're written as they are- jagged, and such- because they were generally carved.

"Well. Except Wyrd. That was added to the Elder Futhark in the 1980s, most likely, or possibly the 16th century if you rely on some patchy evidence. Which is why I was a bit confused. Some people call it Odin's rune. but that's also a patchy place to be, because Odin already had a rune, which, again, I may be wrong- I'm no Norse expert here- just a dabbler- is Ansuz.

"But if I missed something there, please do fill in the gap. I don't know that which I don't know. And uh. Sorry. For carrying on. I'm a bit of a- Well, you know. I carry on. It's a professor thing. Very sorry. Sorry. Please. Share what you were going to. I would love to know."

There was no malice or challenge in his statements, but rather a genuine recitation of that which he knew. A summary offered with the intention of being added to.

He leaned in, wide-eyed and curious, staring at the chart of symbols. He knew them, and had a general grasp of their significance. The concept of a word which was more than a word was not a culturally unique one- The talking drums of West Africa, for one, or the Indian concept of the "Ohm" that breathed life into being.

But, Dr. Whitmore could not know what that which he did not, and if there was one thing he wanted, it was always a chance to expand his knowledge. Or at least the perspective view of another.

S.C.I.O.N - The Supernatural Concealment and Investigation Operations Network

"But you're- It's going to-" Silas's hands then engaged in a confused display of modern dance, reaching first to help, then to perhaps take the handkerchief back and dab Terran's wound, and finally just stammering a bit in mid air before falling to his sides.

Sometimes, Silas felt like the only normal one in the house.

And then a leopard gecko climbed up his face to lick a bead of nervous sweat from his brow. This was not one of those times.

"Alright," he surrendered, falling into step behind Terran. "What is it you've made, n-" Silas stopped talking as Terran introduced the stones, (which Silas mentally logged as "water," and "sun," if his recollection was not too rusty,) and watched the ensuing process.

The glowing caused him to take a healthy step back, nearly losing his footing over a chair behind him. ""That's quite, um-" He nudged his glasses back up the bridge of his nose, and stepped back in to look. "The.. Wyrd is the blank, isn't it? Or..." He leaned over the stone Terran was holding now, trying to see if there was any crack or fusion line.

There was not.

As a linguist, Dr. Whitmore had a bit more than a casual interest in the nature of runic casting, but knew well enough to keep his nose out of something beyond his league.

"But Wyrd is the 'blank rune,' is it not? Old English for 'fate.' Well, vaguely. Missing some of the finer points of cultural meaning in that translation- More similar to the German werden, in that sense, really, but um."

He stepped back. People had personal space. Right.

"Sorry.

S.C.I.O.N - The Supernatural Concealment and Investigation Operations Network

The audible thunk of Theran's tumble carried through the door, and Silas leaned in closer.

"Ah, Mr. Bjornson? Are yo-" Silas was cut off as the door swung inward, and he took a stumbling step back. "Oh! Mr. Bjornson. Hi, there I was just ah-- Oh."

The sight of the other researcher's wound caught Silas lost for words for an instant, and he completely missed whatever it was that Theran seemed so very excited about. "Ah. Um. Yes. Very exciting stuff. Um." Silas put a hand on his own head, flinching in sympathy for the bump.

"You're bleeding a lot," he blurted at last, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket and pressing it into Theran's hand, "On your head. It's all- Do you need a hand, with that? It's- It's a lot."

S.C.I.O.N - The Supernatural Concealment and Investigation Operations Network

Dr. Silas Whitmore was not a picky man, nor did he crave many posh comforts: His study, a little alcove sectioned off from the main body of Scion's library, sported only an L-shaped desk across which several scrolls and transcription papers were spread, a glass case and gloves for handling especially delicate texts, a rolling chair, and a tea kettle.

At least, that was all he had stocked for himself.

The arrangements required by his guests were another story entirely.

The first thing most visitors noticed was the sound of running water, streaming from a rather large waterfall fountain and pool in the far corner. The next was likely the low-hanging grid of bars, grates, and mock vines suspended from the ceiling, rustling slightly as if inhabited by something just out of sight. The entire space was littered with strategically placed heating pads, lamps, stones, and sandboxes, arranged so that the footboards of the room were all but invisible.

Above the desk, and alongside of the bookshelf, cooling fans breezed a constant stream of frigid air over Dr. Whitmore's work, protecting it from both humidity and his array of constant companions.

Or, perhaps before noting any of these things, one would note the five-foot-long monitor lizard curled up inside the aforementioned pond. Or the tree boas.

Or, perhaps, Dr. Whitmore himself, hunched at his desk, his back nearly covered in climbing lizards.

Silas was hard at work, unbothered by the screaming howls filtering in from down the hall: He had accepted that earplugs were just a part of working for SCION. His his eyes squinted behind their owllike lenses to read the nuances of some well-aged tablet, his gloved-fingers grazing over the surface while his lips moved to clarify certain points.

He paused, scribbled something in his notebook, and resumed reading.

So absorbed was he in his work, that when the wall neighboring the Blue Moon laboratory began to tremble, he did not immediately notice.

Until an emerald boa on the ceiling was shaken down onto his lap.

And then a chameleon.

Several of the geckos on his lab coat dashed for the cover of his collar, and Silas at last took his earplugs out. "What in the name of--"

The tremors subsided suddenly, but Silas pushed his chair back and walked to the door (no simple task, given that several critters had been shaken to the ground by the quake,) nonetheless. With a small posse of companions clinging to him, he exited the library, too a quick turn down the hall, and stopped to outside the door of his wall-neighbor.

"Ah, Mister.. Mr. Bjornson?" he called in, and then rapped lightly against the door with the backs of his knuckles, "Is everything alright in there? It's Si- Dr. Whit- Um. It's Silas. I uh- It sounded kind of um. Are you alright?"

S.C.I.O.N - The Supernatural Concealment and Investigation Operations Network

Missy Tsavo

Full Name: Missy Tsavo-Wells (Missy Tsavo)
Nicknames/Aliases: Mimi; "Oh, you're not Jeanette-Marie;"
Age: 34
Gender: Female
Species: Werecat
SCION Team/Rank: Thunder Moon Leader

Description:

Missy is a woman of medium height (5’5”,) and athletic build. She has light skin and light brown eyes, with dusty silver-white hair trimmed into a feathered bob. She keeps her dress neat and functional, usually favoring pants with boots over skirts and heels.

In her shifted form, Missy is a white longhaired housecat.

Personality:

Persistent and intuitive, Missy knows how to get things done as a member of the team. She served as a senior member and second-in-command to the previous leader of Thunder Moon for several years, and not without reason. Her tenacious spirit and adaptable nature made her an especially effective agent.

In light of her sudden and recent promotion, however, she often finds herself feeling overshadowed by expectations and unsure of how to react to interpersonal conflicts within the organization. She has very little temper, but a long memory in regard to grudges. Her trust is slow-earned, but her loyalty is unquestionable. She is uncomfortable in intensely emotional situations, preferring to pass off sources of discomfort as soon as possible.

Skills:

Talented hand-to-hand combatant; enhanced agility, reflexes, and senses due to her species; excellent night vision; stealthy; skilled strategist; trained marksman; also a cat.

Weaknesses:

Unsure in the leadership position; vulnerable to both physical and magical attacks; allergic to onions and garlic; easily offended when confused with her actual cat.

Brief History:

When Missy was three years old, she was adopted from an orphanage in Tsavo, Kenya by an altruistic couple living in the United States. She had a normal, happy childhood well into her early teens.

Until the night when the screaming started.

And then the yowling.

Like any good parents, Missy’s came running. Instead of their daughter, however, they found a white, rather frantic cat trying to claw it’s way out from under her covers. The transformation lasted only a few minutes, but it was enough.

Her mother and father called the orphanage from which Missy was adopted, and flew back to speak to the director. Her parents were killed in an encounter with white lions. What was left out was that her mother was one of the lions, descended from a long line of werecats native to the area. Her father was human, which accounted for Missy’s small stature as a shifted animal.

The director of the orphanage put the family in touch with occult expert and werecat, Saffiya El-Messiri, who took Missy under her wing. After she had completed high school, Missy became an "apprentice" to the older cat, traveling and working with her on investigations. When SCION was resurrected ten years ago, Saffiya was brought back on as a director and Missy followed, eventually ascending to become a senior member of Thunder Moon. During these ten years, she also pursued a relationship that ended in a failed engagement, took a two-month gap to go backpacking in Europe, and adopted a white cat named Jeanette-Marie to keep her company.

Five months ago, on a mission gone wrong, the former Thunder Moon Leader went missing-in-action. At this time, Missy was suddenly thrust into a leadership role. Some in the organization thought she was the natural choice, while others questioned her readiness to fulfill the role. Regardless, the werecat has been doing her best to fill the shoes left to her since.

Jeanette-Marie Tsavo (The Cat)

Full Name: Jeantte-Marie Tsavo
Nicknames/Aliases: “Oh, you’re not Tsavo.”
Age: 4
Gender: Female
Species: Cat
SCION Team/Rank: Honorary Cat of Thunder Moon

Description:

A large, puffy white cat.

Personality:

Jeanette-Marie is an actual cat. She enjoys sunbathing, chasing Dr. Whitmore’s geckos, Dr. Kovalenko’s lab mice, and begging agents for table scraps. She also, as her owner will note, is not Missy. Missy does not lick her bum recreationally, whereas Jeanette-Marie has no such reservations.

Skills:

Climbing; eating an entire dish of cat food in one sitting; meowing; sitting on any lap; marking every black surface within a three meter radius with white fur.

Weaknesses:

Water; Dr. Kovalenko yelling at her; the squirt bottle.

Brief History:

Jeanette-Marie was born in kitten season, and taken to a shelter. Missy found her. Now Jeantte-Marie roves the mansion, stirring up trouble and generally confusing people by looking strikingly similar to her master.

S.C.I.O.N - The Supernatural Concealment and Investigation Operations Network

Full Name: Missy Tsavo-Wells (Missy Tsavo)
Nicknames/Aliases: Mimi; "Oh, you're not Jeanette-Marie;"
Age: 34
Gender: Female
Species: Werecat
SCION Team/Rank: Thunder Moon (Leader, if approved.)

Description:

Missy is a woman of medium height (5’5”,) and athletic build. She has light skin and light brown eyes, with dusty silver-white hair trimmed into a feathered bob. She keeps her dress neat and functional, usually favoring pants with boots over skirts and heels.

In her shifted form, Missy is a white longhaired housecat.

Personality:

Persistent and intuitive, Missy knows how to get things done as a member of the team. She served as a senior member and second-in-command to the previous leader of Thunder Moon for several years, and not without reason. Her tenacious spirit and adaptable nature made her an especially effective agent.

In light of her sudden and recent promotion, however, she often finds herself feeling overshadowed by expectations and unsure of how to react to interpersonal conflicts within the organization. She has very little temper, but a long memory in regard to grudges. Her trust is slow-earned, but her loyalty is unquestionable. She is uncomfortable in intensely emotional situations, preferring to pass off sources of discomfort as soon as possible.

Skills:

Talented hand-to-hand combatant; enhanced agility, reflexes, and senses due to her species; excellent night vision; stealthy; skilled strategist; trained marksman; also a cat.

Weaknesses:

Unsure in the leadership position; vulnerable to both physical and magical attacks; allergic to onions and garlic; easily offended when confused with her actual cat.

Brief History:

When Missy was three years old, she was adopted from an orphanage in Tsavo, Kenya by an altruistic couple living in the United States. The orphanage director claimed that she had been orphaned when her home was attacked by a roving pack of Tsavo Maneless lions, with no remains of her mother ever being found.

The attack was nowhere in Missy’s memory, however, and she was brought back to a suburb of Cleveland, Ohio, where she would grow up to be a happy child, and what her teachers described as “a very bright girl.” It wasn’t until her early teens that her condition began to manifest in bouts of unexplained illness and erratic behaviors.

And then, one evening, the screaming started.

And then the yowling.

Like any good parents, Missy’s came running. Instead of their daughter, however, they found a white, rather frantic cat trying to claw it’s way out from under her covers. The transformation lasted only a few minutes, after which the cat was replaced by a panicked Missy. But it shook the family to the core.

Her mother and father called the orphanage from which Missy was adopted, and flew home with her to discover the true nature of her orphaning. As it turned out, her parents were killed in an encounter with white lions. More surprisingly, her mother was one of the lions, descended from a long line of werecats native to the area. Her father was a human, which accounted for Missy’s small stature as a shifted animal.

The director there contacted SCION, who mentored Missy and helped her family to cope with the new information. When she graduated high school, she moved to live at the SCION headquarters, eventually ascending to become a senior member of Thunder Moon. During these fifteen years, she also pursued a relationship that ended in a failed engagement, took a two-month gap to go backpacking in Europe, and adopted a white cat named Jeanette-Marie to keep her company.

Five months ago, on a mission gone wrong, the former Thunder Moon Leader went missing-in-action. At this time, Missy was suddenly thrust into a leadership role. Some in the organization thought she was the natural choice, while others questioned her readiness to fulfill the role. Regardless, the werecat has been doing her best to fill the shoes left to her since.

Full Name: Jeantte-Marie Tsavo
Nicknames/Aliases: “Oh, you’re not Tsavo.”
Age: 4
Gender: Female
Species: Cat
SCION Team/Rank: Honorary Cat of Thunder Moon

Description:

A large, puffy white cat.

Personality:

Jeanette-Marie is an actual cat. She enjoys sunbathing, chasing Dr. Whitmore’s geckos, Dr. Kovalenko’s lab mice, and begging agents for table scraps. She also, as her owner will note, is not Missy. Missy does not lick her bum recreationally, whereas Jeanette-Marie has no such reservations.

Skills:

Climbing; eating an entire dish of cat food in one sitting; meowing; sitting on any lap; marking every black surface within a three meter radius with white fur.

Weaknesses:

Water; Dr. Kovalenko yelling at her; the squirt bottle.

Brief History:

Jeanette-Marie was born in kitten season, and taken to a shelter. Missy found her. Now Jeantte-Marie roves the mansion, stirring up trouble and generally confusing people by looking strikingly similar to her master.

S.C.I.O.N - The Supernatural Concealment and Investigation Operations Network

Silas Whitmore

Full Name: Silas Clarence Whitmore
Age: 33
Gender: Male
Species: Human (host to deity)
SCION Team/Rank: Harvest Moon (applying for team leader)

Description:

A tall, lanky man with bifocals figuratively thicker than his biceps. He's got a mop of disheveled brown hair and quick blue eyes which are magnified by his glasses to nearly owl-like proportions. His skin is pale from lack of sun exposure, but a dusting of freckles dots his cheekbones. Silas has gangly arms and a tendency to swing them about when he speaks. His outfits typically consist of button up shirts and sweaters, often accented by a stray gecko or two hiding under her collar or the roll of his sleeve.

Personality:

Silas is a proponent of the "knowledge is power" philosophy, and embodies this ideal with his actions: He is quick and exuberant, with an insatiable thirst for information. He enjoys the company of others, but tends to trail off on tangents mid-conversation. His curiosity is excitable at best and uncontrollable at worst, as he is prone to sudden ideas and will often lock himself in the study for hours on end when he is confronted by a question he has yet to explore. That being said, he has come to accept that some phenomenon have no answer, and embraces the mantra of, "I can't know that which I don't know."

Silas is empathetic, despite being fairly socially inept, and is always willing to lend a listening ear. He is slow to hold a grudge, but strong in his convictions. He believes the answer to most problems lies in communication, and the rest are simply reached through persistence.

Skills:

Photographic memory, MENSA genius, and esteemed supernatural lore expert, fluent in Latin, ancient Greek, Old English, Hindi, and Gaelic, with multiple degrees (Bachelors in History with a focus on European tribes and a minor in mythology, Masters in archaeology, Masters in ancient history, Masters in linguistics with a speciality in dead languages, Doctorate in linguistics, Doctorate in in ancient history with a focus in mythology and ancient lore).

Also capable of understanding a large number of reptilian tongues, and gets along quite well with most scaly critters.

Weaknesses:

Silas is poor in combat, boasting no more ability than a mortal human. He's also curious to a fault, and is easily coerced into doing otherwise foolish things in the hunt for new information. He also serves as the host for an ancient reptilian deity, commonly referred to as a Naga, that spews a constant stream of useless ideas into his consciousness.

Brief History:

Since a young age, Silas was always a bit "different:" He preferred books over video games and documentaries over action films. He started college at age 15, and went on to study with several universities, acquiring three Masters and two Doctoral degrees by the tender age of 26.

Silas published multiple papers, but was best known for his work in ancient history and the mythologies of ancient peoples. At 27, he lead an archaeological expedition of students and peers in India to investigate a recently discovered temple to a previously undocumented local deity. While inside, Silas happened upon a patch of unstable ground, lost his footing, and tumbled into a subterranean tunnel below the temple's main floor.

He toppled into a secret chamber and broke his leg, and more importantly, unleashed a curse upon himself in the chamber.

The spirit of the temple deity, a powerful Naga, manifested in the young Doctor Whitmore, cursing him to be forever surrounded by, and able to understand the whispering of, reptiles.

Which, as far as curses went, didn't seem the worst possibility.

Unfortunately, the deity also took up host residence in the young academic. Silas was rescued by an excavation team within two days of his incident, being pulled from the tomb hungry, dehydrated, and with several geckos in his pockets, but physically intact.

The curse, however, had shaken him to the core and served to confirm a suspicion he had held for many years: The subjects and myths of his research were more than fairy stories. Between his new possession and this realization, he took to incoherent babbling. That which did make sense seemed nonsensical, leading him to voluntarily commit himself for mental treatment.

Hearing this story, SCION moved in to adopt the doctor and introduced to the reality of a supernatural world. With this new understanding, and after he had adequately geeked out at the actual existence of cryptids, Dr. Whitmore managed to learn to live with his new state. He was offered a position as the chief historical and lore expert, and has been cheerfully researching away in the rare archives ever since. He doubles as an adjunct professor at a local university, teaching multiple anthropology courses online (as the last time he set foot on campus, the snakes from the biology lab had a sudden and violent escape.)

S.C.I.O.N - The Supernatural Concealment and Investigation Operations Network

@Juicy Hey there! I'm Scoundrel, and I'm also interested in playing the head of Harvest Moon. There's nothing wrong with a bit of healthy competition, but if you have a character who just seems better suited by default, I'm happy to just step aside!

S.C.I.O.N - The Supernatural Concealment and Investigation Operations Network

(Moving this for Echo, because her internet is on the fritz)

Full Name: Phoebe Alice Stride
Nicknames/Aliases: Stride
Age: 46, although she physically appears to be in her early twenties.
Gender: Female
Species: Gorgon/Human Hybrid
SCION Team/Rank: Member of Thunder Moon

Description:

At about 5’4”, “Stride” is a woman of pale complexion, and even paler hair. Locks of silver fall messily about her face, with several hanging low enough to brush her chin. Her eyes are a strikingly bright yellow, and very much serpentine; nearly all of her eyes taken up by the same color, and her pupils are slitted. Scales litter her body, showing up as sporadic patches on otherwise regular human skin.

However, Stride has a habit of covering most of her features, leaving much to the imagination. Typically, she dons a pair of goggles over her eyes, and a thin, breathable strip of fabric over her mouth; although when out on battle, she tends to switch these items out for a basic gas mask. Her outfit consists of a maroon jacket over dark shirts, jeans, and a set of work gloves and boots.

Asides from these features, Stride is of Japanese and Greek descent, and while she can understand the language of the former, prefers speaking in English above anything else.

Personality:

Sarcastic, hasty, and generally rough-around-the-edges, Stride’s personality seems to befit the protagonist of a cheesy action movie over a member of a discreet intelligence operation. Her vocabulary is vast enough to make a sailor blush, and is something she often uses to get on the nerves of most decent folk. It doesn’t take long for her to give out a few rather...blunt comments if it means getting a rise out of someone. She possesses quite the temper, as well- acting childishly when frustrated or taken off guard, and throwing out meaningless insults in an effort to maintain what she views as an “impressive” demeanor. Given this hot-bloodedness, this often makes her fairly unpleasant company, especially when around those with thinner skin.

In spite of this, however, she’s fiercely loyal to both SCION and her companions, working doggedly to get both recognition and admiration between her peers. This results in her being a bit show-offy at times; although when it counts, Stride can be fairly cool-headed and reasonable enough, making her decent enough to work with.

Skills:

While she cannot induce the same symptoms as a pure blooded gorgon, Stride’s gaze can stun anyone who meets her eyes, inducing an effect similar to being tazed in the victim- muscles locking, and waves of pain flooding their body. If Stride were to hold her gaze for too long, it is very much possible that her power could turn deadly. She’s also talented with use of firearms- especially with her dual H&K MP7A1s- and fairly decent in terms of hand-to-hand combat. Her heritage also grants her a heightened healing factor, which, again, while not as strong as a gorgon’s, heals minor wounds fairly quickly and keeps her from aging much.

Aside from those, Stride also boasts the basic knowledge of most SCION fighters on squaring off with the supernatural- both in detainment and dispatchment- as well as some various miscellaneous skills picked up from her work.

Weaknesses: Stride’s pride tends to be her biggest weakness, as, in efforts to prove herself, she will often charge headfirst into a confrontation. She’s willing to perform dangerous stunts- a trait of hers only worsened by her fighting style, which, when left up to her, focuses on getting closer than most long-ranged weapon users would. Using her gaze for too long tends to draw energy from her, and, along the lines of her heritage related attributes, Stride is also cold-blooded. There is also the matter of her being a perfectionist; while this leads her to strive for improvement, it also leads to aggression and irritation when she fails to reach her intended goal.

In addition, Stride is rather emotionally underdeveloped, causing her to become frustrated when things don’t go her way.

Brief History: Young Phoebe was born as a result of a rather...problematic affair between her mother- a married human woman, and head of a prosperous weapons company- and her father- a gorgon killer-for-hire. As the child didn’t exactly resemble the woman’s husband, it was obvious enough that she was a bastard- something that threatened to cause a large stain upon the family’s reputation. As such, Stride was often kept away from company and shunned, causing her to turn to the various movie and T.V. memorabilia for influence on her personality.

Throughout her years, Stride constantly worked in an effort to become a proper member of the family; although her efforts were made for nothing at the resurgence of SCION. Upon its discovery, her family was quick to send her to join the organization, and she has remained with the group ever since.