Smike

~ 1959: Into the Darkness ~ - Vietnam Dieselpunk [Open]

This fucking country, how the hell did people manage to live here? The schizophrenic weather that jumped wildly from blazing heat and bone dry to merely hot and wet enough to drown standing up, the snakes and bugs that swam through the mud and up your ass, the lack of infrastructure in the pits that most of these rice farm fucks called home, it was like going back into the medieval age. You couldn't step off the path to go piss without stumbling into a dead water buffalo or failed rice paddy, not to mention the tiger traps and landmines left as little go-fuck-yourselves by the VC. No wonder Má had gotten out as soon as she was able to. And now Miracle was here, the stupid white-washed daughter who had decided to pick up a gun to win her father's love. Who knew if it worked, Dad hadn't been especially responsive when she told him the news. He had just grunted and sank into his armchair with his usual five PM beer and back pain, looking down his nose at the tiny little mongrel who refused to tame her choppy hair. It was a signature look of his, he had given it to her when the police dropped her off stumbling and throwing up on herself and when she announced proudly that she had won her boxing match by TKO.

He was sizing her up, trying to figure out if she had the balls to keep going. "Really? Good luck then." He hadn't said she'd need it but it was definitely implied. And it turned out he was right. Boot camp had been relatively simple, getting screamed at and doing intense physical labor wasn't new. But six months into her deployment and she was seriously regretting her decisions. Every patrol that came under fire frayed her sanity a little more, every time some gook with a Jap made mortar opened up on the firebase she wanted to screamed. And each trip down into the suffocating heat of the pitch black rat tunnels made her feel like she was walking directly into Hell. The thought wouldn't leave her even when she was out on R&R, sins real and imagined haunting her as she bet on cockfights or trolled bars for drinks and drugs. Má's favorite priest had warned her that her substance problems would send here there sooner or later, Dad had told her much the same in his off-handed manner when she tried to hint at why she hadn't bought any boys home. Hell was her final destination, the end of the road, and Vietnam was the loading bay.

At least she wasn't out in the shit at the moment. No she was lying on a steel frame cot trying to will her busted fan back into operation with mental power alone and debating whether or not she should bother getting up. The answer was yes, simply because walking would be something different to do. Miracle saw little point in putting on more than her plain white tank top and issue pants, far too hot to wear her full fatigues unless ordered. A single hand scarred and bruised from many a thrown punch, dug into her pocket and produced a cigarette and lighter. Smoking was the probably the least destructive of her vices, Morgan puffing away as she wandered aimlessly.

Within a few minutes she had managed to find herself some company, the sergeant that had been here six months longer, a splotchy skinned Negro grease monkey and two soldiers who she didn't recognize. "Hey, how're you all doing?" Some people were capable of coming up with cool quips and sly entrances on the fly, commanding the room with the power of their presence. Morgan would never be one of them and that was fine with her. The heavy stomping of her boots and her rough tone was as good a greeting as any. "He's counting the artillery going off. That's seventeen." That was her assumption at least, made recklessly without any thought. Just like most of her decisions. The two FNGs set her on edge, Morgan idly tapping her fingers against the pistol holstered at her side. The way they talked and acted suggesting complete novice-hood to the service. Theresa and Linde were either going to learn quick or get themselves killed.

"You know if we're scheduled to go out again soon boss?" Christ she hoped not, if she had to crawl around another fucking tunnel she'd scream.

~ 1959: Into the Darkness ~ - Vietnam Dieselpunk [Open]

Morgan

Name
Miracle Morgan (Formerly Bian Nzuyen)

Gender
Female

Age
23, born April 1st 1936

Sexuality
Closeted Gay

Nationality
American, from Little Rock, Arkansas

Appearance
Miracle takes much more after her father than her, his dark hair, pale skin and freckles all being passed down to her. Most people assume that she's purely Caucasian, a mistake she never corrects. The only real trait she inherited from her mom was her height. Standing under five feet tall it's very easy to dismiss her as not much of a threat, an assessment she's always very happy to prove wrong. Underneath her clothing is rangy body made lean by her early years of hunger and toned by working out with her dad. Her strength is shown whenever she;s on patrol, carrying her anti-tank rocket and machine gun as easily as some men do their rifles.

When in the field Miracle wears the typical olive drab fatigues and webbing, decorating her helmet with slogans and patches picked up from various places. When at the FOB or preparing to go into the cramped rat tunnels she forgoes the jacket and helmet, choosing to wear just a tank top, pants and her holsters.

Image

Height
4'9"

Personality
Overall, Miracle is best described as angry. Angry at the US government for sending her into some stupid war, angry at the VC bastards hiding in the trees and laying traps along the jungle floor, angry at her superior officers making her crawl around the rat tunnels with some CS gas and a pistol, angry at her parents for bringing her into this world and herself for not taking the easy way out. She handles all this anger by self-medicating and keeping her issues to herself, letting them build and build until she inevitably explodes. Her default expression is a bitter scowl, softening to a grim smirk or a cold snarl as needed.

Her complicated relationship with her parents and her ancestry has left Miracle with a intense dislike boiling on hatred of the locals she has to deal with. ARVN regulars are seen as nothing more than disposable shields, civilians are informants to be bullied for information and loot. Her knowledge of the language is used to sling insults and shake people down, all in an attempt to conceal her heritage from other members of her squad. Her sexual identity is hidden just as well, locked up out of fear over how others would see her.

The only time she can reach a state resembling relation is when she's high. A fascination with weed and prescription medication as a teen morphed into a full blown addiction. Six months of combat forced her to branch into other narcotics, picking up cocaine, heroin and LSD from the many unscrupulous servicemen with stateside connections.

Rank
Private First Class

Role
Switches between Heavy Gunner, Tunnel Rat and Translator as needed.

Equipment

Heavy Gunner's Kit

-M60
-Standard Issue Webbing
-Browning Hi-Powered
-Dad's Ka-Bar Fighting Knife
-M72 LAW

Tunnel Rat's Kit

-Uzi
-Colt Python
-M17 Gas Mask
-M7 Riot Grenade (x3)
-C4
-Dad's Ka-Bar Fighting Knife

General Kit

-1955 Stratocaster
-Various stashes of cigarettes and other drugs
-1955 Telecaster
-1000 American dollars and 1000 Vietnamese Dong, in cash.
-Dice and playing cards

Biography
Miracle Morgan was originally named Bian Nzuyen, the daughter of two immigrants. Her father Gael was a naturalized citizen of the U.S. and Marine with a fondness for drinking, gambling and women. Her mother Hau was a frightened new arrival from French Indochina who worked as a washerwoman and errand-runner. How they met was never explained but the result was a half Vietnamese, half-Welsh bastard whose father wanted nothing to do with her. Before she was even born he was gone, leaving behind some money and instructions for Hau to never contact him.

Bian spent the first decade of her life in poverty, wearing second and third hand clothes until they fell apart and eating only what could be bought in bulk or for pennies. There was no money for anything but the bare essentials, nothing was wasted. Nearly every meal consisted of rice, bread and whatever meat was left over at the butcher's shop. The rationing of World War 2 actually improved their diet, the Emergency Price Control Act allowing Hau to buy things like coffee and sugar for the first time.

Despite taking more after her father in terms of looks, Bian was still very distinct from her peers. Her mother's thick accent stuck with her for her early years, something she was mocked for in school. There was often little difference between the Japanese and other Asians in her classmate's eyes, and she quickly became known as "Jap" and "Zipperhead". The teachers did little if anything to stop it so she took it upon herself, scrapping with any and everyone that had a problem with her. It was a tendency that would follow her throughout her life.

By late 1944 Gael had returned to the States, sent home by one of the coveted million dollar wounds. To the surpise of both Bian and her mother he wanted to take custody of her after years of little more than letters and postcards. Hau refused at first, desperate to hold onto her little girl. But Bian was a child who couldn't help but feel like her mother had failed her, dressing her in too big clothes and being unable to protect her from the abuse she suffered at school. She choose the man who had done nothing to help her, following Gael and leaving Hau broken hearted.

Gael was certainly able to provide a better home and a better standard of living, but he was certainly a worse parent. Within the first month of her arrival it became clear that his personal biases and trauma were not going to make it easy to raise his half-breed bastard. She had a habit of singing to herself in Vietnamese before it was beaten out of her, Gael letting her know that he "hadn't gotten myself shot by some slant-eyed fuck only for my daughter to refuse to speak properly." And she didn't just stop speaking Vietnamese around him. She worked hard to lose her accent and present herself as something more familiar, asking him to give her a new name. Miracle was chosen out of a phone book.

Gael had wanted a boy and her set about raising Miracle as he would his son, pushing her into sports and shooting and other traditionally male pastimes. She was short but vicious, able to hold her own on the scrimmage line and in the boxing ring. When Gael opened a moving company she would come along to assist, building her strength with every couch and fridge she helped load into the truck. The better food and emphasis placed on physical activities like hiking or wrestling made Miracle much healthier than she had been before.

Physically. Mentally she was suffering under the weight of desperately trying to change what she could about herself and hide what she couldn't. Gael's casual usage of slurs was picked up by Miracle and intensified, spewing all sorts of harsh language at people who gained her ire. When she was fourteen she cautiously broached the topic of her burgeoning attraction towards other girls only to be quickly and resolutely shot down by her father. So she did her best to write it off, going through a string of boyfriends through her teen years to try and prove it was just curiosity. She had no luck. By the end of high school she was smoking weed and abusing prescription medication, and it only got worse when she entered college.

When she visited her mother Hau could see that she was falling apart at the seems and pleaded with her to get help. But every warning was brushed off with a dismissive non-answer or flat out ignored. Miracle had decided she was going to be what her father wanted her to be or die trying, and to that end choose to leave college for the Marine Corps in hopes of finding pride in herself there.
Affiliations
-Gael Morgan (Father)t
-Hau Nzuyen (Mother)

Relationships
An optional segment that can be updated as it goes along, though most of the time this can just be merged into the affiliations tab.

Character Theme
Not necessary, but can be used if wished.

Smike's Sheets

HP

Name
Natasza "Hush-Puppy" Zajac

Gender
Female

Age
30

Sexuality
Quietly Bisexual

Nationality
Polish by birth, nationalized American

Appearance
Tall and fit, beautiful in an athletic sort of way, Natasza could be described as statuesque or even stunning on a good day. When inside the wire she dresses more like a Hollywood starlet than a professional spy, wearing cotton button-ups or turtlenecks and jeans with fashionable boots and aviators. A bit of lipstick with some eyeliner and mascara brings attention to her face, the better to keep the focus away from whatever her hands may be doing. Depending on the occasion she may add to the look with jewelry "acquired" from the locals or with a few buttons of her shirt left undone to add a little extra persuasive power to her smile.

Outside the wire Hush-Puppy is an entirely different creature. The German imported Doc Martens and casual shirts are replaced with heavy combat boots and tigerstripe camouflage fatigues, naturally flawless face covered by a thick layer of paint and mud. The fanciest accessory she carries into the field is a Rolex, chosen for its ability to withstand the rivers she swims through and kept in a pocket to keep the sun from glinting off it. A patrol cap and piece of twine keeps her short hair out of her face so she can use her rifle's scope without worry. The smile she wears in the safety of the villages and cities is nowhere to be found in the jungle, Hush-Puppy keeping up an unreadable mask when working.

Image

Height
5'8"

Personality

Natasza Zajac, otherwise known as Hush-Puppy, is in many ways the personification of this brutal new age of warfare. Combining college-educated negotiation and reasoning skills with modern era intelligence gathering and ancient savagery she's a professional spook, capable of performing all sorts of unsavory acts without flinching. Her education, her looks, her easy-going personality, all are used to get information of sources with and without their knowledge. And then when it's time to act on it she strikes swiftly and without hesitation, swimming up out of the delta or coming down from the mountains to burn, kidnap and kill as needed. Everyone in Vietnam, is either an asset, a possible asset or a problem to be removed. A firm believer in the concept of carrot and stick HP is willing to use persuasion, seduction, bargaining and violence in equal measure to achieve her objectives.

HP's relation with such concepts as religion, patriotism and morality can be murky to distinguish even for her, balancing biblical rules such as "Thou shall not kill" and women not supposed to be lying with other women with the brutal realities of her job and her sometimes "unorthodox" attractions. She struggles with her work, the absolute necessity of it making it no more enjoyable. And with each passing day she worries more for her soul. An afterlife on streets of gold and no pain seeming more and more distant as her need to serve a country and ideas she believes in makes a devil out of her. So far she's managed to walk the line, refusing to entertain thoughts of conversion or retirement while there's work to be done. After all, the Communists aren't exactly clean themselves. Hush-Puppy is content to pay penance by making them pay theirs.

Rank
Agent

Branch
CIA Directorate of Plans, on loan to MACV-SOG

Role
Long range patrols and reconnaissance, unconventional warfare, intelligence and counter-intelligence

Equipment

City Carry Kit

Walther PPK
Penal Rosary
Switchblade
Multiple Fake IDs and changes of clothes

LRRP Kit (to pick and choose from as needed)

-Mk.22 Mod 0 "Hush-Puppy"
-Mac-10
Suppressed Remington 700
-Recurve Bow
-Zippo
-"Zabójca"
-Rolex Submariner
Various survival equipment (compass, matches, Halazone tablets etc.)
Zip-Ties

Biography
Natasza's earliest memories were of luxury and decadence. Born in Warsaw in 1924 to a family of landed gentry turned industrialists the youngest child of four was the most recent addition to a line of minor nobility who could trace it's roots back through to the legendary winged hussars. And as was fitting for one of her station she was tended to by a small army of doctors and servants, the horde of staff making sure she wanted for nothing. Except attention from her parents of course. Her father Jan and mother Karina were away from their estate on business trips more often than not, the near constant checking up on their steel mills and coal mines living them little time to spend with any of their children. With three other competitors seeking to claim that precious resource Natasza quickly adjusted to being alone.

in 1929 just after the new year Jan and Karina left their Polish holdings in the hands of capable underlings and moved to the American territory of Alaska, settling down in Anchorage in hopes of capitalizing on the gold, timber and fish to be found. But before final preparations could be made Black Tuesday hit. The Great Depression had hit with full force and the new business was put on indefinite hold. The Zajacs managed to avoid the worst of it and poured money into their adopted home in it's time of need.

In an effort to ease the transition into a new country the importance of national pride was impressed upon Natasza and her siblings, her parents making sure their English was immaculate and their accents non-existent. The whole family went through the lengthy process of naturalization before Natasza's ninth birthday, an event she announced excitedly to her class. She and her family had bought into the American Dream wholeheartedly, proud of both their birth country and their new one. Two flags hung from their window and expeditions into the wilderness of Alaska were regular occurrences. Natasza was especially devout in her belief, never missing a Mass or Saints Day at church. It looked like she would have the perfect all-American experience. It was an idyllic period in her life.

And then the world exploded. The family listened on the radio as Nazi Germany and Communist Russia split their homeland in two, an event that would haunt Natasza for the rest of her life. All of her siblings signed up to fight within a week of the US joining the war. None of them would make it home. Józef was shot in North Africa during Operation Torch and Leon drowned in the waters of Normandy. Teodora managed to fight her way across Europe before being killed by Soviet grenades during the Prague incident. As each telegram came home more and more burden was placed upon Natasza to succeed, the young girl not wanting her siblings deaths to be in vain.

She threw herself into her studies under the best tutors money could buy and managed to get accepted into Princeton university at only 17, earning bachelor's degrees in International Relations and Linguistics by the age twenty-three. Her plan was to join the Army but her parents wouldn't hear it, terrified at the possibility of their only remaining child meeting the same fate. It was a point of contention that nearly ripped the family apart. Her parents kept pushing her to go into politics, to use their money and connections to become somebody important just like it had been down in their homeland. But Natasza refused again and again, determined to make it all by herself. Eventually they reached a compromise: she would join the CIA. She could have a safe, quiet job as a data analyst or station head somewhere out of the way where she wouldn't get hurt.

She took the deal and signed up. Her background checks came up clean and with her outstanding academic record and background she had her pick of any of the four directorates. To the horror of her parents she picked the Directorate of Plans, getting shipped off to Camp Peary to learn how to be a spy. By 1951 she had been taught how to assemble and defuse explosives, how to hotwire cars and pick locks, the best ways to conceal items on her person and all the other various tricks someone in her field would need and was ready for her first assignment. Under the codename Odysseus she was sent to Paris to Europe to root out Soviet and Chinese operatives.

Her direct superior was a legend in his own right. Luke Dixon, better known as the Jackal, was a veteran of the OSS and an incredibly talented spy who had worked for the Republicans in the Spanish Civil War and spent the second World War rooting out collaborators in occupied French. He took Natasza under his wing, the young woman becoming an informal protege as she learned from a master at the craft. It was under his tutelage that her own reputation began to form, Odysseus becoming feared and respected throughout Europe's intelligence communities. For two years she rarely spent more than a week in one place before moving, crossing the continent in search of KGB assassins and Stasi assets. One particularly memorable Saturday she killed five agents in Oslo and escaped via a commandeered fishing boat.

The event that would really make her (in)famous in her field would come in 1953. Unbeknownst to her Jackal had been converted to a Russian asset a year after she started working with him, giving up state secrets and disrupting NATO operations. When this was discovered it fell to Natasza to deal with him. Jackal had been tipped off and managed to secure a car and bodyguard to make it to East Germany. With hours to spare she tracked him down and ran him off the road and into a train. Jackal was killed instantly and his heir took up the codename "Hush-Puppy" as a sort of trophy.

After that she was temporarily reassigned to Iran and Guatemala in order to assist with the American backed coups and build up the intelligence organizations of the new governments before being recalled back to Europe. She expected to stay there for the rest of her career and maybe even get that station head job her parents had talked about but instead ended up being shifted to Asian operations. His first job was in Tibet, trekking through the hazardous mountain terrain to build up a network of anti-Chinese agitators and dissident. There she learned to how to train and equip a paramilitary force. It was a skill-set that would prove invaluable in her next assignment: turning the often incompetent ARVN and the local farmers and tribespeople into proper fighting forces.

When the United States officially entered the war she gained new responsibilities, working with the newly formed MACV-SOG on Operation Phoenix and Project Eldest Son. Hunting down VIPs and sabotaging enemy efforts, she was back in her element.

Affiliations
-Jan Zajac (Father)
-Karina Zajac (Mother)
-Józef Zajac (Older Brother, Deceased)
-Leon Zajac (Older Brother, Deceased)
-Teodora Zajac (Older Sister, Deceased)
-Emily Zajac (Adoptive Younger Sister)
-Luke Dixon (Mentor, Deceased)

Relationships

Lucas Whittaker

Worked with him back in '57 to train and advise the ARVN. Upon her being transferred to field duties she looked him up and sent herself to his FOB so she could have a grunt unit to attach herself to when not going solo. Lucas seems solid enough for her purposes.

Cynthia Ward

A cub reporter out of her element. HP was only aware of Cynthia through her pieces about New York politics and scandals before one of her contacts at the Times mentioned offhandedly that she'd be coming. Now HP is keeping an eye on her and doing some digging as to just how she managed to get assigned to Vietnam.

Character Theme

~ 1959: Into the Darkness ~ - Vietnam Dieselpunk [Open]

My Hider

Image

Name
Miracle Morgan (Formerly Bian Nzuyen)

Gender
Female

Age
23, born April 1st 1936

Sexuality
Closeted Gay

Nationality
American, from Little Rock, Arkansas

Appearance
Miracle takes much more after her father than her, his dark hair, pale skin and freckles all being passed down to her. Most people assume that she's purely Caucasian, a mistake she never corrects. The only real trait she inherited from her mom was her height. Standing under five feet tall it's very easy to dismiss her as not much of a threat, an assessment she's always very happy to prove wrong. Underneath her clothing is rangy body made lean by her early years of hunger and toned by working out with her dad. Her strength is shown whenever she;s on patrol, carrying her anti-tank rocket and machine gun as easily as some men do their rifles.

When in the field Miracle wears the typical olive drab fatigues and webbing, decorating her helmet with slogans and patches picked up from various places. When at the FOB or preparing to go into the cramped rat tunnels she forgoes the jacket and helmet, choosing to wear just a tank top, pants and her holsters.

Height
4'9"

Personality
Overall, Miracle is best described as angry. Angry at the US government for sending her into some stupid war, angry at the VC bastards hiding in the trees and laying traps along the jungle floor, angry at her superior officers making her crawl around the rat tunnels with some CS gas and a pistol, angry at her parents for bringing her into this world and herself for not taking the easy way out. She handles all this anger by self-medicating and keeping her issues to herself, letting them build and build until she inevitably explodes. Her default expression is a bitter scowl, softening to a grim smirk or a cold snarl as needed.

Her complicated relationship with her parents and her ancestry has left Miracle with a intense dislike boiling on hatred of the locals she has to deal with. ARVN regulars are seen as nothing more than disposable shields, civilians are informants to be bullied for information and loot. Her knowledge of the language is used to sling insults and shake people down, all in an attempt to conceal her heritage from other members of her squad. Her sexual identity is hidden just as well, locked up out of fear over how others would see her.

The only time she can reach a state resembling relation is when she's high. A fascination with weed and prescription medication as a teen morphed into a full blown addiction. Six months of combat forced her to branch into other narcotics, picking up cocaine, heroin and LSD from the many unscrupulous servicemen with stateside connections.

Branch
USMC

Rank
Private First Class

Role
Switches between Heavy Gunner, Tunnel Rat and Translator as needed.

Equipment

Heavy Gunner's Kit

-M60
-Standard Issue Webbing
-Browning Hi-Powered
-Dad's Ka-Bar Fighting Knife
-M72 LAW

Tunnel Rat's Kit

-Uzi
-Colt Python
-M17 Gas Mask
-M7 Riot Grenade (x3)
-C4
-Dad's Ka-Bar Fighting Knife

General Kit

-1955 Stratocaster
-Various stashes of cigarettes and other drugs
-1955 Telecaster
-1000 American dollars and 1000 Vietnamese Dong, in cash.
-Dice and playing cards

Biography
Miracle Morgan was originally named Bian Nzuyen, the daughter of two immigrants. Her father Gael was a naturalized citizen of the U.S. and Marine with a fondness for drinking, gambling and women. Her mother Hau was a frightened new arrival from French Indochina who worked as a washerwoman and errand-runner. How they met was never explained but the result was a half Vietnamese, half-Welsh bastard whose father wanted nothing to do with her. Before she was even born he was gone, leaving behind some money and instructions for Hau to never contact him.

Bian spent the first decade of her life in poverty, wearing second and third hand clothes until they fell apart and eating only what could be bought in bulk or for pennies. There was no money for anything but the bare essentials, nothing was wasted. Nearly every meal consisted of rice, bread and whatever meat was left over at the butcher's shop. The rationing of World War 2 actually improved their diet, the Emergency Price Control Act allowing Hau to buy things like coffee and sugar for the first time.

Despite taking more after her father in terms of looks, Bian was still very distinct from her peers. Her mother's thick accent stuck with her for her early years, something she was mocked for in school. There was often little difference between the Japanese and other Asians in her classmate's eyes, and she quickly became known as "Jap" and "Zipperhead". The teachers did little if anything to stop it so she took it upon herself, scrapping with any and everyone that had a problem with her. It was a tendency that would follow her throughout her life.

By late 1944 Gael had returned to the States, sent home by one of the coveted million dollar wounds. To the surpise of both Bian and her mother he wanted to take custody of her after years of little more than letters and postcards. Hau refused at first, desperate to hold onto her little girl. But Bian was a child who couldn't help but feel like her mother had failed her, dressing her in too big clothes and being unable to protect her from the abuse she suffered at school. She choose the man who had done nothing to help her, following Gael and leaving Hau broken hearted.

Gael was certainly able to provide a better home and a better standard of living, but he was certainly a worse parent. Within the first month of her arrival it became clear that his personal biases and trauma were not going to make it easy to raise his half-breed bastard. She had a habit of singing to herself in Vietnamese before it was beaten out of her, Gael letting her know that he "hadn't gotten myself shot by some slant-eyed fuck only for my daughter to refuse to speak properly." And she didn't just stop speaking Vietnamese around him. She worked hard to lose her accent and present herself as something more familiar, asking him to give her a new name. Miracle was chosen out of a phone book.

Gael had wanted a boy and her set about raising Miracle as he would his son, pushing her into sports and shooting and other traditionally male pastimes. She was short but vicious, able to hold her own on the scrimmage line and in the boxing ring. When Gael opened a moving company she would come along to assist, building her strength with every couch and fridge she helped load into the truck. The better food and emphasis placed on physical activities like hiking or wrestling made Miracle much healthier than she had been before.

Physically. Mentally she was suffering under the weight of desperately trying to change what she could about herself and hide what she couldn't. Gael's casual usage of slurs was picked up by Miracle and intensified, spewing all sorts of harsh language at people who gained her ire. When she was fourteen she cautiously broached the topic of her burgeoning attraction towards other girls only to be quickly and resolutely shot down by her father. So she did her best to write it off, going through a string of boyfriends through her teen years to try and prove it was just curiosity. She had no luck. By the end of high school she was smoking weed and abusing prescription medication, and it only got worse when she entered college.

When she visited her mother Hau could see that she was falling apart at the seems and pleaded with her to get help. But every warning was brushed off with a dismissive non-answer or flat out ignored. Miracle had decided she was going to be what her father wanted her to be or die trying, and to that end choose to leave college for the Marine Corps in hopes of finding pride in herself there.
Affiliations
-Gael Morgan (Father)t
-Hau Nzuyen (Mother)

Relationships
An optional segment that can be updated as it goes along, though most of the time this can just be merged into the affiliations tab.

Character Theme
Not necessary, but can be used if wished.

CONTAINMENT

Tentative interest tag

Smike's Sheets

Old Coyote

Name: "Coyote"

Appearance:

The Stranger

Age: She lost track of the exact number long before living memory but rounds to 1.5 or 2 million years.

Bio: Back before mankind was doing anything as complicated as living in caves and struggling to make tools out of sharp rocks and sticks the woman who would come to be known as Coyote was already old. She had a family, a home friends, was a Custodian and proud of it, why wouldn't she be? Her kind was brought into existence as the embodiment of perfection, already at the height of their abilities unlike lesser creatures who had to dig themselves out of the primordial soup with their newly grown legs. But she didn't complain, kept her opinions on lesser beings to herself. And when some of her brethren rose up in open rebellion she stayed out of it, staying home to care for her daughter while her husband fought against the traitors. Her husband and daughter were killed within days of each other and she was left alone, mourning her loss and their sacrifice.

When the rebellion ended she was cut off, exiled with the rest of her race despite her having been neutral. The One didn't see fit to distinguish between the loyalists and rebels and threw out the whole batch. The woman known as Coyote was completely blindsided by this turn of events, barely haven gotten any time to mourn the loss of family before being told she was guilty by association. She and the rest of her kind had been rejected in favor of their creator's new plaything: humanity. Driven to the brink of madness by rage and grief she decided to lash out at them, joining the Collective and hunting Descendants.

And she was damn good at it. After a few years of practice she could move into an area under an assumed name and get to work, rooting out Descendants and their Repentant allies and hunting them down with ruthless efficiency before moving onto the next region. Each time she upped sticks she reinvented herself, adopting a new name and aesthetic and changing her fighting style. At one point she was an armored knight on horseback, another a wandering fortune teller and thief. Each time she renewed herself she'd pick up new tricks and gadgets to use next time. Some of the trophies she scavenged were usable with only a little refurbishment and others needed a complete disassembly and repair. Tinkering and creating mechanical devices were skills she gained through countless hours of practice.

At some point a Descendant managed to catch her off guard with their magic, a nasty head wound permanently damaging her memory. Random gaps just disappeared with no explanation and she could never be sure which of her experiences would simply fade away without warning. This was around the time (roughly anyway, within three hundred years or so) that she began to settle down. Hundreds of bodies and thousands of years later the wayward Custodian's rage finally began to wear off, finding a new place to finally settle down and raise a family

And another. And another. And more and more, each dead spouse and child that moved away burning another hole in her already injured heart. For millennia she had considered humans to be beneath her and now that she was growing allowing herself to grow attached to them she was finding that old wounds were reopening.

And so she started to wander again. She was Margaret the seamstress for a time, then Nokasis the archer, Alexander the swordsman for a bit. At some point it occurred to her that she couldn't remember her true name, lost to time with those of friends, loved ones and mortal enemies. She continued on, working as a mercenary, bandit, bodyguard and hunting all sorts of mundane and magical beasts before moving on in search of the next contract.

Her stint as a resistance fighter in Hermannreich began entirely by accident. She had established herself as an armed robber and gun-for-hire under the name Liberty and accepted a job to cause a distraction to draw police attention. The same group later had her track down an informant and then deliver a weapons shipment to a safe house. After ten years she had inadvertently become a core member of a group of radicals and revolutionaries, leading raids because she had nothing better to do. Liberty had never been one for politics but the irony of her now fighting against a Descendant-genocidal regime was not lost on her. It was the closest she had to a purpose in lifetimes. And just like everything else it came to a violent end. The troops of the Reich eventually closed in on them, killing most and capturing a few for show trials. The Custodian fought her way out and split from her remaining allies to make her own way in the world.

Another few decades passed and she was now Coyote, a gunslinger and mechanic from Hermannreich seeking refuge in Iliad. With no real plan for the future she enrolled in Marduk and set up shop, repairing everything from computers to watches to stoves.

Mundane Skills: Thousands upon thousands of years of relying on no one but herself has made Coyote very self-sufficient. Her skill with firearms with firearms and melee combat, at levels obtainable only through eons of practice. She is a skilled alchemist and machinist, modifying her gear and crafting different types of ammo for different types of targets,and has a penchant for explosives. Her careers of planning and foiling assassinations and robberies give her a good sense of small-scale tactics, her specialty being ambushes and smash-and-grab type operations.

Of course like any good gunslinger she plays the guitar and harmonica, filling lonely nights on the range with haunting music.

Powers:
Super-Strength- Guns have the advantage of range and specialized ammo sure but sometimes there's just no substitute for brute strength. Coyote can pick up cars and throw them at people or smash her way through walls, capable of driving railroad stakes into concrete with her hands. Useful in a brawl or just when something needs to be moved.

Super-Speed- Good luck getting the draw on her. Coyote can move at about the speed of sound when running and hit Mach 2 if she were to all out sprint. Incredibly fast but also incredibly exhausting. Moving that fast for any longer than a few hours necessitates her to eat about half her weight to fuel the boost in metabolism so she tends to cruise at four hundred or five hundred miles an hour (when she's not forced to crawl along out of discretion.)

Enhanced Endurance- If she can't dodge the hit she can probably take it. Her body's incredible resilience allows her to warm her hands in open flames and evaluate the strength of her poisons by taste. Mundane weapons shatter against her body and some spells just bounce off entirely.

Equipment : Krait- One of the first things she made after being so rudely ejected from the One's favor. The glove houses a container for storing all manner of liquids and a nozzle designed to eject it as an aerosol up to 15 feet. Typically loaded with various irritating agents or toxins.

Wife and Mother- A pair of matched revolvers that were a gift from someone she can no longer really remember. Prime examples of Custodian engineering (she assumes) they generate the energy required to fire and are "reloaded" by letting the excess heat drain. It has three firing modes: a standard blast, a highly focused beam designed to punch through things and people and a shorter range scatter-shot.

Apostasy- Named back when Coyote was using it to actively fight against the One's interests, this rifle is equally good at killing Custodians and Descendants. Of course it hasn't been used for the latter in a very long time. A much less advanced weapon than her pistols it still sees a good deal of use. It's range, various ammo types, suppressor full auto capability makes it a very versatile weapon.

Savagry-A trophy taken from a particularly tough opponent and then named for what it does best. Sharp enough to a cut hair draped over, durable enough to not shatter under the strains of her usage. Also serves as a good can opener, woodcutter and mirror when properly polished.

Memory Bank: Once she started losing chunks of her memories Coyote looked for a way to preserve moments she considered important. The Memory Bank can save centuries upon centuries worth of notes, images, videos and audio recordings and display them on its face or as a holographic projection. Also shows the time.

Tools- Kept in her home for when she needs to make repairs and tinker on some new project or recipe.

The Essentials- Harmonica, guitar, hip flask, cigars and a lighter. The only things worth living for.

Personality:

Faction (Marduk, Ishtar, or Cassandra Club when it's founded): Marduk
Are you a Descendant of the Illuminated Poet?: No
Important Relations:
-Duke, Diakonissa (Husband, Daughter, both dead)
-Kane, Micah and Rachel Helegast (Husband, Son, Daughter, all dead)
- ??? Makre, Jason Makre (Husband and Son, both dead)
-Kotori Flatcreek (Girlfriend, dead)
-Eyo-Zeki (Adopted son, dead)
-Marcus ???, ???, ??? (Husband and two children, dead)
- Mihek (Concubine/Bodyguard, dead)
-Vudir, Walthred, ??? (Husband, wife, husband or wife, all dead)
-??? (Boyfriend, dead)

Theme:

Theme

-

Iliad City: A Magical RP in an Original World (Resuming)

Ignore this please, made a mistake

Iliad City: A Magical RP in an Original World (Resuming)

Wip

Name: Warden
Appearance:

Image

Age: Ancient
Bio:
Mundane Skills:
Powers: Wild-Form:
Super-Strength
Enhanced Durability

Personality:
Faction (Marduk, Ishtar, or Cassandra Club when it's founded):
Are you a Descendant of the Illuminated Poet?: Simple yes or no question.

Smike's Sheets

Miracle

My Hider

Name
Miracle Morgan (Formerly Bian Nzuyen)

Gender
Female

Age
23, born April 1st 1936

Sexuality
Closeted Gay

Nationality
American, from Little Rock, Arkansas

Appearance
Miracle takes much more after her father than her, his dark hair, pale skin and freckles all being passed down to her. Most people assume that she's purely Caucasian, a mistake she never corrects. The only real trait she inherited from her mom was her height. Standing under five feet tall it's very easy to dismiss her as not much of a threat, an assessment she's always very happy to prove wrong. Underneath her clothing is rangy body made lean by her early years of hunger and toned by working out with her dad. Her strength is shown whenever she;s on patrol, carrying her anti-tank rocket and machine gun as easily as some men do their rifles.

When in the field Miracle wears the typical olive drab fatigues and webbing, decorating her helmet with slogans and patches picked up from various places. When at the FOB or preparing to go into the cramped rat tunnels she forgoes the jacket and helmet, choosing to wear just a tank top, pants and her holsters.

Height
4'9"

Personality
Overall, Miracle is best described as angry. Angry at the US government for sending her into some stupid war, angry at the VC bastards hiding in the trees and laying traps along the jungle floor, angry at her superior officers making her crawl around the rat tunnels with some CS gas and a pistol, angry at her parents for bringing her into this world and herself for not taking the easy way out. She handles all this anger by self-medicating and keeping her issues to herself, letting them build and build until she inevitably explodes. Her default expression is a bitter scowl, softening to a grim smirk or a cold snarl as needed.

Her complicated relationship with her parents and her ancestry has left Miracle with a intense dislike boiling on hatred of the locals she has to deal with. ARVN regulars are seen as nothing more than disposable shields, civilians are informants to be bullied for information and loot. Her knowledge of the language is used to sling insults and shake people down, all in an attempt to conceal her heritage from other members of her squad. Her sexual identity is hidden just as well, locked up out of fear over how others would see her.

The only time she can reach a state resembling relation is when she's high. A fascination with weed and prescription medication as a teen morphed into a full blown addiction. Six months of combat forced her to branch into other narcotics, picking up cocaine, heroin and LSD from the many unscrupulous servicemen with stateside connections.

Rank
Private First Class

Role
Switches between Heavy Gunner, Tunnel Rat and Translator as needed.

Equipment

Heavy Gunner's Kit

-M60
-Standard Issue Webbing
-Browning Hi-Powered
-Dad's Ka-Bar Fighting Knife
-M72 LAW

Tunnel Rat's Kit

-Uzi
-Colt Python
-M17 Gas Mask
-M7 Riot Grenade (x3)
-C4
-Dad's Ka-Bar Fighting Knife

General Kit

-1955 Stratocaster
-Various stashes of cigarettes and other drugs
-1955 Telecaster
-1000 American dollars and 1000 Vietnamese Dong, in cash.
-Dice and playing cards

Biography
Miracle Morgan was originally named Bian Nzuyen, the daughter of two immigrants. Her father Gael was a naturalized citizen of the U.S. and Marine with a fondness for drinking, gambling and women. Her mother Hau was a frightened new arrival from French Indochina who worked as a washerwoman and errand-runner. How they met was never explained but the result was a half Vietnamese, half-Welsh bastard whose father wanted nothing to do with her. Before she was even born he was gone, leaving behind some money and instructions for Hau to never contact him.

Bian spent the first decade of her life in poverty, wearing second and third hand clothes until they fell apart and eating only what could be bought in bulk or for pennies. There was no money for anything but the bare essentials, nothing was wasted. Nearly every meal consisted of rice, bread and whatever meat was left over at the butcher's shop. The rationing of World War 2 actually improved their diet, the Emergency Price Control Act allowing Hau to buy things like coffee and sugar for the first time.

Despite taking more after her father in terms of looks, Bian was still very distinct from her peers. Her mother's thick accent stuck with her for her early years, something she was mocked for in school. There was often little difference between the Japanese and other Asians in her classmate's eyes, and she quickly became known as "Jap" and "Zipperhead". The teachers did little if anything to stop it so she took it upon herself, scrapping with any and everyone that had a problem with her. It was a tendency that would follow her throughout her life.

By late 1944 Gael had returned to the States, sent home by one of the coveted million dollar wounds. To the surpise of both Bian and her mother he wanted to take custody of her after years of little more than letters and postcards. Hau refused at first, desperate to hold onto her little girl. But Bian was a child who couldn't help but feel like her mother had failed her, dressing her in too big clothes and being unable to protect her from the abuse she suffered at school. She choose the man who had done nothing to help her, following Gael and leaving Hau broken hearted.

Gael was certainly able to provide a better home and a better standard of living, but he was certainly a worse parent. Within the first month of her arrival it became clear that his personal biases and trauma were not going to make it easy to raise his half-breed bastard. She had a habit of singing to herself in Vietnamese before it was beaten out of her, Gael letting her know that he "hadn't gotten myself shot by some slant-eyed fuck only for my daughter to refuse to speak properly." And she didn't just stop speaking Vietnamese around him. She worked hard to lose her accent and present herself as something more familiar, asking him to give her a new name. Miracle was chosen out of a phone book.

Gael had wanted a boy and her set about raising Miracle as he would his son, pushing her into sports and shooting and other traditionally male pastimes. She was short but vicious, able to hold her own on the scrimmage line and in the boxing ring. When Gael opened a moving company she would come along to assist, building her strength with every couch and fridge she helped load into the truck. The better food and emphasis placed on physical activities like hiking or wrestling made Miracle much healthier than she had been before.

Physically. Mentally she was suffering under the weight of desperately trying to change what she could about herself and hide what she couldn't. Gael's casual usage of slurs was picked up by Miracle and intensified, spewing all sorts of harsh language at people who gained her ire. When she was fourteen she cautiously broached the topic of her burgeoning attraction towards other girls only to be quickly and resolutely shot down by her father. So she did her best to write it off, going through a string of boyfriends through her teen years to try and prove it was just curiosity. She had no luck. By the end of high school she was smoking weed and abusing prescription medication, and it only got worse when she entered college.

When she visited her mother Hau could see that she was falling apart at the seems and pleaded with her to get help. But every warning was brushed off with a dismissive non-answer or flat out ignored. Miracle had decided she was going to be what her father wanted her to be or die trying, and to that end choose to leave college for the Marine Corps in hopes of finding pride in herself there.
Affiliations
-Gael Morgan (Father)t
-Hau Nzuyen (Mother)

Relationships
An optional segment that can be updated as it goes along, though most of the time this can just be merged into the affiliations tab.

Character Theme
Not necessary, but can be used if wished.

Valkyria Chronicles: Echo Black

Victoria hadn't minded the marching. Two decades of loyal service to the Federation had given her plenty of time to practice getting from point A to B without falling off a bridge or something. She had hadn't enjoyed listening to a pair of perfectly dense soldiers complain about walking and cards and mud and whatever dumb shit came to their minds (such as they were), but they had at least been shut up pretty quick. Besides, sooner or later they would end up under fire and Vicky would get the pleasure of watching them piss themselves. As long as she had her flask she could put up with them and obnoxious tramping of boots and her daughter cooing and whispering to that stupid cat. It was easy once you were used to it: just keep putting one foot in front of the other, try not breath in the clouds of dirt blown up by tanks and trucks, and for the love of God don't stop drinking. That was the most important part.

Getting up at Go Fuck Yourself o'clock was honestly completely fine. She hadn't regularly slept a full night since the first war so this was entirely normal. Wake up, get dressed, scream at the people who were still trying to sleep and then get into formation. Easy. She didn't even have to do anything except listen to her boss read off the list of bullshit regulations and let her know she heard them loud and clear. "Eat shit, cunt." Spoken like a professional soldier. The words were harsh but her tone was light, a rare smile stretched across her slashed up face. Maxi was probably the only officer in existence that wasn't brain-dead. In a strange way she reminded Vicky of herself in her younger years.

This of course meant that she was probably as intelligent as a cow, but that was just how kids were.

Really she found most parts of army life more or less agreeable, able to be endured for the sake of a paycheck and a pension. Today though she'd be dealing with the parts that weren't: the food and the officer corp. Vicky had grown up mixing sawdust in with old flour and helping her mom cook meat she had managed to buy when a draft horse needed to be put down. She prided herself on being able to turn ingredients of little-to-no quality into food that was actually pretty good! Or at the very least, edible. And that's was made the slop being served to her so insulting. All the fucking money the Feds were taking out of her paycheck as taxes and they couldn't afford a half-way decent cook?

It was the fault of those goddamn bigwigs roaming about, fat old fucks whose idea of intensity was a rousing day at the horse races with their wives and mistresses. It was their fault that the food was awful, tightfisted cunts who couldn't bear to approve a penny more of pay raise unless it went directly into their own pockets. The best and brightest of Vinland, Francia, Edinburgh and the other shitholes that made up this proud alliance. Just being near them pissed her off to no end, and she dealt that anger with the same way she dealt with all her problems.

Another heavy gulp of cheap whiskey helped prepare her stomach for mouthfuls of rubbery eggs and nearly curdled milk as she sidled up to some of her fellow Rangers trying to harass Maxi. "Hate to break it to you, but whatever it is will be awful." Rosie and Paloma were already at their routine of being too cheery for the morning, but that was preferable to Yori's permanent case of bitch face. Could he make any expression besides a grimace?"Watch it there Yori, you put any more sunshine in that famous smile of yours and people might actually think you're happy to be alive!"

He always looked as if he couldn't decide whether he was more disgusted with himself or his comrades.

Me too kid. Me fuckin' too.

---------------


Not for the first time Elizabeth was bemoaning her decision to sign up and fight her way through the Ranger selection process. Her hare-brain attempt at showing her mother that she was capable was turning out to be a dismal failure, Victoria having made little notice of her making it through sniper school or being placed in her unit. If anything she had seemed upset, like she couldn't believe Liz had managed it and wished she hadn't. It hadn't been good enough, just like everything else. Liz spent most of her time away from her now, unable to figure what she should or even could do to try and make up for her existence. It was the same today, the younger White slipping away from her mother's spot in the convoy. Best for both of them that they didn't talk too much.

She was good at that sort of thing, quietly fading into the background and disappearing before she could attract too much adverse attention. It was a skill she had picked up from dealing with a family of drunks and never quite fitting in with her peers, Liz carefully backtracking through the convoy until she spotted at least a couple of familiar faces. One of her mother's old comrades who she didn't really know, and her aunt! The sight of Mrs. Godfrey could usually cheer her up, but she had to be careful around her. She was motherly almost to the point of smothering, such a far cry from Vicky that it was almost a shock to the system. There was such a thing as being too affectionate after all.

"Hello Auntie."

Her voice was a near whisper, Liz keeping her eyes on the road ahead of her as she wrapped an arm around the shorter woman. "You doing okay?" The question had been addressed to Diana but answered by someone else entirely, a gentle "Mraow?" echoing out from the confines of her jacket. There was visible bulge moving from within the garment, climbing up from her stomach and along her ribs it popped out at her collar, Soot making his presence known with another curious meow. "Soot says hi as well." She giggled, a musical noise quickly cut short as if out of habit.