Tackytaff

Empire of the Clouds

Puskurunuwa

---

Puskurunuwa had come to the barrack huts during the dead of night. In the dark it was still easy to slip past the soldiers. Not that it mattered in the end. He'd only just begun his search when sirens started blaring and the camp emptied out entirety, just as large shadows passed behind dark clouds. More air raids. Nuwa left his concealed nook between a desk and the wall. Not that it mattered in the end. His family wasn't there, and prisoners weren't being held above ground anymore. Assuming it had even been the city’s soldiers attacking them in the first place. There had been men in uniforms, but with the city in such desperate chaos...

The rear entrance of the hut took him outside, to a large clearing. Nuwa’s eyes widened as he sprinted closer to the mass in the center of it. An airship. A real, proper airship on the ground and so much closer than the mere glimpses between the clouds he'd seen before.

"Looks a lot bigger down here." He muttered, mostly to himself, while surveying the area for any remaining soldiers. There were none to be found, no one watching the anchoring ropes, or watching the gondola’s entrance. So small, compared to the balloon rigging above it.

Just imagine swinging from the ropes of that thing in the air...

Nuwa knew Kypros wasn't really beside him, chatting in his ear. It was all in his mind, a figment of his imagination that he'd conjured to comfort him since they'd gotten separated half a week before. The knowledge did little to reduce the shock that came when the voices spoke on their own accord, unprompted and unbidden.

It’d be like real flying.

The ghost of his aerial partner finished the thought and Nuwa smiled at the memory of their shared dream. Real or not, Kypros’ echo was at least solace for the panic making Nuwa’s heart race.

"Would get a right smack on the return," He whispered in response, as though Kypros was indeed beside him. He pointed out the slack on the ropes, the divots in the bladder to demonstrate his meaning. "It's not quite ready to go yet. Filled and in the air you wouldn't be able to stick the landing."

We'd catch you.

The smile faltered as easily as it came. Nuwa cleared his throat and shook his head in an attempt to relieve himself of the distraction. It was hardly the time to reminisce, the sounds of panicked rioting were only getting louder. Without waiting for input from a ghost companion or his own better judgment, he climbed into the airship's gondola. There was quiet shouting to the right so he veered left to be greeted by a room full of panels, levers, and buttons. It all looked rather important for the purposes of getting off the ground and completely beyond Nuwa’s understanding.

More footsteps prevented him from doing anything foolish so he exited the cockpit through a second doorway and found himself in a corridor. One long window spanned almost the entire length. For now it only displayed the flat ground of its landing pad but once they were airborne... The idea almost gave Nuwa enough excitement to forget his panic, and the approaching footsteps. Almost.

With renewed speed, he scanned for a place to hide. Upon investigation he found the ceiling panels opened- but were stuffed with strapped canvas bags filled with what felt like soft fabric. He removed three, and kicked them under a bench, in hope they wouldn't be noticed before takeoff. It was a tight fit, but Nuwa hoisted himself into the small alcove, and folded himself behind more of the bags before closing the panel behind him. Only when it clicked shut did he consider whether or not he'd be able to open it again from the inside. It was too late for anything to be done however, as brisk footsteps approached, only to fade just as quickly. All that was left to do was wait until they were in the air. If he made enough noise to be found once they were already in the air he could hardly be tossed off the side, right?

You're going to leave us here?

Nuwa nearly gasped. Her voice. But it couldn't be Stelia whispering to him, even less than it could have been Kypros, because Stelia was still on the gravel by the docks; an officer's boot at her neck, her face draining into the same pale grey as her unblinking eyes and- A choked half sob escaped his throat. The sound was real enough to force him out of the nightmare and listen for any sign his presence had been noticed. There was nothing, except-

We’re supposed to stick together, why aren't we coming with you?

Nuwa shook his head; as best he could in the confined space. He wanted to argue. He had looked but was met with fire, and gunshots, and screaming, and he...

You're running away

We waited for you Nuwa

Did you even try?

A deep, reverberating groan interrupted the twins' torrent of accusatory whispers. Nuwa blinked in the dark, unaware of how much time had passed. The sound finally gave way to a more gentle whirring of machines, and gradually, Nuwa felt the bags shifting around him. With nothing solid to hold on to, he slid along with them, eventually ramming into the wall of the alcove with a thump loud enough to make him wince from the resulting pain and sound. More footsteps came and went along the hallway below him: louder, and and with an urgency that had been lacking before. The ship was alive and beginning to move.

Nuwa was going to leave Inbur.

He cringed at the thought, anticipating more admonishment from ghosts, but they remained silent. There was only the hum of engines and hissing of pneumatic pipes.

Feeling braver, he let the exileration wash over him. Puskurunuwa Petrides was going to fly out of Inbur.

The mix of fear and excitement quickly overcame good sense and Nuwa found himself attempting to shuffle on his back along the ceiling, fruitlessly kicking in search of a loose panel; desperate to catch a glimpse of the ground disappearing below.

Wild Beasts of the Earth (Gothic Horror)

Sonja Wickler

---

Each passing winter had a greater effect on Sonja's constitution. This one still hadn't fully arrived, but the chill of morning mist was enough to stiffen her fingers even underneath thick gloves. She'd left her bag at her office at least, prepared for a long march to find the group from the night before, allowing her to keep tightened fists in effort to prevent numbness. The graveyard was completely deserted aside from the group from the cabaret, most rested and renewed for the day. She wondered what sort of sight they made; a strange collection for a funeral party. The closest one last night's victim was to have, she supposed. It was unlikely anyone would come forth to pay for a proper service. A shame they didn't even know her name yet. Sonja flexed both hands and began massaging the tension out of the knuckles on her palm, shifting her focus to Temple's recounting of the night's discoveries. Ghost stories were one thing, but police ignoring evidence to tidily ignore murders was a real, worthy case. So long as the foreign nurse was believed to be more trustworthy than the police.

"I'm familiar with Munich police records." Her reservedness of the night before was gone, replaced with a brisk urgency to end whatever this mess was. "I'd like to see them for myself, check for any commonalities as you say." She gave a single quick nod to Temple before continuing.

"For now, I believe the only connection we do have on the victims is that they are from the city's most vulnerable populations. While perhaps not a glamorous task, it may be worth the effort to seek out some hovels in the area. Our victims may have friends looking for them that wouldn't reach out to the police." Her lips pressed into a hard line. "They deserve warnings if nothing else."

Only when she finished speaking did the throbbing in her fingers subside enough for Sonja notice the morning cold stinging her cheeks. She tucked her chin into the scarf at her neck and hoped for quick agreement on their course of action, if only to get out of the chilling weather.

Empire of the Clouds

Puskurunuwa

Name: Puskurunuwa Petrides
Gender: Male
Age: 20
Nationality: Shariq
Appearance:

Years of traveling and training under the sun has left Puskurunuwa's already olive complexion dark, and turned his once black hair sandy. His face remains boyish, and could be considered handsome on the rare days he bothers to shave: otherwise he’s sporting the eternal patchwork stubble that ironically adds to his youthful appearance. Warm brown eyes and full lips add to his charm- until they part into an easy smile that showcases a set of shockingly large, crooked, and brilliantly white teeth. Puskurunuwa owns little in the way of clothing and stains of varying ages mark his trousers and shirt, both sagging on his lithe frame of five and a half feet. Even his belt is fastened by an extra self-made puncture some inches from the proper holes. Working as an acrobat has given him some degree of muscle, but only enough to for the speed and nimbleness such performances required.

Personal Effects:
All of Puskurunuwa's worldly possessions can fit in a repurposed grain-sack, and easily swung over the shoulder. Inside it contains:
- a curved knife half the length of his forearm
- white chalk
- a single spare shirt
- about 15 feet of rope
- a handful of precious gems, most cracked or scratched in some manner
- a box of matches
- an unlabeled bottle of dark brown spirits
- a tin oil lamp, it's glass flame shield long lost

---

Background:

Occupation: Circus Preformer, petty-thief
Backstory:

Whatever glory was to be found in rebuilding a long dead empire was lost on rural peasant children. All Puskurunuwa knew of Shariq was his family's cursed plot of land and the destitute fishing village miles to the north. There was never the means to travel any further. The family's farm failed to reliably produce, and most years they found themselves short on meeting taxes and their family still larger. Puskurunuwa's counted seven younger siblings by his tenth year, and possessed increasing awareness of their shrinking dinners. Rather than continuing to labour fruitlessly on barren land and watch his family’s starvation, Puskurunuwa packed what little that was his own and headed west, towards the distant grey horizon that was The Inburian Empire.

His original intention was to find work in the capital's ever growing factories. The road to Inbur, however, was enlightening. Puskurunuwa, who'd barely met more than a dozen people over his entire life, found entire towns and settlements seemingly crawling with them. He stopped in most, taking odd jobs anywhere that would take him, earning just enough to continue on his journey. The further west he went, the more unwelcome he was. Be it his age, nationality, or class; he was often met with harsh words and slamming doors. By the time he'd toured around the bay to the capital, Puskurunuwa had come to the conclusion that labour, be it on the farm or in the city, did not suit him.

So began his life as a miscreant urchin on Inbur's streets. A few years were spent picking pockets and modest thievery from merchants and visiting nobles on the docks. It just enough Puskurunuwa fed and dry, with plenty of free time to do as he pleased. Most was spent pestering the city's other miscreants; beggars, drunks, and street walkers. All were targets for young Puskurunuwa’s constant yammering and curiosity. Eventually he gained enough of a reputation to approuched for jobs on behalf of others. Most involved light burglary, or a planting, but it paid more than pinching pockets.

It was one such job that had Puskurunuwa visiting Lord Landry's Big Top Circus in 1071. He was working his way into the eponymous owner's safe when some commotion outside lay his plans to waste. Lord Landry returned to his office early, and found Puskurunuwa folded tightly inside his small safe some hours later. He offered the boy employment - as a performer. The following six years were the greatest stability Puskurunuwa had ever known. He became a master at trapeze and contortion - skills that had always come naturally, but little practiced as more than a means to an end before. While he never took to reading or writing, the far and frequent travel uncovered a talent for picking up languages. With the help of his gregarious, almost over-familiar, personality it rarely took more than a few weeks in a new region for Puskurunuwa to begin speaking comfortably with locals.

His fellow performers became his family, constants within a never-ending cycle of changing cities, local hires, and audiences. Xquic, the fire-dancer with a low voice, taught him how to grind grain with stone and turn it into bread with nothing but water and a campfire. A small family from Sakha managed the animals, and they quickly accepted Puskurunuwa into their unit. They took him along on hikes when they found themselves traveling the countryside, showing which plants could be made into tea, and mushrooms that would poison. He tailed the impossibly large strongman, Cllément, relentlessly, always wanting more of the Monchian's improbable stories until the latter's patience wore thin and picked up the boy with one hand and shotput him away. Twins Stelia and Kypros were his siblings in aerial performance acts; their lives in each other’s hands each time.

It was Puskurunuwa's eighth time in Inbur since joining the troupe when the Calarian invasion began. By the time their forces reached the capital, the circus family was scattered. Landry’s available funds, and their collective savings were all quickly spent as the city's tensions grew in anticipation of enemy forces. Puskurunuwa found himself completely alone by the time they arrived. As lost and stranded as when he'd come to the city ten years before.

Empire of the Clouds

Character App

Character Description

Name: Puskurunuwa Petrides
Gender: Male
Age: 20
Nationality: Shariq
Appearance:

Years of traveling and training under the sun has left Puskurunuwa's already olive complexion dark, and turned his once black hair sandy. His face remains boyish, and could be considered handsome on the rare days he bothers to shave: otherwise he’s sporting the eternal patchwork stubble that ironically adds to his youthful appearance. Warm brown eyes and full lips add to his charm- until they part into an easy smile that showcases a set of shockingly large, crooked, and brilliantly white teeth. Puskurunuwa owns little in the way of clothing and stains of varying ages mark his trousers and shirt, both sagging on his lithe frame of five and a half feet. Even his belt is fastened by an extra self-made puncture some inches from the proper holes. Working as an acrobat has given him some degree of muscle, but only enough to for the speed and nimbleness such performances required.

Personal Effects: All of Puskurunuwa's worldly possessions can fit in a repurposed grain-sack, and easily swung over the shoulder. Inside it contains:
- a curved knife half the length of his forearm
- white chalk
- a single spare shirt
- about 15 feet of rope
- a handful of precious gems, most cracked or scratched in some manner
- a box of matches
- an unlabeled bottle of dark brown spirits
- a tin oil lamp, it's glass flame shield long lost

---

Background:

Occupation: Circus Preformer, petty-thief
Backstory:

Whatever glory was to be found in rebuilding a long dead empire was lost on rural peasant children. All Puskurunuwa knew of Shariq was his family's cursed plot of land and the destitute fishing village miles to the north. There was never the means to travel any further. The family's farm failed to reliably produce, and most years they found themselves short on meeting taxes and their family still larger. Puskurunuwa's counted seven younger siblings by his tenth year, and possessed increasing awareness of their shrinking dinners. Rather than continuing to labour fruitlessly on barren land and watch his family’s starvation, Puskurunuwa packed what little that was his own and headed west, towards the distant grey horizon that was The Inburian Empire.

His original intention was to find work in the capital's ever growing factories. The road to Inbur, however, was enlightening. Puskurunuwa, who'd barely met more than a dozen people over his entire life, found entire towns and settlements seemingly crawling with them. He stopped in most, taking odd jobs anywhere that would take him, earning just enough to continue on his journey. The further west he went, the more unwelcome he was. Be it his age, nationality, or class; he was often met with harsh words and slamming doors. By the time he'd toured around the bay to the capital, Puskurunuwa had come to the conclusion that labour, be it on the farm or in the city, did not suit him.

So began his life as a miscreant urchin on Inbur's streets. A few years were spent picking pockets and modest thievery from merchants and visiting nobles on the docks. It just enough Puskurunuwa fed and dry, with plenty of free time to do as he pleased. Most was spent pestering the city's other miscreants; beggars, drunks, and street walkers. All were targets for young Puskurunuwa’s constant yammering and curiosity. Eventually he gained enough of a reputation to approuched for jobs on behalf of others. Most involved light burglary, or a planting, but it paid more than pinching pockets.

It was one such job that had Puskurunuwa visiting Lord Landry's Big Top Circus in 1071. He was working his way into the eponymous owner's safe when some commotion outside lay his plans to waste. Lord Landry returned to his office early, and found Puskurunuwa folded tightly inside his small safe some hours later. He offered the boy employment - as a performer. The following six years were the greatest stability Puskurunuwa had ever known. He became a master at trapeze and contortion - skills that had always come naturally, but little practiced as more than a means to an end before. While he never took to reading or writing, the far and frequent travel uncovered a talent for picking up languages. With the help of his gregarious, almost over-familiar, personality it rarely took more than a few weeks in a new region for Puskurunuwa to begin speaking comfortably with locals.

His fellow performers became his family, constants within a never-ending cycle of changing cities, local hires, and audiences. Xquic, the fire-dancer with a low voice, taught him how to grind grain with stone and turn it into bread with nothing but water and a campfire. A small family from Sakha managed the animals, and they quickly accepted Puskurunuwa into their unit. They took him along on hikes when they found themselves traveling the countryside, showing which plants could be made into tea, and mushrooms that would poison. He tailed the impossibly large strongman, Cllément, relentlessly, always wanting more of the Monchian's improbable stories until the latter's patience wore thin and picked up the boy with one hand and shotput him away. Twins Stelia and Kypros were his siblings in aerial performance acts; their lives in each other’s hands each time.

It was Puskurunuwa's eighth time in Inbur since joining the troupe when the Calarian invasion began. By the time their forces reached the capital, the circus family was scattered. Landry’s available funds, and their collective savings were all quickly spent as the city's tensions grew in anticipation of enemy forces. Puskurunuwa found himself completely alone by the time they arrived. As lost and stranded as when he'd come to the city ten years before.

Wild Beasts of the Earth (Gothic Horror)

Sonja

Name: Sonja Marie Wickler (née Brandt)
Gender: Female
Age: 46
Nationality: German
Appearance:

[+]

There are lingering traces of a once-beautiful youth remaining on Sonja's face. Her hair retains it's golden hue towards the ends, though dulls with threads of grey the closer it reaches the roots. Smile lines and crows feet mark time's affect on soft, loosening skin, their friendliness thwarted by the much more severe and prominent frown etched permanently between her brows. She remains an imposing figure despite her age, standing at nearly 5'11 she's taller than most and has a sturdy frame hidden under layers. A modest and practical woman in both appearance and demeanor; her clothes are always clean and pressed, but plain and several seasons out of fashion. A pair of pearl earnings, a simple gold wedding band on her left hand, and a small silver watch bound to the left wrist with a blue velvet band and clasp are the only adornments she allows herself.

Personal Effects:
Sonja's wardrobe is never complete without a hat, a pair of gloves- silk in the summer, leather in the winter -and a medium sized dark carpet bag that serves as both briefcase and handbag, carrying her many necessities;
- A leather-bound journal
- Italian and English translation dictionaries
- A silver lighter two inches long and one wide
- A pair of reading spectacles
- A tin flask filled with a clear and strong alcohol
- 2 pens and inkwells, one black one blue
- A red lipstick that appears completely unused
- 2 needles and spool of thread
- A spare set of stockings
- 2 scarves, one silk one wool
- A handful of hat and hair pins
- Identification papers and a few hundred marks

Her late husband's Mauser C96 remains in her possession, but rarely leaves it's locked hiding place in her office.

Trade: Private Investigator
Backstory:
Sonja was born the fourth and final child of the once-affluent Magdeburg Brandt family in 1877. The family’s hardships started shortly after her birth and most of Sonja's life and early memories were that of a particular sort of impoverishment: Completely dependent on the charity of distant unseen family in far off places and sparse remains of an old inheritance for survival. Neither of her parents worked, instead clinging to their pride and memories of wealth that she had never experienced. All while surrounded by true the destitution of their neighbors. While she hardly had the words to describe it at the time, her family’s combination of ego and ignorance grated and shamed her.

In the late 1880's, the Brandt matriarch contracted tuberculosis. As her mother faded, Sonja's father turned further towards drink. Both brothers fled to find their own fortunes elsewhere. When it became apparent even from the outside they could no longer manage themselves, the community her family had always scorned came to their aid. Each day a different family would come with a dinner, hot bathing water, or clean laundry. More often than not, Sonja would follow them out again, desperate to flee the suffocating remains of her family. Among the squalid dregs of Magdeburg's lowest class she developed a sense of solidarity and identity.

At 19 her mother finally passed after nearly a decade of sickness. The end of her life also meant an end to the charity that had kept the family fed and housed. The generosity of her distant relatives had reached a limit when all that remained of them was a drunk widower and young woman old enough to work for herself. Sonja wrote to them all in desperation. Out of her dozen letters, one responded. A great aunt that had come to her mother’s modest funeral and found Sonja fetching and clever enough to be deserving of a final piece of kindness: A proper education abroad. Within six months she was packed and on a train to Zurich.

She had been intended to stay only for three years, taking music and art classes at a small woman's university. However, one evening while accompanying a group of friends to a marxist rally on the steps of the University of Zurich, she met Michael Wickler. Six years her senior, he was well traveled from a short time in the military, and working towards his doctorate in law. What began as a clumsy attempt to recruit Sonja to a cause gave way to a handful of dates and soon enough, an engagement. Sonja was practical enough to know marriage was the ultimate goal of her education, but Michael saw things differently. He charmed her with flattery and encouragement, gave her the words and understanding for what she had felt her entire life, and incessantly pushed her to continue her education. Under his pressuring she eventually found herself enrolling in the University of Zurich herself. After two rounds of degrees, first in the natural sciences, then another in law, the couple finally returned to Germany as Mr. and Mrs. Michael Wickler.

They made their start in Munich, where Michael had friends, family, and ties, and were able to start a firm in only a few short years. Sonja's interest in her husband’s work matched his own. They took cases for unions and renters, jobs that paid less but offered greater fulfillment. Most days were spent in the too-small poorly-lit office working in silent tandem. Officially, her role was that of secretary, but it was rare for a document or letter to be sent out without being approved by Sonja's discerning eye. Michael found himself embroiled in the SPD shortly after they'd established themselves, through connections he'd made in Zurich. At first Sonja had merely tagged along; taking minutes of meetings and refreshing pots of coffee for the groups of mostly men. Except for one way, when day a contingent of women joined them, identifying themselves as the Munich BDF. In them, Sonja found a cause she could call her own, and thus began her work for woman's suffrage.

Then the war came. Micheal was sent off with the rest of the reservists, and never returned. Sonja moved to live with her sister-in-law, Ada, an agreeable woman married to a police captain. Their four children were all grown and gone and Ada was grateful for the companionship and one less empty room. Without Michael there was no more law work, and Sonja threw herself into political activism to compensate for the loss of both. The SPD's agreement to the war became something of a betrayal in Sonja's mind, and her politics continued to veer left, to the MSPD shortly after it's formation, and eventually the KDP.

Towards the end of the war, she began work in an ammunition's factory; and more importantly it's respective union. For two years she re-immersed herself in the working class she believed herself championing. That career was cut short too, after the strike in 1918, followed by the end of the war. Shortly after, women were granted voting rights, and her work for the BDF was no longer needed as it centralized itself in Berlin for more global affairs.

Hardly content to live as a retired widow before reaching 50, Sonja found her own way of occupation. Over her two decades in Munich, she'd accumulated a number of contacts and friends within different spheres of the left-wing movements in the city. Her unique experience, education, and temperament positioned her well to continue aiding the communities that had been abandoned by their government. Her first job was for the union she'd been a member of during the war, a simple case of wage theft. They hadn't expected a woman to investigate, nor deliver key evidence directly to the police captain as well as every union-sympathizing lawyer she knew. From there, one paid favour led to another, and while the pay was as irregular as the work itself she eventually managed to begin renting out a small office in a squalid district of the city.

Wild Beasts of the Earth (Gothic Horror)

Sonja Wickler

---

It wasn't the sort of place Sonja would typically put herself. Though that could be said of most places she found herself lately. Her path followed that of information, or justice, on days she was trying to convince herself of virtue. The cabaret bar filled with smoke, music, and the light sounds of dancer's shoes on the stage was not an environment made for the likes of Sonja to enjoy. Perhaps when she was younger the dancers wouldn't have sounded so needlessly risque, the whispered conversations less vacuous, the drinks worth buying. But she had become an old woman, an unpleasant reminder of time’s effect in places of the young living fast in a perpetual present. She kept herself small, waiting at the far side of the bar, ridged and ignored well past the show's end. From there she remained watching as a handful of guests made their way to a side door, easy to miss but for the muscle guarding it. Only when the disorganized queue had all but disappeared did Sonja stand, invitation in hand, and followed suit.

She still wasn't the last to enter. A youthful eastern woman stumbled in just as Sonja had divested herself of gloves and overcoat, and folded them over the back of her chosen seat. The majority of the diverse group were quite young. A handful looked barely more than children; the easterner, a wisp of a soldier, two small girls, and a foreign urchin. Sonja's frown deepened; attempting to puzzle out some unseen commonality amongst the invitees before the Englishman began speaking.

More of their group made their introductions after the welcoming. Some to the room, others to neighbours. Sonja simply watched, attempting to commit faces to memory. At least three performers among them. A good number of soldier's too, she suspected. The urchin spoke in an accent impossible to place, and the holy man remained as reserved as Sonja. Her right hand itched to find her journal and mark observations down, but she was reluctant to bring any attention to herself. Instead she accepted an offered drink of port, only to spin the glass between her fingers. It didn't take long for their group to divide, a handful choosing to take the initiative to investigate the graveyard that very night. Sonja only waved a hand in goodbye at their parting. The only mysteries she cared for remained in the small smoking room.

It eventually quieted again for Temple's story. Further fanciful nonsense, but Sonja listened attentively all the same, eyes distant as she searched for some hidden metaphor that might infer the “Night Watch's” alignment or ambitions. Ungodliness, ghosts, demons, and priests. Metaphors or no, there was a commonality there at least. Though it seemed unlikely for Catholic propagandists to select an Englishman as their spokesperson.

Eventually, when it became clear no further light would be shed on the invitations' backers, Sonja stopped spinning her untouched drink and stood. "I thank you for a most interesting evening Mr. Temple," She began with the up-most politeness as she tugged her gloves and coat back on. "and greatly look forward to what the light of day sheds on your peculiar investigation."

Her smile was tight, but genuine enough from curiosity if nothing else. She gave a final nod to the others that remained "Adieu, until the morning." A knock on the door, and it was opened by the bouncer on the other side, allowing Sonja to pass towards the exit and Munich streets.

Wild Beasts of the Earth (Gothic Horror)

Commie Scum

Name: Sonja Marie Wickler (née Brandt)
Gender: Female
Age: 46
Nationality: German
Appearance:

[+]

There are lingering traces of a once-beautiful youth remaining on Sonja's face. Her hair retains it's golden hue towards the ends, though dulls with threads of grey the closer it reaches the roots. Smile lines and crows feet mark time's affect on soft, loosening skin, their friendliness thwarted by the much more severe and prominent frown etched permanently between her brows. She remains an imposing figure despite her age, standing at nearly 5'11 she's taller than most and has a sturdy frame hidden uneder layers. A modest and practical woman in both appearance and demeanor; her clothes are always clean and pressed, but plain and several seasons out of fashion. A pair of pearl earnings, a simple gold wedding band on her left hand, and a small silver watch bound to the left wrist with a blue velvet band and clasp are the only adornments she allows herself.

Personal Effects:
Sonja's wardrobe is never complete without a hat, a pair of gloves- silk in the summer, leather in the winter -and a medium sized dark carpet bag that serves as both briefcase and handbag, carrying her many necessities;
- A leather-bound journal
- Italian and English translation dictionaries
- A silver lighter two inches long and one wide
- A pair of reading spectacles
- A tin flask filled with a clear and strong alcohol
- 2 pens and inkwells, one black one blue
- A red lipstick that appears completely unused
- 2 needles and spool of thread
- A spare set of stockings
- 2 scarves, one silk one wool
- A handful of hat and hair pins
- Identification papers and a few hundred marks

Her late husband's Mauser C96 remains in her possession, but rarely leaves it's locked hiding place in her office.

Trade: Private Investigator
Backstory:
Sonja was born the fourth and final child of the once-affluent Magdeburg Brandt family in 1877. The family’s hardships started shortly after her birth and most of Sonja's life and early memories were that of a particular sort of impoverishment: Completely dependent on the charity of distant unseen family in far off places and sparse remains of an old inheritance for survival. Neither of her parents worked, instead clinging to their pride and memories of wealth that she had never experienced. All while surrounded by true the destitution of their neighbors. While she hardly had the words to describe it at the time, her family’s combination of ego and ignorance grated and shamed her.

In the late 1880's, the Brandt matriarch contracted tuberculosis. As her mother faded, Sonja's father turned further towards drink. Both brothers fled to find their own fortunes elsewhere. When it became apparent even from the outside they could no longer manage themselves, the community her family had always scorned came to their aid. Each day a different family would come with a dinner, hot bathing water, or clean laundry. More often than not, Sonja would follow them out again, desperate to flee the suffocating remains of her family. Among the squalid dregs of Magdeburg's lowest class she developed a sense of solidarity and identity.

At 19 her mother finally passed after nearly a decade of sickness. The end of her life also meant an end to the charity that had kept the family fed and housed. The generosity of her distant relatives had reached a limit when all that remained of them was a drunk widower and young woman old enough to work for herself. Sonja wrote to them all in desperation. Out of her dozen letters, one responded. A great aunt that had come to her mother’s modest funeral and found Sonja fetching and clever enough to be deserving of a final piece of kindness: A proper education abroad. Within six months she was packed and on a train to Zurich.

She had been intended to stay only for three years, taking music and art classes at a small woman's university. However, one evening while accompanying a group of friends to a marxist rally on the steps of the University of Zurich, she met Michael Wickler. Six years her senior, he was well traveled from a short time in the military, and working towards his doctorate in law. What began as a clumsy attempt to recruit Sonja to a cause gave way to a handful of dates and soon enough, an engagement. Sonja was practical enough to know marriage was the ultimate goal of her education, but Michael saw things differently. He charmed her with flattery and encouragement, gave her the words and understanding for what she had felt her entire life, and incessantly pushed her to continue her education. Under his pressuring she eventually found herself enrolling in the University of Zurich herself. After two rounds of degrees, first in the natural sciences, then another in law, the couple finally returned to Germany as Mr. and Mrs. Michael Wickler.

They made their start in Munich, where Michael had friends, family, and ties, and were able to start a firm in only a few short years. Sonja's interest in her husband’s work matched his own. They took cases for unions and renters, jobs that paid less but offered greater fulfillment. Most days were spent in the too-small poorly-lit office working in silent tandem. Officially, her role was that of secretary, but it was rare for a document or letter to be sent out without being approved by Sonja's discerning eye. Michael found himself embroiled in the SPD shortly after they'd established themselves, through connections he'd made in Zurich. At first Sonja had merely tagged along; taking minutes of meetings and refreshing pots of coffee for the groups of mostly men. Except for one way, when day a contingent of women joined them, identifying themselves as the Munich BDF. In them, Sonja found a cause she could call her own, and thus began her work for woman's suffrage.

Then the war came. Micheal was sent off with the rest of the reservists, and never returned. Sonja moved to live with her sister-in-law, Ada, an agreeable woman married to a police captain. Their four children were all grown and gone and Ada was grateful for the companionship and one less empty room. Without Michael there was no more law work, and Sonja threw herself into political activism to compensate for the loss of both. The SPD's agreement to the war became something of a betrayal in Sonja's mind, and her politics continued to veer left, to the MSPD shortly after it's formation, and eventually the KDP.

Towards the end of the war, she began work in an ammunition's factory; and more importantly it's respective union. For two years she re-immersed herself in the working class she believed herself championing. That career was cut short too, after the strike in 1918, followed by the end of the war. Shortly after, women were granted voting rights, and her work for the BDF was no longer needed as it centralized itself in Berlin for more global affairs.

Hardly content to live as a retired widow before reaching 50, Sonja found her own way of occupation. Over her two decades in Munich, she'd accumulated a number of contacts and friends within different spheres of the left-wing movements in the city. Her unique experience, education, and temperament positioned her well to continue aiding the communities that had been abandoned by their government. Her first job was for the union she'd been a member of during the war, a simple case of wage theft. They hadn't expected a woman to investigate, nor deliver key evidence directly to the police captain as well as every union-sympathizing lawyer she knew. From there, one paid favour led to another, and while the pay was as irregular as the work itself she eventually managed to begin renting out a small office in a squalid district of the city.

Teen Titans: New Beginnings

Always love a reboot.

MEATCHURNER (Grand Sci-Fi, WH40K/Dune inspired)

Yes

Ju-V

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The response to the explosion was swift, more coordinated and disciplined than the startled reaction to the event outside the quarantined area. These guards were practiced and effective; not that anyone put up much of a fight. The explosion had surprised them all.

Sunita's ears continued to ring as she watched the redhead girl escorted away and her victim carried out. She was directed with the others towards their dormitories, their welcome cut short. At this rate they'd all be under indefinite lock-down if the others didn't learn some self-control.

Sunita hurried down the hallway behind the guard, eager to be reunited with her few possessions. They were waiting for her on a small desk in one of the last rooms the man gestured to while attempting to say her family name.

She didn't bother correcting him, instead rushing towards the sticker-ed bag, wallet, and most importantly, her journals.

Except there were only two in what should have been a stack of three. Sunita shuffled between the two notebooks in disbelief before rifling through the other belongings- but the bag was too small and stuffed with clothes to contain anything else. Without any regard for the potential room-mate that had followed her, Sunita pushed her way out of back out to the hallways and began chasing down the security that had guided them.

"There's been a mistake!" She called after him, jogging to catch up. All prior worries of drawing attention had evaporated.

"My book," She said more quietly, with the smile and tone typically reserved for her teachers and elder relatives "One of them is missing, I had three coming in. Simple journals, nothing malicious."

"Approved materials have all been returned. Anything else needs to be taken up with the director." He made a point of leaning down to peer at her. "Nothing will come of it of course. But that's the official channel." And with a stupidly satisfied smile the man returned to his egress.

It shouldn't have mattered really. A dozen people must have read through them already. It would all be fine- she would be fine. But even as she grasped for them, the memories of the pages she'd been reading that morning only drifted further. The excitement of arriving, and all the new people, it had been too distracting for her to have fully memorized. Sunita covered her face with her hands, forcing herself to breathe deeply while willing her heart-rate to subside. A practiced method of falling into a meditative trance, freeing her mind of stresses for a precious few seconds.

When she was ready, her hands pushed back through her hair as she took a final breath and looked up to the ceiling. She would be okay. The worry persisted, but it was clear and focused rather than the panicked anxiety of before. She'd been shown where to find what she was looking for, even if the convenience of means had been taken. It hadn't been so long since she was 15. The memories wouldn't all be beyond reach. She could work to remember. She'd meditate, recall every detail she could of that year, commit it all to perfect memory, and find what she'd missed the first time around.

But that would have to wait, she realized, hearing laughter from the room on her right. Two girls were settling into their new accommodation while she'd once again been standing outside like a silent idiot. Without acknowledging them, Sunita returned to her own room again.

"Oh, hello again." She said, only registering the blonde she'd pushed passed to leave upon her reentry. It was the very same girl she'd interrupted reading- before being interrupted in turn.

"I guess I get a second chance at an introduction." She said with a smile she hoped wasn't too forced as she offered a hand. "I'm Sunita, looks like we'll be roommates."

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