Name: Charly, full name Charlotte Schüttler (Which has long since been forgotten, also, unoriginal I know.)
Sex:F
Age: 25
Height:5'9
Weight:120 pounds
General appearance: Charly
Pupils are often very dilated
Skills: Vehicle Maintenance and modification; Close quarter combat, mainly involving gun play; athletic; Vehicular combat; Skill driver; agile; Stoic.
Stuff they own:
Weaponry - Two Castle Arms PT-740 machine pistols outfitted with laserpointers (groovy); Remington 870 Witness protection; prosecutor MK II apprehension baton*, sharpened tire iron, Tanto combat knife.
Equipment - Dirt Bike which she has named stuttering sally, the bike itself is very old, with the design of it seeming to be earth military type, likely surplus with the age showing through, with the green paintwork finish fading away, exposing parts of the metals which has since became rusted. The engine, mechanical and electronic parts however are very well maintained to the point where they are almost brand new, with the only complaint about the vehicle is that it always stutters on start up, with Charly claiming that it gives it character; Rollout tool bag with various tools, mainly for vehicle maintenance; single PT-740 suppressor; Worn tan haversack; a battery torch; Duel underarm pistol harness, both are fitted with a magazine carrier; rigger belt with several pistol magazine carriers and a large shotgun shell pouch; Music player with shoddy speakers and some decent headphones, music library features classical, Mostly Mozart and Beethoven, and some relaxed electronica, house and new wave; Dried food; water cateen; ten standard issue fifteen round PT-470 40.S&W magazines, six of which are empty; two high capacity thirty round magazines, one of which is empty; exactly twelve shells of twelve gauge, seven are buckshot, three are birdshot and two are slugs; A pure gold minted vintage coin, its her lucky coin and she keeps it close by whenever decisions she considers arbitrary need to be made, liking to put the the responsibility in the hands of fate; And her priced possession, a wooden jewelry lockbox box, patrician in design, its been beautifully engraved all over with a floral pattern and she keeps the key, gold in color around her neck. The contents of the box is a large verity of narcotics, with the box containing opioids, hallucinogens, stimulants, cannabinoids and enough tranquilizers to put a fully grown horse into a coma.
As for clothing, basically this with the gator mask being replaced with khaki shemagh, the pants and boots a bit more ragged. She has a kevlar insert tied onto her chest to protect her from pistol fire.
*Prosecutor MK II apprehension baton is a extending baton which sends pulsating randomized Alpha and Beta waves which induces temporary blindness, disorientation and nausea, in some cases causing the victim to vomit, giving the user enough time to apprehend a suspect or kill them, whatever floats your boat.
Personality:Charly is as dropout as one can be, with her only real goal on the planet of Postapocalyptia is having fun, exploring, doing drugs and occasionally fixing things, basically what she loves most. Shes foul mouthed, hyperactive and pretty jovial around most other vegabonds, acting as the charismatic type with a warm and irradiating smile. She overly kind to her friends due to the communal lifestyle she once lived around, she often engages passionately in conversations when they pop up, often a little too passionately and sports a dark sense of humor and a brutal apparent love all things mechanical and firearm related. Shes also strangely benevolent and arbitrary, with her having a liking to put decisions to the the flip of a coin, claiming that shes putting it to fate, rather than put any thought into it herself. However, when you hang around with her long enough the cracks begin to show. Due to her rampant drug use, shes incredibly unhinged and suffers from psychosis and mild Schizophrenia, mainly revolving around auditory hallucinations. Thanks to this, she can seem very removed and become very distracted from whats around her at times, with sporting something similar to the thousand year stare, as she is haunted by bad decisions in her past, one of the reasons she frequently uses drugs. She also particularly paranoid, fearful of UNSEC and Gazprom and generally not trusting people around her personal property which is a bit ironic for someone who comes from a group of thieves and who'd willingly give it out anyway if one asked, which begs the question if its got more to do with her space being violated than her actual property. She can also snap at a moments notice, just as if one was flipping a light switch, turning her jovial nature to a particularly violent one like the strange case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde, a mood in which she has little stopping her from attempting to scramble ones brain with a 40S&W round, becoming overly violent towards her enemies. Its a mood which she deeply disdains going into however, with her generally feeling like total shit emotionally coming out of it.
Traits, quirks, habits:She uses Cunihal a lot, likes to smoke weed, hash and cigarettes, occasionally twitches and fiddles with key around her neck. Also, don't allow her near other peoples vehicles, chances are she'll end up tearing the thing part for salvageable parts.
Likes:Guns, drugs, smokes, Beethoven, Mozart, action, explosions, cars, bikes, trucks etc, fixing things, Jerry rigging things, happy go lucky type people, partying, dancing, particularly when high and listening to symphony No. 40 in G minor.
Dislikes:Downers, authority figures, UNSEC, Gazprom, getting her ass handed to her, the radio presenter that constantly keeps going on about the weather and recent deaths, overbearing conservatives, religious fanatics.
Reason for becoming a Vagabond:Jolly adventure and cooperation.
Bio:Charly doesn't remember much about her murky younger years, with the only thing she knows about the past is what she was told by the people that knew it better than she did, which according to them her family had came from European nation somewhere in the hopes of getting rich and living like kings and queens, all which would be achieved in their minds from the timonium craze that blew up on the planet of rigel-3 by stupidly signing on with the first company that offered them, unskilled workers with little job prospects, such a chance, and like the sheep they where, they merrily hoped aboard the first shuttle there, unaware what they had just sold themselves into through a signature on a small piece of paper. Not that they matter much to Charly's life story, as her mother died in child birth bringing her into this wonderful cesspool, and her father got blown to pieces after the gravitational flux when his home made explosive that he intended to use during the coup d'état against whatever corporation he had signed on with detonated a little prematurely, earning him his long deserved Darwin award which had eluded him one too many times before. And that's that, no brothers or sisters for her to fight with, as they never lived long enough to produce anymore, an only child, luckily for the gene pool as some would say. She was taken in by friends of her fathers shortly after he became vaporized and eventually found an entirely new surrogate family among them. The dropouts, a group of seventy vehicles strong drove by a group of twenty something speed freak junkies, if you could call such degenerates family. As a result she largely raised herself when on the move, being taught how to live, read, write, count, cook and fight whenever someone wasn't too fucked out of their heads to teach her. She experienced her first high at twelve, got her first bike at fourteen and experience her first firefight at fifteen. And she lived that life proudly, drifting from place to place, town to town, desert to desert, meeting new people and occasionally fighting them, causing trouble, getting hassled by the law and partying like their was no tomorrow. All whilst experiencing the many horrid sights that rigel-3 or Postapocalyptia, the much better suiting name, had to offer whilst cranked out on a hit of Cunihal, which would turn just about everything around you into a modern art master piece. It was fun, she enjoyed it, the adventure, the drugs, the booze,the women, fights and the driving. What more could she ask for but to ride with the warriors? to fight bravely against those who posed a threat to them? Something that became a reality for her when she reached the ripe age of twenty.
She served among them with pride and pure overzealous joy like a soldier fighting proudly for his nation, or in this case, her freedom to do what the fuck they pleased. They fought off unsavory bandits, dismantled their convoys piece by piece for scrap and they rode ahead at the front as forward scouts, which meant little dust to kick up onto your face, it was pure bliss, almost better than just about any high that one could get, almost. But that for her would only last a few more years, with her luckily streak coming to an end. One day, in the early months of the year in which she turned twenty four, the scouts got ambushed, and in the chaotic moment where everything got set ablaze (Not an exaggeration, they had a flamethrower) she became separated from the group, routing away from the chaotic firefight as her friends got turned into human torches, ending up in the vast desert alone, with nothing more than the belongings on her back, her guns and her trusty old bike stuttering sally. She tried her hardest regroup but to no avail, following just about every single tire track leading to nowhere in a moment of dump hope, panicking at the though of never seeing her family and friends again. Eventually,her bike stuttered and sputtered to a halt as the juice that filled the tank ran dry. But as if fate was guiding her, she found a small bum fuck settlement in the middle of nowhere, as it was a message for her to become the very thing she hated, settled and domesticated, something she had no interest in. But with nothing of real value aside from her prize possessions to trade with the villagers in exchange for gas, who where slyly trying to con a desperate women out of everything she had, who knew fine well the types that she was running with. So it seemed like she was just going to have to play house for a bit, with put her mechanical skills to work for a very unfair trade. She worked their for a few months with the promise of all the fuel she could carry, with the deal only supposed to last a few weeks that they kept putting off, so, instead of going absolutely psycho and cause some trouble like she normally would, she eventually just put the decision to rob or not to rob the assholes blind to her lucky coin, and luckily for both her and her unhinged persona, it landed on the former. During the night, she took everything she could possibly carry before disappearing off into the desert once more, this time alone and without any sort of goal, she wandered all over, playing it save for a few months, moving from town to town offering to fix just about everything excluding broken relationships and unwanted pregnancies for gas, all whilst getting treated like shit from the locals due to it being brutally obvious that she was a drop out and feeling guilty for "bailing" away from her friends during that very heated moment, sporting a sort of survivors guilt made worse by her psychosis and mild schizophrenia which she tries her best to self medicate away with the very things that played a part in making her like that, essentially throwing the entire Jerry can of fuel onto the fire in an attempt to put it out, something that really isn't working.
Sex:F
Age: 25
Height:5'9
Weight:120 pounds
General appearance: Charly
Pupils are often very dilated
Skills: Vehicle Maintenance and modification; Close quarter combat, mainly involving gun play; athletic; Vehicular combat; Skill driver; agile; Stoic.
Stuff they own:
Weaponry - Two Castle Arms PT-740 machine pistols outfitted with laserpointers (groovy); Remington 870 Witness protection; prosecutor MK II apprehension baton*, sharpened tire iron, Tanto combat knife.
Equipment - Dirt Bike which she has named stuttering sally, the bike itself is very old, with the design of it seeming to be earth military type, likely surplus with the age showing through, with the green paintwork finish fading away, exposing parts of the metals which has since became rusted. The engine, mechanical and electronic parts however are very well maintained to the point where they are almost brand new, with the only complaint about the vehicle is that it always stutters on start up, with Charly claiming that it gives it character; Rollout tool bag with various tools, mainly for vehicle maintenance; single PT-740 suppressor; Worn tan haversack; a battery torch; Duel underarm pistol harness, both are fitted with a magazine carrier; rigger belt with several pistol magazine carriers and a large shotgun shell pouch; Music player with shoddy speakers and some decent headphones, music library features classical, Mostly Mozart and Beethoven, and some relaxed electronica, house and new wave; Dried food; water cateen; ten standard issue fifteen round PT-470 40.S&W magazines, six of which are empty; two high capacity thirty round magazines, one of which is empty; exactly twelve shells of twelve gauge, seven are buckshot, three are birdshot and two are slugs; A pure gold minted vintage coin, its her lucky coin and she keeps it close by whenever decisions she considers arbitrary need to be made, liking to put the the responsibility in the hands of fate; And her priced possession, a wooden jewelry lockbox box, patrician in design, its been beautifully engraved all over with a floral pattern and she keeps the key, gold in color around her neck. The contents of the box is a large verity of narcotics, with the box containing opioids, hallucinogens, stimulants, cannabinoids and enough tranquilizers to put a fully grown horse into a coma.
As for clothing, basically this with the gator mask being replaced with khaki shemagh, the pants and boots a bit more ragged. She has a kevlar insert tied onto her chest to protect her from pistol fire.
*Prosecutor MK II apprehension baton is a extending baton which sends pulsating randomized Alpha and Beta waves which induces temporary blindness, disorientation and nausea, in some cases causing the victim to vomit, giving the user enough time to apprehend a suspect or kill them, whatever floats your boat.
Personality:Charly is as dropout as one can be, with her only real goal on the planet of Postapocalyptia is having fun, exploring, doing drugs and occasionally fixing things, basically what she loves most. Shes foul mouthed, hyperactive and pretty jovial around most other vegabonds, acting as the charismatic type with a warm and irradiating smile. She overly kind to her friends due to the communal lifestyle she once lived around, she often engages passionately in conversations when they pop up, often a little too passionately and sports a dark sense of humor and a brutal apparent love all things mechanical and firearm related. Shes also strangely benevolent and arbitrary, with her having a liking to put decisions to the the flip of a coin, claiming that shes putting it to fate, rather than put any thought into it herself. However, when you hang around with her long enough the cracks begin to show. Due to her rampant drug use, shes incredibly unhinged and suffers from psychosis and mild Schizophrenia, mainly revolving around auditory hallucinations. Thanks to this, she can seem very removed and become very distracted from whats around her at times, with sporting something similar to the thousand year stare, as she is haunted by bad decisions in her past, one of the reasons she frequently uses drugs. She also particularly paranoid, fearful of UNSEC and Gazprom and generally not trusting people around her personal property which is a bit ironic for someone who comes from a group of thieves and who'd willingly give it out anyway if one asked, which begs the question if its got more to do with her space being violated than her actual property. She can also snap at a moments notice, just as if one was flipping a light switch, turning her jovial nature to a particularly violent one like the strange case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde, a mood in which she has little stopping her from attempting to scramble ones brain with a 40S&W round, becoming overly violent towards her enemies. Its a mood which she deeply disdains going into however, with her generally feeling like total shit emotionally coming out of it.
Traits, quirks, habits:She uses Cunihal a lot, likes to smoke weed, hash and cigarettes, occasionally twitches and fiddles with key around her neck. Also, don't allow her near other peoples vehicles, chances are she'll end up tearing the thing part for salvageable parts.
Likes:Guns, drugs, smokes, Beethoven, Mozart, action, explosions, cars, bikes, trucks etc, fixing things, Jerry rigging things, happy go lucky type people, partying, dancing, particularly when high and listening to symphony No. 40 in G minor.
Dislikes:Downers, authority figures, UNSEC, Gazprom, getting her ass handed to her, the radio presenter that constantly keeps going on about the weather and recent deaths, overbearing conservatives, religious fanatics.
Reason for becoming a Vagabond:Jolly adventure and cooperation.
Bio:Charly doesn't remember much about her murky younger years, with the only thing she knows about the past is what she was told by the people that knew it better than she did, which according to them her family had came from European nation somewhere in the hopes of getting rich and living like kings and queens, all which would be achieved in their minds from the timonium craze that blew up on the planet of rigel-3 by stupidly signing on with the first company that offered them, unskilled workers with little job prospects, such a chance, and like the sheep they where, they merrily hoped aboard the first shuttle there, unaware what they had just sold themselves into through a signature on a small piece of paper. Not that they matter much to Charly's life story, as her mother died in child birth bringing her into this wonderful cesspool, and her father got blown to pieces after the gravitational flux when his home made explosive that he intended to use during the coup d'état against whatever corporation he had signed on with detonated a little prematurely, earning him his long deserved Darwin award which had eluded him one too many times before. And that's that, no brothers or sisters for her to fight with, as they never lived long enough to produce anymore, an only child, luckily for the gene pool as some would say. She was taken in by friends of her fathers shortly after he became vaporized and eventually found an entirely new surrogate family among them. The dropouts, a group of seventy vehicles strong drove by a group of twenty something speed freak junkies, if you could call such degenerates family. As a result she largely raised herself when on the move, being taught how to live, read, write, count, cook and fight whenever someone wasn't too fucked out of their heads to teach her. She experienced her first high at twelve, got her first bike at fourteen and experience her first firefight at fifteen. And she lived that life proudly, drifting from place to place, town to town, desert to desert, meeting new people and occasionally fighting them, causing trouble, getting hassled by the law and partying like their was no tomorrow. All whilst experiencing the many horrid sights that rigel-3 or Postapocalyptia, the much better suiting name, had to offer whilst cranked out on a hit of Cunihal, which would turn just about everything around you into a modern art master piece. It was fun, she enjoyed it, the adventure, the drugs, the booze,
She served among them with pride and pure overzealous joy like a soldier fighting proudly for his nation, or in this case, her freedom to do what the fuck they pleased. They fought off unsavory bandits, dismantled their convoys piece by piece for scrap and they rode ahead at the front as forward scouts, which meant little dust to kick up onto your face, it was pure bliss, almost better than just about any high that one could get, almost. But that for her would only last a few more years, with her luckily streak coming to an end. One day, in the early months of the year in which she turned twenty four, the scouts got ambushed, and in the chaotic moment where everything got set ablaze (Not an exaggeration, they had a flamethrower) she became separated from the group, routing away from the chaotic firefight as her friends got turned into human torches, ending up in the vast desert alone, with nothing more than the belongings on her back, her guns and her trusty old bike stuttering sally. She tried her hardest regroup but to no avail, following just about every single tire track leading to nowhere in a moment of dump hope, panicking at the though of never seeing her family and friends again. Eventually,her bike stuttered and sputtered to a halt as the juice that filled the tank ran dry. But as if fate was guiding her, she found a small bum fuck settlement in the middle of nowhere, as it was a message for her to become the very thing she hated, settled and domesticated, something she had no interest in. But with nothing of real value aside from her prize possessions to trade with the villagers in exchange for gas, who where slyly trying to con a desperate women out of everything she had, who knew fine well the types that she was running with. So it seemed like she was just going to have to play house for a bit, with put her mechanical skills to work for a very unfair trade. She worked their for a few months with the promise of all the fuel she could carry, with the deal only supposed to last a few weeks that they kept putting off, so, instead of going absolutely psycho and cause some trouble like she normally would, she eventually just put the decision to rob or not to rob the assholes blind to her lucky coin, and luckily for both her and her unhinged persona, it landed on the former. During the night, she took everything she could possibly carry before disappearing off into the desert once more, this time alone and without any sort of goal, she wandered all over, playing it save for a few months, moving from town to town offering to fix just about everything excluding broken relationships and unwanted pregnancies for gas, all whilst getting treated like shit from the locals due to it being brutally obvious that she was a drop out and feeling guilty for "bailing" away from her friends during that very heated moment, sporting a sort of survivors guilt made worse by her psychosis and mild schizophrenia which she tries her best to self medicate away with the very things that played a part in making her like that, essentially throwing the entire Jerry can of fuel onto the fire in an attempt to put it out, something that really isn't working.
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