Introduction of myself and my char.

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« on: <02-21-11/1435:07> »
Just registered here. Figured I'd say hi and make myself known a bit by posting the background of the first SR character I made, Elf Face character... still the type I love playing the most.
(Botched the ending really, was too anxious to start playing.)

October 15th 2010:
A little baby girl is born 3 weeks late in a Washington hospital after doctors decide it's been far too long and administered some drugs to start contraptions. Her parents are relieved that their child isn't one of those mutant abominations that seem to be born all around the world.

A dozen or so years pass; even at her early age it is obvious that she will grow up to be a good looking girl. No sign of the widespread obesitas that's so common for the American people, her natural slenderness stronger than the fat and sugar in the American food. Her parents know why of course. Even though she probably could pass as a Caucasian -like her father- she had inherited much from her mother's Asian genes. Her grandmother and grandfather from her mother's side had met when the latter was stationed in Japan some 40 years ago and the woman had followed him to America when he returned.
Her looks could easily be explained by this bit of Asian blood; deep and dark eyes, fine, long and straight black  hair, skin slightly different, than that of ordinary "white" people -in that its skin complexity seemed smoother, cleaner and perhaps a bit more white than that of "white" folks themselves- different in the way that her skin naturally was what most other women spent hundreds of dollars on beauty creams for.
She was too young still to care about all the political changes in the world; she caught some of the news of course, the founding of Aztlan something far away from her life. The part of the Goblinization (which she found a funny word and reminded her of stories about knights and wizards) which had most impact on her life wasn't that of people suddenly mutating. It was the reaction of her parents -especially her father- that left the deepest imprint of that time. He hated "those hideous freaks". He also hated elves and dwarves of course, and Mexicans, black people, native Americans or any other race than "decent white folk", making a small exception of course for Japanese, as long as they accepted a normal life-style (which to him meant burgers, steak and BBQ instead of "foreign crap" like sushi or seaweed).

The crash of '29 did have an impact on the life of the young lady of course. Large part of her social life was found online on tons of different websites, chat rooms, profile pages, blogs and the likes. Everything was erased, it sucked, sucked hard, seemed like her life was ruined; but that was then, looking back now it hardly seems mentioning.

A year later, she became an official citizen of the UCAS, member of a somewhat respected family too; her dad had joined some hate-group years ago (as a teen, she'd done everything she could to distance herself from and rebel against her parents, so whatever its real name was, to her it was just named hate-group) and now he held somewhat of a high function in that group, and that group had some lobbying ties into politics.
How that had happened she didn't know for sure, but she wasn't stupid. She had learned that her father worked for the government, something shady but with the right connections. He probably pulled some strings here and there, and there was no doubt that the group, officially a citizen's lobby to influence the government, was actually a government group trying to influence the public.

Herself, she was doing pretty well, social life back up to speed; head cheerleader -she was really good at gymnastics-, prom queen, most popular girl and all that. She was going to be an actrice, had everything going for her. Head of her class in acting, good looking, not stupid but not too smart to figure out that the whole acting world wasn't all that friendly and swimming with sharks waiting for some cute young actress to come along. She had her dreams, hopes and the means of achieving it.

Skip forward a couple of years (and a lot of changes):
Screw acting; a bunch of horny old man willing to possibly advance your career provided you're willing to lie on your back. Not that this really was a problem; she'd done a lot of experimenting back in school: drugs, alcohol, guys, girls, metahumans, the works... More often than not sex with some random person had been either payment for or result of an intoxicated evening. She knew how to use her charm (and body) to get what she wanted, but in the movie business she lacked the connections to get anywhere higher up... unlike in another branch of business.

Career day:
Looking back, she still wasn't certain how the hell she had gotten there. Maybe her father had disliked her (failing) career choice and had pulled some strings. Maybe they just figured she must be a "true American patriot" (being her father's child after all). Maybe they found her fitting the right profile. Maybe, probably, a combination of those... or something else entirely.
Whatever the cause, they arrived at just the right time. After another few months and large amount of failed auditions, she'd run out of hope, motivation and almost out of cash. And just then they contacted her. Back when she was born they might have been called CIA or something, right now they didn't really have a name -or they had a lot of them, depending on who you asked. They offered her a job, perfectly tailored to her, it seemed they everything about her. She'd have some -it turned out to be lots of and intense- training of course, and then be sent out on a mission. The pay was good (mild understatement there, it was excellent), even in training. Some nice bonuses to be earned too. Above all those reasons though, she was damned bored of what was going on in her life now and this seemed a perfect escape.

So she further honed her skills. Deceit and manipulation already was a second nature, learning how to be stealthy came easy to her agile body, guns were different but she seemed a natural and through them found a way to vent a lot of life's frustrations that had built in her throughout the year. Taught to her also was recognizing, anticipating and avoiding all kinds of security and how to handle and conceal a whole bunch of equipment that seemed to have been invented for some Bond movie but only now actually was built.
And so the training passed and the final briefing and preparation of the mission was reached.
The target was a corporation that had quickly been growing in power and influence, Fuchi Industrial Electronics. It had a long and troubled past and things had recently become worse with the deaths of 2 of its major shareholders, leaving only 1 left, who then went into business with some Japanese investors who were no doubt connected with the Yakuza. This fact combined with their growing technological influence in the UCAS, troubled national security who saw through this a barely-covered attempt at world-scale espionage by the Japanese mobsters and their newly acquired triple-A company.
She was to infiltrate and gain trust through any means necessary (she knew what they meant by that just by the looks they threw at her body), climb ladders and send any information about their current projects, management and whatever else she could get her hands on back to the UCAS.
Her true identity would vanish from the records (they were the state itself after all), a new one created along with some other top-of-the-line fake SINs (If the state itself creates them, are they still fake?) and accounts for her to use when she made contact and to use whenever she needed something her new environment probably shouldn't be aware of. She had already learned herself that, despite her very memorable looks, with just a small touch of makeup and a different hairstyle, she could easily pass for a full blooded Japanese.
She hesitated and was about to refuse the whole deal -her whole life would be gone after all, with no way to turn back-, when they told her things had already been set in motion. They had added her to the passenger list of a crashed airliner two months ago and already didn't exist anymore. The job hadn't even started and already she had been screwed.
Nothing else to choose from, she reluctantly started her mission.

Through some guy who called himself a business liaison but was nothing more but a very expensive pimp to the high and mighty, she was sold as a geisha to a lower manager of Fushi, of whom it was known he'd travel back to Japan shortly.
She knew their culture, powerful men needed beautiful mistresses, not to have one, or five, was a sign of weakness. Though officially a secret part of their lives, much effort was made to ensure these women had everything they could dream off. Only the most rich and powerful got the most beautiful women and had the wealth to pay for their high upkeep. She was the most beautiful, most obedient (kinkiest too it was whispered after a while) most desired.
<FAST SPEED> Getting him to like her wasn't difficult, getting him to trust her not required, he wasn't high enough. So she travelled to Japan, the chump boasted about her to some higher-ups, she manipulated them; they introduced her to some even a bit higher, and seduced them.
Quickly she rose through the ranks, passed along like some luxurious item all of them coveted but no one could keep from those above them.  She used her status (which was linked to that of her owner and thus not without power) to make contacts, asked around innocently, got men to brag about their power, achievements and plans, used their trust to access restricted places and information and used stealth and manipulation to get to those trust couldn't get her. Some of this info she sent back home, other she used to gain trust or as currency, a little she kept as insurance.
She had all the luxury anyone could dream of, countless gifts from her many admirers and a good amount of money from the UCAS. 5 years after she had begun this mission, she  considered it all a game, one she was really good at, but she realized too late how lethal a game it could be.

Only about a year after the event, after a lot of bribes and legwork and even a whole lot more secrecy, had she figured out how exactly had happened that evening on February 17th 2041.
She'd been sold out.
Fuchi had suspected a mole for a while now and on the other side the UCAS realized it was risking a lot in a fight is was probably going to lose considering the corporations international successes. They struck a deal; part of the price the UCAS paid, was her.
So they found her -not that it wasn't easy, she had just arrived from a shopping spree downtown Tokyo and was getting dressed for dinner with the man who'd owned her the past 3 months, Fuchi's second in command, the right hand of its CEO- and took her.
A couple of corporate hired henchmen surprised her, knocked her out, drugged her and took her. After waking, she was beaten, kicked and treated to all sorts of things men can do to harm a woman until she passed out. When she woke, it didn't take long before it started all over again... That lasted a day or 4, but time's really hard to tell when it's spent sedated or unconscious. After that, it got worse quickly -her being stabbed a couple of times under the supervision of her current owner- before it ended abruptly -her being shot 3 times by that current owner- and ended when she was thrown off of the balcony of a villa somewhere on the Japanese coast.
That last part was a bit stupid, must have been a thing of the moment, a wanting for revenge for her betrayal. Her body, even after all the beatings, would probably be recognized and she had known all sorts of people, many of them of the kind that would investigate when someone who had information on them suddenly turned up dead. A search was started when they realized this mistake, her body was never found. They followed standard protocol in these situations, because it was effective. Tapped police, intelligence and security lines, pushed some known contacts and
shadowed some others for a couple of weeks, put eyes at borders, airports and harbors, bribe some officials, spread some fake story. The search lasted for 6 nervous months, nothing turned up, no one problems followed, she was dead.

To be continued...


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« Reply #1 on: <02-21-11/1436:16> »
I speak of myself in third person there, because that girl and that woman isn't me anymore, in fact I don't think they ever really were me, but I'll get into that later. Needless to say, I'll never mention the names of those dead people. Neither could you ever find them  yourselves. If their records were ever kept by the UCAS of Fuchi -which I doubt- they were erased the days the geisha was murdered and even if that hadn't happened, Matrix Crash 2.0 in 2059 certainly took care of that for them.

It's hard to remember what woke me up that first time, maybe a reaction to the seawater that was filling my lungs, maybe the scraping of the coast's rocks against my already torn skin, maybe it was magic.
I'm a good liar, no really I am, practice makes perfect and I'd had practice as long as I could remember. Do you know how difficult it is to spend your whole life lying to yourself, the first 31 years of your life living in self denial? Denying, no, actively resisting and pushing back, who and what you are? And for what? My father? Damned racist sonofabitch, never even liked him, even as a child. Thinking on it, that was probably instinctive, because I knew he hated me, or would if he knew the real me, the me which he or my mom or my best friends never knew. Gets under my skin every time I think about how never allowed myself to be myself back then, even now, so many years later. Stupid little human girl, begone. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

So I woke, the few scrapes left of my clothes pink now, blood and water. Bleeding, I dragged myself further on the shore over the sharp rocks, the few extra cuts didn't really matter compared to the -I counted, my finger touching every bloody hole in my body- 5 stab wounds and 3 gunshot wounds, plus 3 for the exit wounds, minus 1 because one of the bullets had entered my body through an open stab wound. I was in bad shape, amazed to be alive, realizing that if nothing happened soon, I wouldn't be for much longer.
I took a few deep breaths and tried to focus my thoughts. A jolt, like but unlike electricity, shot across my spine through my body. I knew it, I had felt it occasionally for my whole life and had blocked and pushed it back until it stopped pulsing every one of those times. Not this time, fuck it. No more lying, no more hiding, no more denying, time to be me. The jolt seemed to halt for a while, tingling in the back of my neck as if testing to see if I'd block it out this time too, but when it felt no resistance it sent a surge throughout my body. It was a bit painful, but considering I'd just been stabbed and shot repeatedly, I couldn't complain. Asides from the short pain, I felt two other things which seemed had to be dealt with quickly.
For one, I had a whole lot more energy in my body, as if I'd just had a shot of adrenaline.
Second, I felt that this jolt had been just a small tremor, a prelude to the earthquake that would soon follow. I thanked myself for the much needed energy and cursed myself for the warning of an impending surge of which I was certain in my lousy condition would knock me out cold again.

So I harnessed all of the energy I had in me, forced myself up, fell down, forced myself up again and half stumbling, half crawling moved my way along the small strip of rocks that formed this beach. The high rocky cliffs upon which a bunch of luxurious villas were built blocked my path inland; a small stairway carved in the rock and leading up would bring me straight into the backyard of the villa I'd just been tossed out, so that wasn't an option.

After a mile or two, I was about to give up and die when I came upon another rocky stairway up, probably towards another rich man's villa. I didn't have much choice but to try my luck. I doubted I had enough energy to climb the stairs, but between that or dying, I might as well give it a try, the second option would be just as available on the stairs (or backyard if I made it) as on the beach. I made it upstairs and looked around, seeing the world through a red mist, fully aware that I'd collapse any second now. No one in the backyard, no lights in the house. I considered my options again; dying seemed the easiest but I considered it that plan B. Break into the house: find the bathroom, get some bandages and disinfectant, sleep on a soft bed... trigger the alarm trying to break in, die. Calling an ambulance wasn't an option neither, with SIN I'd be tracked down and killed before they could start stitching me up, SINless they wouldn't even pick me up and just let me bleed to death there.
Only option left: the shed across the garden. Considering there didn't appear to be any motion sensors in the backyard, it was possible there wasn't an alarm on it. People bold enough to try and break into the summerhouse of the kind of men that owned these villas, weren't after their lawnmowers or other garden equipment. I checked the door, locked; checked the small windows and one of them was opened, standing in tilt position, its handle inside pointing upwards.
Thank heavens for my slim arms. I managed to move the handle into a horizontal position; the force required partly broke the mechanism of its hinges, but after I had climbed in I could easily set the window to seem undamaged unless they tested it manually. Inside, I looked around for anything that could improve my situation, grabbed some oil-stained pieces of cloth lying on a small workbench, then tossed them as I found a stack of colorful beach towels. I spotted a small canister of gasoline and suddenly remembered some old movie they'd showed in cinematic-history class in acting school. Rambo I think, might've been Terminator, or Die Hard too, the hero pouring the stuff into his wounds and then lighting it for disinfection. I'd have smiled if I wasn't hurting so much, it seemed a century ago, I probably remembered wrongly and even then, I wasn't about to light myself on fire. In the workbench's drawers I found some tools and tore apart one of the towels, folded the shreds like you would a compress, pressed them against my wounds and secured them there with some duct tape. I wrapped the remaining ones tightly around my body, some more duct tape for good measure, and let myself collapse in an empty corner, slumped down with my back against the wall.

For a short moment, nothing else to do but to wait for sleep or death, I considered something which I only now had time to notice: I could see pretty damned well in this low light condition; the moon and stars outside mostly blocked by clouds, of that sparse light only a small part could enter this tool shed through three small curtained windows barely big enough for me to crawl through, yet I hadn't stopped one moment to consider searching for a light switch or a flashlight.
I would've drawn some conclusion too, if not for the sudden reappearance of that jolt along my spine. I realized the instant before it struck me that I wouldn't stay conscious as this thing would surge through me. I gave myself  a 20% chance of surviving this night, not too bad all things considering...
I could always die of infection later.

That didn't happen. I woke seeing the moon through the small window across me. Couldn't be the same night, must be the next. I tried standing but a sudden pain flashed through my body to remind me of my condition and knocked me out again.

Next day I woke around noon, sunlight shining in, a couple of rays warming my feet. This time my head was clearer and I remembered my condition, the throbbing muscles, aching skin and formerly-colorful-but-now-all-red towels wrapped around me were a pretty good hint. I was thirsty and hungry, which were good signs of recovery according to doctors and nurses in hospital TV-shows.
Not ready to try standing up just yet, I decided to check my wounds. As I unfolded the towel about my upper body, I realized it didn't hurt all that much. I'd been beaten up before by some of my previous owners who got a kick out of that sort of thing, and this didn't feel much worse. I continued the unfolding, removed the easiest to reach compress, a bullet wound in my belly and looked at the wound. Or the lack thereof. No bleeding gaping hole in my body, the wound looked as if I had scratched myself there a few days ago, had treated it properly, and now had a new layer of light pink flesh closing it. Shocked and in disbelief I tried for another one, a stab wound a few inches to the right and found the same there.
I carefully proceeded my examination, my muscles burning with every movement in every limb and saw all my wounds were gone. For a time I sat there in shock, laughing one time then crying a second only to resume laughing. What. The. F*ck.

Disregarding the option of having used some enchanted beach towels or having been saved by some magical fairy or guardian angel, only one option remained: I had Awakened.
I'd known for over two decades that I wasn't what my father considered "normal", so I'd fought back against everything inside me that didn't fit in the family picture.
No more. That girl had died in a plane crash almost 6 years ago. The woman that had taken her place, too, had died last night.
I had Awakened, I had magic, whatever the hell that meant to me. Somehow this had saved my life, but I can't say I knew enough about magic to understand how.
This blockade removed from my cerebral cortex, another truth I'd been denying also became undeniable to me: I wasn't human. Couldn't be. Always too pretty, too agile, too fair skinned, too slender, always shrugged it away. In college I had overheard some elves talking in their strange language and though I couldn't understand it, I felt that I should and had stood mesmerized by those sounds, but I shrugged it away.
Never really liked those American burgers and steak neither... I liked sushi, like to sometimes try something new but spent most of my diet as a vegetarian.

I was so tired of lying to myself, so tired of this-denial, the little girl was dead, the spy was dead, the obedient geisha was dead. I was none of those, I was an elf, a magical tree hugging fucking elf. I loved it.It was as if a weight were lifted off my shoulders and manacles removed from my wrists. A never felt before freedom took hold of me, though I forced myself to rest. I found a small bottle of water in the shed and drank it slowly as the day turned again into night, resting my body but stressing my mind, trying to think of how to get out and stay alive.
The answer was obvious. No doubt the people of Fuchi had been searching for me and not having found my body, they would still be looking. They would contact the UCAS too, I used to be their employee after all, they knew some of my contacts and safehouses.
Good thing was, the UCAS would be looking for a Caucasian women that might look somewhat Asian and all the people Fuchi would send looking for me were looking for a heavily injured Japanese women. No one was looking for some elf.
So I felt reasonably safe after I cleaned myself up a bit. Clothes were a problem and I didn't want to risk my chances with the house's alarm system. So I set myself to work on the remains of my clothes and towels and created me the worst dress ever made, leaving more of my body naked than dressed. It'd have to do. I braided my hair, styled it to draw more attention to the slightly different shape of my ears and the slimness of my neck, intertwined some colorful shreds of cloth in the braids and laughed at the reflection I saw of myself in the polished bottom of a paint can. The difference from the luxurious geisha that died 2 days ago couldn't be more different, I looked like the homeless stray elf that I was now.

What little remained of bloodstained cloth, I piled up on the beach, covered with gasoline and torched. I sat there a short while, watching the last of my past lives burn, then picked myself and went for the road.
The elves' reputation had exceeded myself, some hot female hippy elf in ragged clothes hitchhiking at the side of the road wasn't really all that strange nowadays, and who knew if the helpful driver could collect a reward. So I hitched a ride but gave no reward, that would've been too easily remembered and bragged about in a bar, someone might've taken interest in a woman hitching in that area at that time.

Figuring out what had happened and the reason for it took a long time, mostly because I had all the time in the world -elves could live for centuries I had just realized- and I wanted to be very careful.
Along the years I'd made preparations neither UCAS or Fuchi knew about, just in case you know. Other identities I'd bought, accounts I'd opened, filled with money I had saved from both the UCAS payments and the Japanese gifts, all laundered of course and passed through too many accounts to be traceable. I'd made some contacts too, it had been a bit trickier and riskier, but no one recognized me. When I had dealt with them before, in my previous identity, I'd offered to put in a few good words with some business associates of mine as thanks for their correct dealings and now I was a friend of a brother of an associate who heard through the grapevine that here's where things and info could be bought.
So after a year I found out what happened, knew who set me up, knew I couldn't get back at them and knew that they were powerful enemies that best keep considering me dead.
So I lay low and left the country, time to start a new life... my third if I counted correctly.

So that's most of the story that tells what made me who I am today, I suppose. Afterwards follow 29 and a half years I'm not going to bore you with in detail, because there isn't much to tell.
First travelled to Tír na nÓg, where I finally learned something real about my race, learned the language -picked up a whole bunch of others on theway there too-, learned to understand our language, the freedom of our race and the way of my magic. That last one not as impressive as I'd hoped -I couldn't brainwash or turn people into zombies with my spells, but then again I never needed spells for that anyways- but learned what had happened that day when I'd died my second death. For 31 years I'd been blocking what was inside me, but truth is that there's no stopping what's there. So it was preserved and when the moment came when I was too weak and unwilling to block it, the magic I'd bottled up had shot through every little bit of flesh, bone and blood in my body. Too much for me to control, it had taken its own course, fixed me and what I couldn't use at that moment vanished.
The magic in me now, my "normal magic" -which felt funny because I'd always been told how abnormal it was- as they called it, wasn't nearly that powerful; I didn't have the regeneration powers of some super troll or such, that had been a once in a lifetime stroke of luck, it did however give me a far more than usual control over my body. I learned to become aware of every single muscle and nerve and to control each and every one of them. See, normal humans or even metahumans have a lot of small uncontrolled reflexes like eyes narrowing, lip, chin and limb movement whenever they experience any kind of emotion. I on the other hand could now not only understand and control mine, because of this supernatural understanding and awareness I could easily read that of others too.
Asides from great fun at poker nights, the same control of my reflexes allowed for quicker and more precise movement when the need for reflexes arrived too. Another change I discovered was the control of my vocal chords, allowing me to throw sounds from any direction and in a tone, pitch and volume the combined repertoire of Pavarotti, Prince and Barry White would be nothing against...

So I enjoyed my stay for a few years and then grew restless. I'm a city type of girl you know. Not to mention the fact that this was probably the only place in the world where my type of beauty wasn't all that special. I was still among the best looking, but there were others that could match my looks and that thought stabbed me. My looks are all I have you know!
So I left, a gorgeous woman -I'd decided to hide my elven blood again and started a new human identity- and travelled around. I'd enough money to spend a lifetime I figurered, for a moment forgetting again that my lifetime was probably going to be much longer than a human's. So the years passed, technology advanced, my identitiy changed about as often as I changed my underwear -and I've a very good  personal hygiene thank you very much-, I enjoyed life without duties or restrictions.
I doubt anyone who'd known the me-I-never-really-was still is in business today. Most died from 'natural causes' -if not from old age then a knife of bullet through the heart is naturally a way to die- others died in freak accidents, hostile takeover rapidly becoming more hostile than ever. The ones that haven't died would be retired now, and if they'd ever pause to look back and doubt that I had died, they'd think of me being an old woman now, retired as well, all fangs removed. I let it pass. Just knowing I'd outlive them all, forever young, was enough to satisfy the feeling of revenge that had almost faded into nothingness throughout the years.
I blew most of my cash too quickly, having almost grown to consider it an infinite resource. Got some pretty nice upgrades, didn't need plastic surgery to have looks that filled any woman with envy, so spent it on gimmicks like synthetic pheremones, ear- and eye-enhancements,  -never was I going to caught pants down and violated the way that dead geisha had been-, fiberoptic hair, the works.


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« Reply #2 on: <02-21-11/1436:39> »
In the late sixties my cash was running low and I had a lifestyle to maintain you know.
Then again, I've always been pretty good at faking to be what I'm not and never really spend all that much time in my home or bed anyways.So I asked around, found a friendly bartender named James Porter who knew people who knew some people. I had no illusions about his loyalties to me, from the way he talked it seemed like he knew a lot more people than I did, so I was sparse with the information I gave him and asked me to get back to me. That got me my job as an “exotic dancer”. Hours and pay were decent, especially after my boss there learned how much I could earn; they pretty much let me do my thing there, scheduling me when I felt like it and giving me a some time off when I needed it.
They probably guessed I was a prostitute or escort girl outside of my hours there and they guessed it right. After my third performance there I was contacted for a better paying job.

Much like in Japan, here too a lot of rich people would pay big cash to be spotted with a girl looking like me by their side. Sex wasn’t even involved all that much, rarely forced, sometimes I delivered if the pay and the mood was right. That was only the publicly known part of the job though.
"Red Satin", the escort-business establishment, had a bigger agenda. The girls in their employment could be pretty convincing when they wanted to be and gathered information about their client’s activities by dropping the right subtle questions during a candlelight dinner or showed an innocent interest in their 'fascinating' jobs as pillow talk. Not much unlike the job I’d done almost 4 decades ago, but without the high risk or long time involvement.
The memory of what had happened when it went wrong the last time had been blocked out of my concious memory, but the subconcious part still remembered and often gave me nightmares.

The boss of the local establishment of Red Satin was in charge of collecting and analysing the information gathered by the girls in her charge. Cheyenne Cordel was her name, though the clients and girls usually named her "Miss C", pronounced simply as Missy. She was the one who'd contacted me first with the job offer. I liked her, in my own way... After what I'd been through, opening my heart to someone just wasn't an option. She liked me too I could guess, but how much of that was real and how much was acted I wasn't certain, she seemed too much like like me.

I had no illusions about the business she was in, she was somewhat of a spy, a matron of spies and had plenty of high connections. Like a spider, she sat in the middle of a web of information which no doubt could have great consequences when one of the web's threads were to be pulled or cut. The cooperation higher-ups must've known about the business, but they probably figured it best to leave Red Satin alone; sure it might spread some information about them, but they were also a good source of info about their competitors... not to mention that if you were going to get information pulled out of you, this must be the most pleasant way.
We got along pretty well, Cheyenne had an eye for talent and it had fallen on me. I was still pretty new to the establishment, but from our frequent talks I knew she had a pretty decent future in mind for me. I also noticed that she was starting to like me more than just "like", she didn't make any obvious advances though -I don't think I would refuse if she did- and the last couple of months we got together more and more, teasing eachother with subtleties only women like ourselves could notice; but of which we both were certain we noticed.

In one of the conversations with her, she got me to slip my tongue... I don't remember what we were talking about exactly, having had a bit too much to drink, probably about how I got my skills or how I'd used them before. It was asked in jest, I don't believe she'd have expected a straight answer neither, but she got one, the whole story. From a starting frown on her face -she immediatly corrected herself but I had noticed- I knew we both realised I'd made a mistake. I think she regretted asking, or me answering, afraid I'd lost my trust in her. But what was said couldn't be unsaid, something had to be done... so we kissed and found ways to avoid talking further.

Next morning, she asked if I were interested in some more lucrative jobs, said she might know some people.

I didn't decline.


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« Reply #3 on: <02-27-11/2114:11> »
Nifty, somehow reminds me of Exalted.
Seems strange to refer to thirty years of espionage as nothing much.
...You're not Frank Miller by any chance?  ;D
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« Reply #4 on: <02-28-11/1311:53> »
Hmmm... I made it look like she's had 30 years of espionage? Will have to correct this.
She probably trained for less than a year at the agency... They were afraid to wait too long, they needed info quickly. Plus, acting and seducing came naturally to her, so that was mostly communication protocol and weapons training.
The time spent in Japan with the Yaks lasted about 5 years.
The years after she didn't do any jobs, just travelled around the world enjoying her freedom and spending the money she'd hoarded. That's where she picked up the languages.
She tried to keep her skills honed, but it's been decades since she's done espionage.
Now that she's out of money and ran into a Johnson... things change.