Character Bios

Name:

Age: (Keep in mind that even with advancements in medical technology, the sorry state the world is in means that there are much, much fewer people who are even approaching old age, now. The Wasteland is not kind to the Elderly, or anyone else.)

Description: (Your character's appearance, simple as that.)

History: (What they've been through, and what has likely shaped them into the person they are today.)

Notable Possessions: (Any equipment noteworthy enough to be listed. Things like weaponry, armor, tools, and other supplies.)

Special Talents: (Primarily for special skills a person might have, such as a familiarity with the inner workings of machinery, or aptitude at providing medical care. Really special things like FES or Radiation-induced abilities would be listed here as well.)

Other Info: (Anything else. Things that inspired the character, information that doesn't fit into the other categories, random trivia, etc.)

Name: Hope


Age: 22


Description: A beautiful young woman, Hope is a rare, pleasant sight among the grime and dust of the Wasteland, relatively unmarked
from her time amidst the wilds. Her skin tone is fair, almost pale, and pleasingly smooth to the touch. With lovely hair a very pale
shade of platinum blonde, she rarely finds time to cut or tend to it too in-depth, leaving it to grow long most of the time. It does a
good job of framing her face, though, which is beautiful and well-shaped, with soft features and eyes a shade of light blue. The only
thing amiss is a brand burned into her right cheek, in the shape of a spiral.

Hope's figure is on the softer side, perhaps a bit plush, to help cope with the cold climate up north. Her overall figure is curvy, much
of the added weight going towards the right places, with just a tad bit of belly pudge. Brands, like the one on her cheek, are present
on several places on her figure, including one on her right breast, one on her stomach, and one on her left rump cheek, burned directly onto
the flesh. The faint bit of fading on them suggests the brands are all of a decent age, perhaps from a decade or more ago.

She dresses to suit the frigid northern climate, favoring several layers of thick leather and wool for both upper and lower wear, as well
as tough, padded boots and gloves. One of her most prized possessions is a thick, fur coat that she owns, made of the hide of one of the
most dangerous beasts in the Wasteland, a Demon. The gray fur serves to shield her from the elements quite well.

She only wears a single scrap of jewelry, but she wears it at all times. A golden locket, faded and scratched with age and wear, in the shape
of a teardrop. On the inside is a photo that is almost too faded to see, a black and white picture of an older-looking woman.


History: Born in Maine to a family of caravaneers, Hope never truely knew a stable home in her early life. With loving parents, several
brothers and sisters, and several friends to the family, all seemed well. When she turned three years old, her mother gave her a special
gift, a locket with a picture of Hope's grandmother, who died two months before Hope was born. This gave Hope some connection to
her grandmother, whom she never had the chance to meet.

All would not be well for Hope, however, as her family was overtaken by slavers on the trail, not even a week after her third birthday.
The slavers killed her father, seized the cargo, and kidnapped everyone else, taking them miles away from everything Hope had ever known.

Once they arrived at the slaver's camp, they were all stripped and branding on several places with the slaver's mark, eternally marking them
as property in their eyes. It was horrendously painful, and a mishap with the brand ended up with one of her brothers blinded when he
tried to struggle, his eyes burned out. Despite being stripped down, Hope somehow managed to hide her grandmother's locket, through means
that she prefers not to disclose to this day.

Hope was sold off very early in her life, to a wealthy bandit leader. She was to serve as a simple maid until she grew old enough for the leader's
tastes, and then she would be one of his 'wives'. For eight years, she performed all sorts of grueling tasks for the aged bandit, including
cleaning his guns. As time went by, Hope grew more and more jaded, eventually planning to steal ammo when the bandits weren't looking, and
load the leader's gun when it was time for her to clean. She was intent on doing one of two things. Either killing him with his own gun, or killing
herself with it.

Fortunately for Hope, things turned out fine after eight years. The Enclave, the remnants of the U.S. government, rolled in. The Brotherhood of
Steel, the military force of the Enclave, fought a pitched battle with the bandits, killing them down to the last and freeing the slaves.
Some were too traumatized, but some, like Hope, were taken to a nearby village protected by the Enclave. Given Enclave citizenship, they were free
to do what they will, so long as they stayed within the laws of the Enclave. Too young to live on her own, Hope was entrusted to the care
of an old widower, a huntsman for the village.

The old man was grumpy and callous at times, but over the years he and Hope bonded, Hope eventually coming to see him as her father. He taught
her the way of the wilds, how to hunt with rifle, what plants were safe to eat, what creatures to avoid, how to dress a wound, all the things
a proper hunter would need. This went on for a long decade, the first happiness Hope had seen in a long time. Eventually, her father grew ill,
dying of age and leaving behind his gun to the young woman. Burying him herself, she left behind the village that had cared for her all of these
years, striking out into the wilds to make her mark.

One year later, she found herself outside of the city of Beantown, one of the largest Enclave cities in the New England Wasteland.


Notable Possessions: The Demon-Fur coat she wears, not actually from a kill she herself made, but given to her as a reward for killing a
wild bighorner that had turned hostile to humans. She also carries an old, bolt-action hunting rifle with her, which has a wooden body
along with a scope. For a side-arm, she keeps a low-caliber pistol haphazardly put together with several different pieces, including
a few pieces of reworked scrap. She keeps an ammo pouch on her belt for both guns.

She also keeps a small money pouch, filled with just enough caps to buy provisions, most of the time.

Lastly, she generally carries a satchel full of assorted necessities when travelling. Several bottles or tins of whatever drinks she can get
cheaply, dried meat, a roll of bandages, a dulled knife, and a nearly-full bottle of whiskey that looks barely better than piss water.


Special Talents: Having spent her entire life in the New England Wasteland, Hope is well adjusted to cold climates, and while she prefers
to wear several layers of clothing, she can last longer with less clothing out in the elements than most can. A decade of hunting with rifles
has given her a bit of talent as a sniper as well, making her quite the markswoman, along with a bit of expertise regarding the less civilized
areas of the Wastes.

Name: Mireya Theresa Lei Smoke (Also answers to Rey)

Age: 24

Description: Rey stands at about 5'8", and her skin is a soft reddish-brown, relatively unmarked save for a splash of freckles across the bridge of her nose and cheeks. Her face is oval-ish in shape, with high cheek bones, a small, straight nose, full lips and slanted, pale gray eyes. Her figure leans a bit towards the plump side - much of her time before she left the B.o.S. was spent repairing devices or behind a computer - but she does have some muscle definition from combat training with swords.

Mireya's average ensemble is comprised of layers of a full length Bighorner leather coat lined with fleece - a gift from her parents when she was 17 - over dark, long sleeved shirts and leather pants, a belt with numerous pouches hanging from it, and a pair of heavy, steel-toed boots, and when outside, wear a dark red woolen scarf with a hood attached. She can also often be seen with a pair of polarized goggles perched on her head or hanging from around her neck. In addition to these when she's out scavenging, she also wears a kind of armor that's essentially salvaged, thick metal pieces sandwiched between layers of thick leather.
 
History: Mireya Smoke was the older daughter of Jean Andre and Lavinia Smoke, originally members of a Brotherhood of Steel chapter in Louisiana. Her parents were both Knights within the B.o.S., respected and skilled, both of them from families with esteemed military backgrounds and looked to their children to carry on the tradition. Mireya, however, was hardly what her parents wanted from the moment of her birth - while a fairly healthy infant, she was born a hermaphrodite, which thrilled neither her mother or father. Still, she was otherwise fit, and from an early age they taught her to handle weapons, particularly rifles and swords, which she showed surprising aptitude for. From almost as early on, though, she'd had a greater passion for reading anything she could get her hands on, machines and history. She and her parents didn't connect very well, not nearly as well as her little sister, Julia Antoinette. Three years her junior, her sister was the one that always made their parents proud.
 
Her life was turned upside down when she was 11, and her father was promoted up within the ranks, and her family was required to transfer to the B.o.S. base near what was formerly Boston, now called Beantown, forcing Mireya to leave behind her friends and home for a frigid shithole. Not helping matters, around the time Rey was hitting puberty, she started developing a kleptomania problem. She's not exactly sure how it started, but once it had, she couldn't control swiping stuff, or was even conscious of when it happened. It was rare that she would take anything really big or noticeable, but she did get caught a handful of times throughout her years after joining the B.o.S. as (unsurprisingly to anyone familiar with her) as a Scribe.

The thing that finally got her, though, was when one of the Head Scribes discovered that a valuable piece of equipment had gone missing. She had a record, and even though she told them it wasn't her that time, the Heads of their section of the B.o.S. told her she could either "voluntarily" leave and save her family further shame from her indiscretions, or face being forcibly thrown out. It wasn't really much of a choice, so she took the one where she'd not humiliate her parents and sister further. She packed up and moved out of the B.o.S. base and into the general populace of Beantown as an Enclave civilian. Two years later, a mechanic and occasional scavenger for hire, living out of her shop and doing jobs in and outside the city as her work demands, and trying to keep her sticky fingers to herself… Most of the time.
 
Notable Possessions: Rey only carries two weapons regularly: A .223 pistol, and a Shishkebab, a sword that, with an accompanying small tank of fuel, could be lit with flame that she jury-rigged together. She also carries the AER9 on a leather sling to carry it over her shoulder, while the fuel tank for her Shishkebab can be strapped to her back very much like a backpack.

From her pouch-laden belt she has a leather strap from which the sword hangs, and amongst the pouches on her belt are the usual first aid supplies (2 rolls of adhesive gauze bandages, 2 Stimpaks, 1 Med-X, 1 IV bag of Rad Away, and 1 container of Rad-X), a few small, handy tools, and her money. In addition to these, she carries a satchel - pretty much a messenger bag - with some food rations, water, a basic repair kit (contains small, laser cutting tool, spare wires, ratchet and a screwdriver set with interchangeable heads).

Lastly, she has a dirt bike that, while a bit old, a little dented in places, but is in good working order most days - mostly because of the time Rey spends keeping it that way. It's fast and maneuverable, which is why she keeps hold of it, and she has a small, saddle bag strapped behind the seat, just big enough for a few extra essentials if she has to be on the move.

Special Talents: From her days as a military brat and serving with the Brotherhood of Steel, she has experience in rifles, particularly those of the laser variety, and while she isn't an expert, she's not too shabby at melee combat when using a sword. Mireya really shines in her abilities as a mechanic and using computers. Coupled with this is an almost photographic memory - if she reads or sees something, she can usually recall it with almost dead-on accuracy, with a few exceptions.

And while this may be more of a weakness, Rey is a kleptomaniac - she has a tendency to swipe other people's possessions. While this may seem like a good thing for someone whose main career for most of her life has been scavenging technology, it's gotten her into more trouble than not. Most of the time, she doesn't even realize she's taken something until she looks in her knapsack later on or someone starts screaming at her. Honestly, she seems to get away with it more often when she ISN'T thinking about stealing something.

Other Info: Rey first popped up for a Fallout RP that died because of someone (for once, not me or Kristen) not posting, and is making her come back here.

References for weapons and chemicals:

http://fallout.wikia.com/wiki/.223_pistol_(Fallout)
http://fallout.wikia.com/wiki/Shishkebab
http://fallout.wikia.com/wiki/Stimpaks
http://fallout.wikia.com/wiki/Med-X
http://fallout.wikia.com/wiki/Rad_Away
http://fallout.wikia.com/wiki/Rad-X

Name: Steve. AKA Steve The Third, That One Guy, Just Steve, Steve the Bandit and the "HEY-OOOO!" guy.

Age: Twenty-three.

Description: Steve is, to put it simply, a fairly generic resident of the Wasteland outwardly. At first glance he looks like any other trader, resident or even low-importance Bandit working the wilderness and villages for a living. He wears what appears to be a makeshift respirator built from old junk, wired directly into a worn and battered hockey mask with a sort of cowl built over the top. It acts as full-head protection from everything short of a bullet, and has built-end polarized lenses that allow Steve to not only see better in harsh glare but also protect him from the adverse effects of, say, getting flashbanged. The hockey mask has been spray painted dark gray with black streaks, similar to urban camo.

His choice of clothing fits his "survival" aesthetic, consisting of tight fitting but comfortable clothing similar to an aged, graying boiler suit, capable of keeping heat out while retaining a comfortable body temperature. He has modified the suit with a number of armored plates, mostly limited to shoulder pads, knee pads, chest and back protection, and a crotch plate, all made of scavenged riot armor or metal scraps he traded for. The armor color is black, while the suit itself is gray. Some pieces of his makeshift armor are clearly spray painted that color, as the paint has begun to chip off.

He wears mid-shin height steel toed boots with buckled straps rather than laces. He found out a long time ago laces can get you in trouble in a pinch. He stands about 6'1", and appears to be fairly normally built for a wastelander: Medium weight, with enough muscle to survive a scrap. Under his mask, he has short cropped brown hair.

History: Steve has, oddly enough, had a fairly uneventful life by Wasteland standards. Born and raised in Southern Oklahoma, he adopted some rather unusual genetic issues from his family line and the cocktail of FES and radiation floating in the air. Steve is the third in a line of Steves that included Steven Garman, a Washington politician who stood against C-Con experimentation right up until the world ended, and Steve the Second, part-time merchant baron, part-time bandit chief. Survival was never that hard for Steve, but being raised amongst Bandits and Merchants lead him to an unorthodox skill set that he has put to good use in his fairly short life. At the age of seventeen, Steve packed up his things and joined a trade caravan moving northward, leaving his Grandfather, Father, Mother and seven siblings behind in the Trade community of Lost Oaks to make a name for himself.

At the age of eighteen, Steve found himself running with bandits all over again. That is, until the leader of the bandit group he was stuck with (quite against his will) ended up experiencing a critical case of mortality failure on the wrong end of an Enclave assault rifle. The bandit chief, Big Bo, had been dumb enough to try and raid an Enclave medical convoy en route to Beantown. Steve, being somewhat less of an idiot and more of a savvy businessman, immediately jumped ship before things went too far downhill.

He now finds himself hanging around the outside of Beantown, making a living as a small-time scavenger, Stalker and merchant. From time to time he still has to put his skills with a firearm to the test, but prefers to talk or negotiate his way out of trouble when he can. He has something of a reputation for being the go-to-guy for small arms repairs, energy weapon charging and even explosive deactivation for those seeking to salvage materials from undetonated devices. He's easy enough to find; just listen for his characteristic cry of "HEY-OOOOO!" and look for the old Mr. Handy sign flickering over his stall. If you can't find him that way, ask the locals for directions to Steve. Just Steve.

Notable Possessions: Other than his armor and mask, Steve's main possessions are an assortment of bags and pouches he keeps on a bandoleer along with a pair of holsters for his handguns. He keeps a .44 Magnum Revolver as his weapon of preference, and a 9mm automatic. The 9mm is customized, with a mounted reflex scope and extended clip, while the .44 has been modified with a stronger frame and a more ergonomic grip. He fancies himself something of a gunslinger, and as such prefers to eschew other means of defense if he can help it. This does NOT mean he has no other weapons, as he usually carries a fairly large butcher knife in a hip sheath, just for emergencies.

His preference does not, however, mean that he doesn't understand the working of most common weapons. He keeps a repair kit and basic tools for a variety of weapons, and has been known to repurpose them for other purposes, such as lockpicking and minor electronic repair.

As a small time merchant, he also tends to keep an assortment of "useful junk" with him at all times, including canned goods, old-world money, pool balls, scrap wiring, old toys... Really, his pouches are full of the most random assortment of garbage, but he usually finds a buyer for his wares.

Special Talents: Steve wears his special gear at all times because of an FES induced mutation common to his family: Reptile-like eyes and scales that dot his skin. The scales are a dark tan in coloration, and although obvious hardly count for anything like "protection". His eyes do allow him a measure of enhanced night vision and the ability to pick out movement much faster than a normal human, but at the expense of light sensitivity.

His other special talents include an astonishingly large lung capacity, normally displayed by his ability to yell quite loudly for a long time (often to alert associates of his presence, or of danger), an aptitude toward guns and the repair, manufacture and maintenance of them, and a slightly above average skill in hand to hand combat (although purely in an untrained sense, such as brawling).

Otherwise, Steve considers himself an appreciably talented merchant and negotiator, and makes most of his living selling odds and ends out of the enormous market that has sprung up in the "Free Zone" outside of Beantown.

Other Info: Steve is inspired by the lovable mascot Bandit known as Steve from Borderlands. An otherwise undefined character, I just thought it'd be fun to try him out as a protagonist. His mutation just seemed like a fairly natural thing, considering the area he was raised in.

Name: Cotton "Fields" Harkwell


Age: 43


Description: A grizzled-looking, middle-aged man. With a working man's tan from being out in the sun, a rarity in the almost always-cloudy region
of New England. His hair is short and trim, a light shade of brown, with the hairline visibly beginning to recede a bit. Harkwell's eyes are a dark
shade of brown, and one would almost say he has a rugged sort of handsomeness to him, though his almost perpetually-stony expression does put
a bit of a damper on that. He sports a moustache and beard, kept trimmed neatly, concealing a jagged scar on his bottom lip. His back bears several
scars that look like they were caused by a whip, pale enough to indicate that they're hardly a recent addition.

He dresses lighter than most do in the New England wasteland, generally only keeping a long-sleeved shirt with an undershirt beneath his coat, the
only significant protection against the elements being a thick, bighorner-wool scarf he keeps and a pair of black, cotton gloves.


History: Out in the state of Arizona, only 7 years after the Great Emission, Cotton was brought into the world. The son of a sheriff and a
housewife-turned-scavenger. The town he grew up in was small even before the Great Emission. After, it was small enough that everyone literally
did know eachother. The town was far enough south to avoid the ice age that plagued the north, instead becoming an oasis amidst a hot, dry hellhole.
In a way, it was almost like the wild west all over again, as Cotton's father was often forced to deal justice against raiders at the end of a gun.

People would come and go, but things were quiet for some time, Cotton enjoyed a relatively uneventful childhood, more than could be said for most
children born into the new, ruined Earth. He learned how to shoot and how to hunt, along with a few other skills that would help him along later
in his life, but the most important thing he learned from his father was a sense of justice. His father was a good man, before and after the Emission,
and he passed that on to his son quite well.

It wasn't the best life, but it was better than most, up until a stranger rolled into town. He never gave his name, he never lowered the hood on his
coat, and he never removed the mask he kept over his mouth, but one thing about him stood out, his eyes. Blood-red. The townspeople called him just
'Red', and he lingered in town for some time. People started disappearing after his arrival, all men, all decent shots with guns, until eventually
the suspicion fell on this newcomer. Cotton's father would one day confront Red in the streets. He was shot dead by Red before he had even pulled
his gun from his holster.

Red would walk out of town laughing mockingly. Cotton, then 14 years of age, was one of the people to witness this, and it would leave a mark on him
that would stick with him for a long, long time. Too young and too inexperienced to pursue Red, Cotton was forced to remain in the little town,
eventually becoming a deputy for the new sheriff. Harkwell would stay in the town for the next 14 years of his life, honing his talents with a gun,
and eventually becoming the new sheriff of the town, becoming infamous for having never lost a gun duel in all of his time there.

He had given up any hope of revenge for his father, the man he knew as Red having seemed to fall off the face of the world a few years after the
murder of Cotton's father, leaving Harkwell to resign himself to protecting the town for the rest of his days. That is, until a few weeks after his
28th birthday, Harkwell heard a rumor of a red-eyed man from a drifter that came from out east. His fury rekindled, Cotton gathered his things and
left the town behind without a word, striking out east. His journeys brought him to many cities and communities along the way, where his just nature
often would shine through, unable to help himself from righting the wrongs that he came across.

15 years he was on the road, hunting for Red, the chase leading him all the way to the east coast. The last word he had heard of Red, he was in
Beantown.


Notable Possessions: Harkwell is almost never seen without a long, brown trenchcoat that's at least from before the time of the Great Emission,
visibly worn and with several noticeable stitched-up places from tears on it. Another common sight are a pair of thick, leather cowboy boots.

He only has one gun, a .357 Magnum revolver, sporting an 8 inch barrel and a chrome finish. One one side of the barrel, the word Outlaw had
been etched with a skilled hand. Though at some point, the 'Out' part had been scratched out roughly, with instead the word 'man' placed at the
end of the engraving, roughly turning it into 'Lawman'. There's a holster on his belt for this gun, on his left side.

His only other weapons are a pair of combat knives. One which he keeps in a small, hastily-stiched sheath on his belt. The other, he keeps in one
of his boots, concealed.

He carries the usual travelling equipment. Rations, a light amount of medical supplies, and a pocketful of caps.


Special Talents: Harkwell is good with handguns, revolvers in particular, and is quite capable not only in taking accurate shots, but also at
quickdrawing. His history is riddled with several gunfights and duels, and it shows.

Name: Katya Aleksandrov.

Age: Thirty-one.

Description: Katya is an unorthodox looking woman in many ways, in that while feminine she is distinctly a powerhouse, and not one to be trifled with. She stands an imposing 6' 2", large for any woman, and has a considerable heft to her body. She's chubby, or so it would seem, but the padding covers a considerable amount of muscle underneath. Her hair is long, worn in a pony tail, and the color of old rust, with a touch of premature graying at the bangs. She is wide-hipped, large chested and generally proportioned generously on all fronts, particularly in her arms and thighs. She's built to carry weight, and does so quite well. Her nose, broken several times, is slightly flattened with a small bent to the mid-bridge, while a scar runs from her lower lip upward at an angle toward her right eye, crossing the upper lip as well. She is pale, mostly due to operating at night or in full armor, and although she has the odd scar here and there her facial features are fairly attractive in a classical, Greek statue sort of way. Her attire usually consists of a pair of dark winter trousers, a vest, a woolen undershirt and the framework of a modified suit of power armor from the waist down. The framework is intended to act as bracing support for her weapon of choice, with minimal machine components left. It's mostly just plate armor with joints and a rigging for her weapon. Upper body armor is limited to shoulder plates, a half-breast plate and a hefty winter coat with ablative plating woven into hidden interior pockets.

History: Katya was raised from childhood among Brotherhood of Steel outcasts, her parents having been former Scribes. She was raised to believe that being different wasn't a curse, but a gift, and that she should embrace it as her parents did. Unfortunately for her family, her version of "different" was to raid the Outcast armory one night at the tender age of seventeen and steal away into the night with a set of power armor, a Gatling Laser and a handful of other supplies before making her way north from their hidden compound in Virginia.

Katya spent most of her life wandering as a gun for hire, always on the outside of authority but available for hire. She distanced herself from others when possible, only taking a handful of friends under her wing in her time in the waste, and even fewer lovers. She usually made her money as a bodyguard or as a caravan guard, but had from time to time been approached by the Enclave/B.o.S. to help them with situations ranging from Bandit raids to Mutant infestations. The irony of this did not escape her, as she herself was a mutation, although one that wasn't readily available outside of her great strength and size.

Having grown bored with mercenary work in the Southern parts of the B.o.S. area of influence, she has made her way further north to get in touch with one of her associates on the inside. She's heard there may be work for her in Springfield...

Notable Possessions: Katya's two primary items of note are her Gatling Laser and uniquely modified armor. The armor is, in fact, the remains of an out dated model of power armor that she stole and stripped down to use as a support rigging for her Gatling Laser. The material of the armor is sturdy, and has been painted a dark gray to blend in with the winter environment around Beantown and the outlying regions. The heavy armored band around the waist sports an actuated support rigging, which allows her to slow her weapon into it and use it to brace for sustained fire. The Gatling Laser itself is a unique model, a prototype stolen from the engineer scribes in her family compound. It sports an array of microfusion breeders that constantly refill the weapon, rather than relying on clunky, heavy and limited power cells. Although this means that it cannot sustain fire as long as other energy weapons of a similar make, it is also more reliable and less likely to run OUT of power in the long run. She has also shortened the barrel and modified the laser focusing lenses so that rather than making a spray of smaller bolts, it focuses the power into a single sustained beam for sweeping, "carving" attacks. She has named the weapon Rasputin. Her back-up weapon of choice is a stripped down .9mm sub-machinegun with a suppressor and drum clip, which she keeps in a hard case holster mounted on the hip plate of her armor.

Special Talents: Katya is an expert in energy weapons repair and modification, as well as a skilled combatant using same-said weapons. While she is capable of fighting in hand-to-hand combat, she prefers to stay at range despite her great strength. Her mutation has provided her with a considerable increase in both size and strength compared to a normal woman, while also increasing aggression, sex drive and competitiveness. She often comes off as grating or brash, when in reality she doesn't mean to. As a guard for caravans, she has also picked up a considerable amount of knowledge on: Cooking, first aid, vehicle repair, animal husbandry, general outdoor survival skills and tracking. While not a talent, it should be noted she is phobic of only one thing, and that is water. She has a fear of drowning that prevents her from going into deep water, and she absolutely refuses to ride a boat unless it's life or death.

Other Info: Katya is a female-bodied Shemale, a mutation resulting from several different factors. Her parentage is part of it, as her "Father" was also a mutation like herself, leading to a hereditary chain. She is, however, completely sterile as a second generation mutation.

Name: Irene & Eileen Beckerman

Age: 22

Description: The Beckerman sisters, being identical twins, are physically quite similar. Their skin is a pale, creamy tone, their faces round and soft with slightly upturned, button noses, all framed by vivid, curly red hair that reaches the middle of their backs when hanging loose. They're tall women at 5'11, with lithe, willowy figures, balanced between fine muscle and gentle but noticeable curves. One of their most striking features are their eyes - they are heterochromic, their right eyes being hazel-green, the left eyes a smoky gray.

One of the things that sets the twins apart is their choice of style. Irene tends towards keeping her hair held back in pony tails or braids, and wears long-sleeved wool shirts beneath a thick, fur lined vest, heavy trousers and sturdy boots, usually beneath a gray, hooded poncho made of wool that reaches her knees, the latter with a scarf and fingerless gloves to match. Eileen also wears warm sweaters, albeit in brighter tones, and while she will occasionally wear trousers, she prefers full length skirts of Bighorner wool over thick leggings and stockings with her sensible boots, and often seen with a blue-gray cloak. She likes to let her hair either fly free or she pins it up in a bun with hair sticks made from bone with lovely rosettes carved at the top, discolored with an aged patina.

History: Irene and Eileen were raised ranch girls - or as close to a 'ranch' as one found in post-apocalypse Massachusetts - but not born. Their infancy and toddlerhood weren't exactly a settled ones - their mother was a trader in a traveling caravan that passed through Beantown a few times a year, and had a lover serving in the Brotherhood of Steel. She got pregnant, and about a year after she had the girls, she brought them to their father on one of the caravan's stops in town so they might have safer, more stable lives as Enclave citizens. Their father tried to care for them for a few months, but trying to be a father and a career soldier didn't work well for him - he couldn't work out the time for both them and his duties. Rather than waiting for their mother to return for them, he handed the two girls off to his brother and sister-in-law, Edward and Helen, owners of a modest ranch that raised Bighorners.

They accepted the girls since there wasn't anywhere else for them to go for the time being. When their mother showed up again, she called on them and asked them to keep on taking care of their nieces in a seemingly safer, more settled lifestyle, in exchange for some monetary compensation and the promise that she'd take them back if they became too much a burden. Edward and his wife agreed, a sense of family obligation and growing affection encouraging them a bit more than the caps offered, and they brought the girls up. Their mother visited them a number of times every year, whenever the caravan passed through the area, always with a gift or stories for her daughters and the money she could spare for their aunt and uncle. As little as they saw their mother, though, she was a more familiar and welcome face than their father. He sent some financial support as well, but they encounters with him were fewer and even farther apart than their mother's, and with far less warmth and welcome.

From the time they could walk, they were always performing some chore or another, learning early on the responsibilities of running a farm, tending to the Bighorners, and generally just learning how to survive. Irene tended to do very well with the physical jobs, and loved it when her Uncle would take them hunting. Eileen, however, loved working with her hands in a different way, always having a passion for taking one object and transforming it into another, and would become quite the craftswoman. Over the years, they became quite the proficient, hard working young women, and the family's farm was prospering, or as close to it as anyone could in the bitter environment.

At the age of 16, though, the twins were sent into Beantown on their own to trade some meat and wool for some necessary supplies. They were stuck in town for a three days longer than they expected by a sudden spot of nasty weather, and when it broke enough for them to return, what they returned to left them devastated. Their house had been ransacked, their herd of Bighorners scattered - and of those found, a fair chunk of them were missing - and worst of all, their Uncle, Aunt and the few hired hands had been killed in whatever had happened while they were away. Irene forced Eileen to go back to town and report the incident to the Brotherhood of Steel, and while her sister was gone started on the dirty work of cleaning things up and preparing pyres for the bodies.

The soldiers sent back with Eileen to help put the property to rights and track down the perpetrators were one of the few good deeds the girls could attribute to their father, though not much ever came of the latter effort. They rebuilt, mourned their losses, and tried to move on and work with what they had left. Six years later, the Beckerman sisters have just brought the ranch back to something akin to its previous prosperous state, and perhaps a bit beyond that. The herd's a little bigger, and they have more people working for them than their Uncle and Aunt had before. They also keep the place better stocked as far as weapons and ammunition goes, just in case the need for such arises.

Notable Possessions: Irene's rifle of choice is a Tihar, a pneumatic long ranged rifle that fires 15mm ball bearings rather than bullets, hers in particular having a telescopic sight attached. She always has two knives on her hanging from a belt on either side, a serrated steel hunting knife Uncle Edward gave her, and a smaller yet still very sharp skinning knife. As a side arm, she's commonly seen with a 9mm revolver holstered under her left arm. On hunting trips or ventures into town she'll always carry a satchel of ball-bearings to reload her rifle, and usually has enough rations and supplies to last her several days.

Eileen tends to be lighter on actual 'weapons' than Irene. She has a bone knife, carried in a sheath on her own belt, but she also usually carries a set of heavy, sharp shears strapped to her back, normally used for cutting Bighorner fur, but on more than one occasion she's used it as a tool for self defense. The same goes for a pair of ivory knitting needles tucked into a thin pocket inside her cloak - the tips are deceptively pointy, and would make fine tools for puncturing. Not to say that she's done anything of the sort with them. Like her sister, she also carries a 9mm.

Lastly, one of their most dear possessions - Pimp. One of the crankiest, irritable Bighorners ever around, he's a larger one that Irene found in the wilds on one of her hunting trips a year or two after their ranch was raided. Rather than bring it down, she managed to bring him home. He isn't so much tame as more agreeable to being handled by Irene and Eileen, and acts like a right bastard to most everyone else. He often gets used to pull the wagon they bring their wares into Beantown and Free Bay, along another female Bighorner. He takes more kindly to female company than male.

Special Talents: Out of necessity, both Irene and Eileen know how to handle themselves in a fight, though their methods tend more towards brawling than any real martial arts training. They both also know how to handle revolvers, though Irene is the real markswoman, and both of them know first aid, cooking, animal husbandry and all the skills necessary to dealing with cattle, though the aptitude varies between them. Strangely enough, the sisters always seem to know how their other twin is fairing and their general location, even at a fair distance, though whether this is just a 'twin' thing or possible effects of FES, is up for debate.

Singularly, Irene is an experienced hunter and tracker. She's knowledgeable in outdoor survival skills, and has survived on minimal supplies in the wilderness for lengthy periods. knows her ways around knives as well as guns. She prefers to stick to the ranged weaponry when she can help it, though. And of the twins, she's the best butcher and skinner, and is no dab hand at leather working. Eileen, on the other hand, is all about creating. She's a fair seamstress and clothier, and can find ways to taking of what is seemingly junk and turning it to something of use. Most interestingly, though, is that Eileen is most skillful in making weapons, tools, and other interesting items from bone. And while not exactly a talent, she's far more personable than Irene, and tends to do better as a merchant.

Other Info: The idea of these two popped into my head one night and wouldn't leave until I'd gotten them out of it. Irene is a more quiet person, holding her peace unless she really feels a need to say something, though when she does she's direct and sometimes painfully blunt. Meanwhile Eileen is friendly and eager to get out and meet people, making friends in a heartbeat and generally makes a pretty good mediator. They're very close despite they're differences, though. Probably a bit TOO close, if you catch my drift. *Wink-wink-nudge.*