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ALIAS: Roo
QUOTE: Look, there you are. Filling all this empty space.
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BIOGRAPHY: http://liewithyourbones.jcink.net/index.php?showtopic=623
OCCUPATION: Enforcer
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TITLE: Little Miss Sunshine
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Joined: 31-August 15
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Last Seen: Mar 3 2016, 04:24 AM
Local Time: Sep 22 2017, 11:37 PM
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HARPER

RAIDER

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Sep 9 2015, 07:29 PM
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<center><div class="cooked"><center><div class="black"><a href="url to character bio">HARPER</a></div><br>32 | F | RAIDER | SAVAGE | ENFORCER
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Aug 31 2015, 09:15 PM
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<center><div style="width:450px;height:450px; background-image: url(http://i.imgur.com/cJo8Wqz.png);"><br><br><br><br><br><br><br><br><div class="title"><div style="font-family: oswald; color: #8B795E; opacity: 1; text-transform: uppercase; font-weight: 400; font-size: 25px; text-align:center;">Harper</div><br><div style="line-height: 60%; text-align: center; font-weight: normal; font-family: arial; font-size: 9px; letter-spacing: 0px; color: #6E6E6E;">ROO, 31, HER/SHE, PST, AIM/PM</div></div></div></center></div></div>

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Sit there in your ugly<br>
and revel in it.<br><br>
Be the ugliest thing in the room<br>
so what.<br>
You are still in the room.<br><br>
Look, there you are.<br>
Filling all this empty space.<br>
Good for you, <br>
thirsty little beast.<br><br>
Make everyone stare<br>
at this travesty of a body<br>
you endure.<br><br>
It’s the least they can do.<br><br>
<b>- A Manifesto, Clementine von Radics</b>
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This story starts almost the same as all the local born garbage, with dust and sand, sweat and blood and most importantly of all, the suffering of slowly slipping sanity. This massive white dusty land of long lost dreams was simply a habitable canvas for all of that, nothing more and nothing less. A land born of sin and chaos could only hope to breed of itself the same. To expect anything different is a foolish endeavor and one that would grant nothing but letdown, so don't get your hopes up for anything different.<br><br>

Who even knows what the year was or how such a tiny pitiful beast made it through the night but as that terrible orb of scorching heat rose up over the wasteland to melt the thin irradiated frost of the freezing night it would indeed survive. That date had once been marked by some great tragedy that the world had sworn to never forget, a claim that would become null when the world fell into utter shit but for Harper it was simply the beginning of the end. No love lost or bodies flung from towers, just a promise of life where life should not be promised. Living on the outskirts of the city in some derelict den of filth and squander the little band of ragtag flesh sculptors would produce a wild eyed little hellion who would grow for a few years before things finally took the first turn for the worse, one of many.<br><br>

Five years in and the little group would make a wrong step and find themselves tossed into the cages of what would eventually become the Reavers. Back then it was as disorganized as it was ruthlessly greedy, people who simply had more, people who saw a means to this end; profit. Who could blame them? The little pack of jackals were quickly and painfully enveloped by the wolves. Separated by forceful fingers the lot of them would be sold off or tossed to the pits, an equally toxic chaos, to earn their keep. There wasn’t much of this mess that the girl would remember, at least not in any great detail, a thankful turn of events for an otherwise painful existence. Eventually that little feral hissing thing was plucked from the leftovers.<br><br>

It didn’t matter what the man wanted the girl for, the goods he passed off in payment easily exceeded what the little snapping turtle was worth. A ply for silence maybe or simply a man who was bad with 'money'. Harpy would later find out that it was her gumption, that tricky little bit that refused to let the too-small child lay down and die that drew his fingers to close to her cage, in a very literal sense. Their first meeting would draw blood, teeth sinking through his flesh but it certainly wouldn’t be the only meeting between those two that would start or end with a wash of red. The old man, known simply as Ruger, she'd later find out was some old coot that had once upon a time dealt in advanced firearm technology. That world was too far gone to rightly recall now, washed away in death and sifting sands. Even so he seemed less interested in the girl for the reasons I’m sure you would expect an old man would buy a seven year old girl for and in every right he’d remain this way. More or less. Harper wouldn’t remain untouched for long, mind you, but the extent of her stay with this odd old man would remain largely platonic. You see, it was her fingers Ruger wanted, tiny fingers, tiny fingers that would remain tiny were far more valuable to an aging man that dealt in weaponry than that tropic vacation spot that rested between her thighs.<br><br>

Living on the outskirts of civilization, way out in the middle of nowhere with not much more but some skewed version of a ‘God’, coyotes and mutants to keep them company, the young girl would grow, if only slightly. Her work, tethered in a dingy bunker basement on scabbed knees, would be almost invaluable as those tiny hands placed tiny pins and fastened tiny bolts and screws into place. The extent of his business would remain a mystery to her undeveloped mind for many years, not that he was quiet about it by any means but rather that her grasp on 'adult quandaries' was rather limited back then. Not that it's all that better now.<br><br>

Years would tick by, the scrappy little monster growing into a cleverer companion than was to be expected even as the close contact with Ruger and the isolation of the desert began to slowly eat away at her sanity. Ruger would rub off on the young woman, in far more ways than one, his love of weaponized machinery and his penchant for mumbling stray thoughts to himself would become her normal. Although she remained a loyal little monster by default she had an inclination towards rebellious independence. As the bonds loosened the old man's muddled mind would allow her time to vacation closer to the city, posting up on rooftops to watch that far off place with lights that were far brighter than their candle lit lanterns.<br><br>

When she was finally big enough to heft one of those metal encased death machines she was taught how to use it. While Ruger’s eyes grew clouded and tired Harper’s only sharpened, the swing of accuracy shifting hands almost seamlessly, leaving the slight young woman’s tether to change as her position of assembling is passed off to new tiny fingers. The collared slave would quickly become the trusted companion. In any other circumstance this would have been a weird happenstance but in the case of a bat-shit-crazy old man and his equally crazy but carefully groomed gunner, it seemed one and the same. <br><br>

The business made more sense as she grew but even with that enlightenment Harpy never held much ant to be anything but what she was; the trash swept hastily under a rug corner. They weren't the only crazies out there, far from it and among those God fearing miscreants were scavengers. They claimed they did it for God, or whatever, but I highly doubt God cared much about the scavenging of weapons and bits and parts that could be used to make such things. Either way the little trusted beast was pandered off to their ranks on days they ventured from their bunkers. It was an infrequent happening but it did happen.<br><br>

These scavengers were more her 'people' than the old man would ever really be. Desensitized to gore and as careless about their own lives as the little beast had always been, she felt almost at home among their ranks. It was in the ranks of these outcasts that she learned the finer means of survival, something beyond hiding under ground and distrusting everything that held a tongue that could twist words. Peeling flesh from muscle seemed an facile task for someone who'd spent so much time paying attention to details, tiny details for tiny hands. Feeding herself had never been so easy as it was after those years among her people, the flesh carvers of the outskirts.<br><br>

Eventually her beloved Ruger, as much beloved as anything that held a leash could be, would find himself at the bottom of a hole. It was more likely that the coyotes would dig him up and eat his flesh than it was he'd find any semblance of peace beneath the sun bleached dirt of the Mojave, but who was she to call bluff to those people who screamed to the deadly weeping sky. After the crazy man died she was passed off between a few of his faith born brethren. For all of the details Ruger had taught her, faith wasn't one of them. The majority of her puckered skin was granted in those few short months before she was cast out to those scavenging people with knives for tongues.<br><br>

They'd find her in the pits, those ruthlessly beautiful little savages. While she might have been there of her own volition she was no more immune to the potential truths their lying tongues would lave over her back anymore than they were immune to her inherent usefulness to their cause. Harper needed a people and a people seemed to need a gritty little beast with more will than brains. Pitted against foes easily twice her size she'd march into battle unflinchingly confident in her ability to lay their backs against the floor, one way or another. For what she lacked in size she more than made up for in speed, agility, carelessness for this vessel she calls a body and most of all, that tricky little thing that had saved her so many years prior; gumption.<br><br>


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<center><div style="margin-left: 0px;"><table cellspacing="0" cellpadding="1"><tr><td><div class="biotag">RAIDER</div></td><td><div class="biotag">SAVAGES</div></td></tr><tr><td><div class="biotag">ENFORCER</div></td><td><div class="biotag">Sept. 11 (32)</div></td></tr><tr><td><div class="biotag">PANSEXUAL</div></td><td><div class="biotag">MEMPHIS CADEAU</div></td></tr></table></div></center><br><br><div style="width:352px; height:262px; overflow:auto;"><div style="width:326px; font-size: 10px; text-align:justify; padding-right: 7px;">

Harper's idea of <b>friends</b> is something that is more born of necessity than anything. While she might not be the brightest bulb in the box she knows where her weaknesses lie. That being said she tends to use this word rather sparingly, reserving it for those that are useful for her end game; survival. This will likely be larger, smarter, worldly people. There might be a few she lets slip through on the merit of their friendliness alone but those will be few and far between.<br><br>

After such a life as hers has been it is a fairly certain thing that she will have some sort of hit list tucked in her back pocket. As far as actual <b>enemies</b> go, it'd likely be people that were associated with people from her past, this would probably include all those crazed religious nut jobs that did wrong by her after Ruger's death. There is some room (and possibly some sadistic want) for a possible cartel member issue in the future? See below for more info~<br><br>

There is really no such thing as <b>love</b> in this here book of Harpy. It's hard to love anything when you are so incredibly careless about your own life and even more so when you have no concept of what that word even means. That being said, sex is about as close to the concept as she knows and that is something she looks at rather flagrantly. While she certainly doesn't equate sex to love.. or anything to love, sex isn't something she finds even remotely taboo, it's just a thing that people do. Even this act, as simple as it is in her mind is not something that comes without violence, she's known nothing different, so prepare your butts.. in as literal a means as you wish it lol.<br><br>

When it comes to the <b>family</b> there is little that she wouldn't do. This has less to do with mushy feelings and more to do with remaining useful enough to have a place in this world. You take care of her and she'll take care of you. While she specializes in firearms she isn't even remotely afraid to toss herself into fist-to-cuffs. Harper is barely enough to not blow away in a strong wind but she will fight as dirty as she's allowed to, tooth and nail is a very literal way of life for the little spitfire. Her loyalty will always be to those that protect her, for now that's those little knife wielding weirdos, the savages.<br><br>

<b>Potential ideas:</b>
  • Cartel member issue, potentially a younger future member that dealt w/Ruger and stepped out of line?
  • All the family issues she'll have been around for a few years so I imagine she'll have ties to most if not all of the savages by now. How close you want that tie to be is up to you~
  • Pit fighting FTW. Watch out, she bites~
  • Backup for deals gone wrong, she'll shoot a bitch.
  • Possible ties with people who may have dealt w/Ruger in the past. This could/would include the reavers, sanctified, cartel or really anyone who had dealt with the need for guns in the last 25-ish years.
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