Elizabeth

Name Elizabeth Caravel AKA Beth, Liz, Lizzie Nationality UCAS Metatype Human Archetype Adept Birthdate Jan 15, 2055 "What? You've never seen a ninja in a baseball cap before?" Appearance Standing at just over five and a half feet tall, Elizabeth wouldn't stand out in most crowds at a casual glance. The young caucasian human woman is probably in her twenties, dark black hair worn in a long ponytail to emerge from the back of a baseball cap kept tugged down to cover her eyes. She doesn't wear makeup, which gives her lips a washed-out look, her expression usually relatively neutral. A simple jacket of some dark, moderately-reflective material is marked with kanji on the back; a series of slashing white lines for 'honor' emblazoned fashionably on the back. The jacket is kept zipped up tight; not surprising given Denver's climate and the ever-present drizzle of the world. The hint of a leather cord is barely visible around her throat, implying that she is wearing a necklace or amulet, but what it might be exactly is hidden from view. The outfit is finished off with a pair of nondescript black pants and tightly-laced, sensible sneakers on her feet. Relaxed, without being too street-trash… at least, so long as she isn't hanging around in some high-class neighbourhood. Distinguishing Features Not if she can help it. Mannerisms and Habits Elizabeth swears. Like, a lot. Associations Elizabeth has done a lot of work for the various organised crime groups, but she isn't really associated with any of them. Capabilities Elizabeth is a ninja. 'Nuff said. Background You know, some people say that if you get out of the Warrens you are a traitor to your people, like we owe some loyalty to the other dregs of humanity that wash up in the Warrens. That’s shit. If you get out of the Warrens, you are lucky, determined, and strong. Hell, you’ve got to be some mix of all those three things just to survive for any length of time. I’m not going to bore you with the usual boo-hoo sob story of life on the streets being a miserable fuckup. Is there anyone who wasn’t a fuckup when they were a kid? Teenagers need to fuck up, it is part of the natural order of things. What changed for me and my sister was that we Awoke. Lucky, see? Well. Kind of. Dad was a chiphead, and Mom abandoned us early on. Stacey and I, we looked out for each other. Twins. We played up the sisterly link a lot when we were young, dressed in each other’s clothes, creeped out the neighbourhood kids. We had a bond. It was good. We had someone we could rely on, that’s more than a lot in the Warrens ever get. Then Dad got behind with his payments, and things got harder. Look. Like I said, not going to go into the details. You don’t care, I don’t want to tell you. Point is, the scumbag comes round and decides that he’s going to take the two sixteen year old girls to pay off the debts. Dad tries to fight back. Dad takes a bullet between the eyes. Things get a bit blurry after that, but when it is all over, Dad is still dead, but so is the scumbag, and we’ve got all this power. We shed some tears for our Dad, because the old bastard had always been there, even if he was a pretty terrible father, but it didn’t take long for us to decide to try and use this strength to get out of the Warrens. We started off with a gang, because of course we did, but we didn’t feel good about shaking people down, you know? Well. Actually, Stacey felt stronger about it than I did. I mostly felt like we weren’t being paid what we were worth. Stacey fell in with the respectable crowd. Her boyfriend got her a job working as a bouncer over in, what was it, the CAS sector? UCAS? I don’t know. Somewhere barely a step up from the Warrens, really. Off the books, no tax, that kind of deal. We stayed in touch, but she was staying in a coffin motel – easier for her to get to work without having to cross the border every day I guess. I couldn’t resent her for it. She was out of the Warrens. Eventually, I got an offer, too. Big fuckoff bald guy covered in tattoos turned up at my digs one night and said he’d heard I was pretty handy in a fight, would I like to make some real money? Some unlucky gangbanger had somehow managed to get himself an invite to a mob poker game and had made the mistake of winning. Maybe he opened his mouth too much, I don’t know. I wasn’t paid to care about that. I was paid to kill him. Which, you know, I did. You need to be strong to get out of the Warrens. I was. That was enough to get me onto the respectable side of the fence. Good clothes, food that tasted like food, regular, and all the trashy electronic entertainment a girl could want. I didn’t tell Stacey what I was doing. I didn’t want her worrying about me. I told her I had a real job too, security work, and that got her mind going. Whilst I was at home fantasizing about life as a modern-day ninja and practicing my throwing skills, she was actually going straight. After my fourth job for my ‘sponsor’, who I kept having to meet in the Warrens, I was seriously getting good at this shit. I had regular lessons from a master of ninjutsu, I had a supply of my own shuriken, I had a SIN. Fake, of course, but still. Things turned bad when I got cocky. Dragon had suggested I get some augments; cyber myself up. I felt like a fucking Goddess after that. I could see in pitch darkness, zoom in from across a parking lot, bounce my weapons of choice off the floor and KNOW where they were going. It was incredible. And security was fucking tight. I got shot. I barely got out alive. I didn’t want to go back to my place, I didn’t want to go to hospital on my fake SIN, I went to Stacey’s, and I bled all over her nice white couch. Jesus, I thought I was dying. I told her everything. I don’t know if it was a deathbed confessional or what. She got one of her work colleagues over, some mage who used magic to patch me up. Then it was just one big fight. She wanted me to go straight. I thought she was an idiot. Sure, I got cocky once and paid for it, but, I made more in one job than she made in a year and she thought I was the naïve one. Maybe I have been a bit stupid though. One thing is clear. If I’m going to keep this up, I can’t keep going the way I’ve been going. I need a team, and I need to do more than just wetwork. I need to be a proper Shadowrunner. Won’t that be interesting? The title you enter here is not shown and only serves as visible title in the indices. Simply enter the commenting character alias. 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