Abigail Gunn
Sept 3, 2014 15:12:29 GMT -7
Post by Abigail Gunn on Sept 3, 2014 15:12:29 GMT -7
ABIGAIL GUNN
| NAME Abigail Gunn ALIAS Rachel Keller AGE 26 DATE OF BIRTH 04/13/2556 GENDER Female | PLAY BY Katee Sackhoff SEXUAL ORIENTATION Heterosexual AFFILIATION Syndicate (formerly Alliance) OCCUPATION Syndicate Enforcer PLACE OF BIRTH Bernedette |
HEIGHT
5'6"
WEIGHT
130 Lbs.
HAIR
Her hair hangs about halfway down her back and is dyed auburn. Her natural hair color is blond. She typically keeps her hair tied back out of her face.
EYE COLOR
Her natural eye color is blue, but she wears brown contacts that give them a bright chestnut color.PHYSICAL BUILD
Athletic
DISTINGUISHING MARKS
She has a tattoo of two guns crossing at the barrel on her right shoulder and the phrase 'ONLY GOD WILL JUDGE ME' tattooed in large, Old English letters across her back
GENERAL APPEARANCE
See picture
CLOTHING STYLE
Depends. Generally she'd wear a black tank, thick cargo pants and combat boots. In the field, she wears armor and is fully armed. She has also been known to wear a sexy black dress on occasion. It just depends on what she's doing at the time.
LIKES
| STRENGTHS
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OVERALL PERSONALITYALONE
When left to herself, Gunn is free to malfunction in any way she likes. If she has access to alcohol, that will be her method of choice. She is careful not to say too much about what she's thinking when she drinks. If she is “alone in a crowd,” she may get herself into a fight just for the sake of activity. She takes risks others might think idiotic. People might think that, frankly, because they are. Gunn is immensely self-destructive, with an addictive personality. She is something of an adrenaline junky, and has been a substance abuser in the past. She never progressed to hardcore drugs. Her drug of choice was painkillers – Loratabs in particular. These days, she'd hardly be picky. Nobody to live for but herself, and that's a person she has been at odds with for years.
INTERPERSONAL
The four possible relationships are enemies, acquaintances, lovers, and friends. Most people never leave the enemies, acquaintances, or lovers quadrants for Gunn. Lovers are not, in her mind, necessarily closer to her – beyond proximity – than acquaintances. Friends, now – those are a rarity. Enemies and acquaintances she has in abundance. Lovers... perhaps to an extent others would consider “abundant.” With other people, Gunn tends to be abrasive, harsh, and off-putting. She wouldn't hesitate to save a person's life, though. She is... good-hearted. But hard to handle.
MORAL CODE
Gunn wouldn't watch a person die, any person, without mounting a rescue attempt. After the immediate threat is quelled, though, it would be rare for her to take on any additional responsibility for the individual unless more danger presented itself. She is conscientious, but refuses to be a “babysitter” for anybody.
Fighting, not killing, is a fair means of expression. If someone leaves with a bloody nose or cracked ribs, all is still good. Gunn intentionally seeks fights when she's particularly bogged down with thoughts, and so starting fights is perfectly alright by her standards. She wouldn't progress to killing, though, and when she fights for the hell of fighting, she engages only in hand-to-hand combat.
Gunn has a sense of justice. Anything she perceives as injustice, she will bluntly involve herself in, particularly if it involves a weaker or defenseless group. She will make herself judge and jury, even executioner, if she feels she has to. On the flip side of this, she will not act on anything that will break her persona. If it challenges her morality but interferes with her revenge, she'll overlook it... if she isn't doing it herself.
If it feels good, do it. That's her recent philosophy on life. She has no qualms about people being indiscreet sexually or any other wise that hurts nobody but themselves. Out for endorphins, she considers it, and everybody knows those are a scarce resource these days. Funny how much people pay for the drugs when the happiness was more a scarcity.
| FATHER Samuel Gunn (deceased) MOTHER Charlotte Gunn SIBLINGS None OTHER NOTABLE RELATIVES None | SIGNIFICANT OTHER Vitale CHILDREN None OTHER SIGNIFICANT PERSONS Officer Becker; Onas Knox; Lewis PETS Vitale |
BACKSTORYDaddy was a fed; mommy cut open dead people.
Hardly glamorous, but true. Sam Gunn (Sept. 2, 2530 – Aug. 5, 2577) was a fed for more than twenty years. He was a quiet man, someone who often had nothing to say but the occasional guttural agreement or dissent to the conversation. The most part of his conversations with Gunn were instructions or corrections. Most politicians were lying bastards in his mind, and his television shows of choice were generally news or sports oriented. Anything else he tolerated or snored his way through. He enjoyed gardening, growing things with his hands, and building things. He made a desk for Gunn, and other odds-and-ends pieces just for the sake of something to create. She was never technically oriented. Their time indoors together was mostly spent in silence with occasional verbal exchanges while some news anchor droned on in the background. He had a passionate distrust for the world, so he ensured that as soon as she was old enough to be responsible, Gunn knew how to shoot every weapon in his house – and there were quite a few. Shotguns, pistols, rifles. His gunrack was a testament to how seriously he took his firearms. He'd take her hunting, fishing, all predominantly with the silence between them, but talking didn't matter that much anyway. They were close in their own right, despite the differences between them, and the depths of conversation they never reached.
Charlotte Gunn (April 5, 2533 – present) had always been career-minded rather than family-oriented. She talked passionately about the bodies she cut apart, about the cause of death for this little boy, the fracturing indicative of foul play in that elderly woman. She was hardly someone that most would enjoy talking to, but Gunn listened to her stories with keen interest. Gunn listened to most stories with keen interest. However morbid it was, it fascinated her to catch glimpses of these lives that she wasn't a part of. Charlotte and Sam both influenced Gunn to follow in her father's footsteps into Interpol, not that she needed the push.
Sam died in the field. He was undercover, but unfortunately for him, he was really and truly an honest man... and others weren't. They found him disemboweled. At his funeral, his features were just a pallid version of him. It almost looked fake, rubbery, something. To know how he'd died was hard to swallow. The sheer amount of errors in his case just added to the cover-up. Gunn knew it. They knew it. And she couldn't stomach it anymore.
She turned in the firearm they'd given her (not that she needed the extra protection, anyway), with a very resounding, ”Burn in hell.” She didn't know the who, what, when, and why's of it, but she knew what had happened. Everyone in that precinct did, and the pretense that it didn't exist just pissed her off. Abigail had been honest. She'd spent most of her cognitive life trying to be her father. Now, her father was dead. And so was she.
When Gunn left, she left wholeheartedly. She hung out in the very dives with the very people her vocation would have had her hunting. She drank what they drank, smoked what they smoke. She checked out, 100%, gave turning her back to the job as much effort as she'd given the job itself. As it happened, she was approached by a team lead from her office. His surname was Becker, and that's what she'd called him.
”Gunn. I have a proposition for you.”
Gunn swiveled on her stool, facing Becker coldly. ”Yeah, well, I don't want any of your Gorram cookies.”
”Gunn, I know Sam died because of an informant. I can't catch them; I don't know who it is. That's why I'm approaching you. Off the record. No paperwork, no ID's, nothing. As far as the crew is concerned, you don't exist. Because I know why you walked out, and I know you wouldn't have done it yourself. You're the only one I trust, besides myself.”
It really didn't matter that he was having this conversation in plain sight. He was talking low, the bar was secluded, and the music was blaring in the background.
”I know what case Sam was on.”
He moved to a booth and sat, leaning back and watching her. It stung, to hear her father's name. She'd gone really out of her way to escape it. When she moved to follow him, he pulled a brown accordion file out of the satchel he'd brought with him and slapped it on the table in front of him. The white label on the outside read one name: ONAS KNOX. She twisted the file to stare at the name. It didn't ring a bell to her... at all. Not that it would. Gunn had hardly reached the status of any big time cases. The sheer corruption had flipped her off like a switch. Gunn looked at the file folder a moment, burning a hole into the dark brown cardboard with her icy blue stare. Becker reached as if to take it back after a few minutes of no response, but she snatched it out of his reach with the quickness of a striking snake. She held it against her chest like it was her new bible.
”I resigned. Loudly.”
”Yeah, yeah, so I heard. I really liked the exit speech. 'If your mother had used antifungal cream when she first noticed the smell, you wouldn't be having this conversation'.” Becker grinned.
”Yeah, well. He closed the case. He gave the order. More crooked than a dog's hind leg.”
”You're right, Abigail. Absolutely right. And the fact that you're saying it... means you're a different animal. I want to send you undercover, without clearance, red tape, whatever. Just you.”
”Where is this Knox, anyway?”
”You'll have to go to Persephone... But, check it,”
He reached in for another folder, a manila one. This one contained a version of Gunn. The image was altered. Brown eyes, black hair. Tattoo on the right shoulder where Gunn had none. Becker's handiwork. Inside was a full profile that would have made any detective proud. The dirt on this chick was a a mile wide and ten miles deep. Drug offenses, assault, robbery, theft... on and on... and then it cut off. That would be, presumably, when this girl dropped off the radar. Rachel Lynn Keller.
”And you got all this shit with no clearance? Just created a person?”
”Gunn... I couldn't trust anyone. If you want to break the back of something like this, you've got to go public with it. There are just enough good out there that they couldn't bury solid evidence. Video feeds, audio, whatever you can get. But you'll have zero backup. And you're going to get your hands dirty. I've set you up to be a gunslinger, because I think you can handle it as you are... you will have to live it, Abs. And I can't promise you that I can pull you out again once you go down this rabbit hole.”
Gunn shoved up from the booth abruptly, taking both folders with her.
”You're in, I take it?
”Yeah. Just gotta get some hair dye... and tattoos.”
Abigail had given up her life's dream with no career to supplant it with. She hadn't worked at anything else, so she hadn't obligated her time to anything else. She read every scrap of information on Onas Knox and crew. Onas Knox was her bible. She slept with pieces of his life scattered on her sheets, still in her clothes from studying and reading. He was with her at every meal. She thought about him in the shower. She thought about him when she went for a run, when she vented her frustration on a punching bag. She trained, she ate, she read, she studied, she slept, and if she dreamed, it was of Onas Knox, the man implicated in her father's death.
Gunn became Keller. She got a few tattoos, two pair of pistols with crossing barrels on her right arm, and the words 'ONLY GOD CAN JUDGE ME' in Old English letters across her shoulders. Her blond hair went black, and she got used to putting in colored contacts. She even started wearing red lipstick for affect. Then... she went to Persephone, where she started. She started fights for the hell of it. She took drugs, hung out in dives... the moment of truth came when someone had screwed with her in a very very bad bar in a very, very bad neighborhood... and she'd unloaded a pistol in his chest. Keller was really and truly born that day. Keller, who earned the moniker Killer in short order. She sealed her fate. She lived it, she breathed it, she ate, drank, and slept with it. There was only one problem with the feigned persona: the list of offenses started to pale in comparison, and the manifestation of Keller was a hell of a lot better at getting by with it.
Abigail found her way into the Syndicate, first as a ripper under Brilee Gabriel before making a name for herself and being promoted to a high level enforcer. Killer Keller was hand picked from thousands as Onas Knox's personal representative for the Peerless mission as someone he could trust in a matter that held his very life in the balance. Infiltration accomplished.ROLEPLAY SAMPLEKeller was in a bar full of dangerous people. It was kind of funny how shockingly civil it was, too. Poisonous snakes lying with other poisonous snakes. The one thing sociopaths all had in common was that, while other lives didn't mean anything to them... their own did. And one really didn't press their luck in a situation in which any given patron might be that one gunman who's a little faster.
The woman was chilling in what they referred to as 'the pit'. It was a step down from the main level of the floor, where the dartboards were. That's where Keller killed time. She raised her elbow and held it evenly, throwing her dart and hitting the 19 on the lower part of the board. She threw her second time and raised her dark eyebrows a little. The needle had stuck itself in the plastic that held the flight onto the first dart. She'd “Robin Hooded” that dart. She moved close to the board, grinning and admiring it from the side, when she felt a hand cup and pinch her ass.
Bad move.
She had the man in an arm bar, forcing him onto the floor and digging her kneecap into his chest. She let him squirm for a bit. It was sort of a rush, not knowing what he could do, and knowing she was stoking a hornet's nest with him. When she let him go, she just laughed and moved back behind the white line. Nobody broke the peace here. That was his infraction. Keller herself had caught on with this atmosphere a long time ago. What was funny... was she belonged the least.
She'd been a fed in another life.
Or, she had been. She'd been a blond-haired, blue-eyed, straight-as-an-arrow Abigail Gunn. Now, she was a black-haired, brown-eyed, tattoo'd woman. She was wearing dark denim jeans today, plain white sneakers, and a black skin-tight halter top. She looked nothing like the woman she'd been... she wasn't the woman she'd been.
”You shouldn't lie in the floor like that. Do you know how many people walk on it everyday?”
The entire scene had drawn a couple of glances, but zero shock. The distasteful stares were toward the man peeling himself off the floor. He had made a ripple in the water. No one here wanted a bar fight, namely because there was a chance that they wouldn't make it out of an all-out brawl. Civilization had it all backwards. They didn't need to be rid of war to have world peace... the entire world needed to be more dangerous.
Roleplay Experience: Various RPs over 10+ years
How You Found DoS: Onas
Other Characters on the Site: Number
Preferred Method of Contact: Skype, c-box
Anything else: I'm the t-rex.
Password: Jxqq
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