Post by chamelequin on Aug 19, 2014 0:43:31 GMT -5
Character Name: Veronica Annabelle Strider XI
Nickname(s): None
Race: Human, Caucasian
Sex: Female
Age: 18
Birthplace: Vault 117, North Carolina
Height: 5'11"
Weight: 145 Lbs.
Eye Color: Blue
Hair Color: Blonde
Hair Style: Parted straight hair that goes down to slightly past her shoulders.
Facial Hair: None
Skin Color: Pale
Build: Lithe
Distinguishing Features: Veronica’s above average height for a woman makes her easier to pick out of a crowd than most. Other than that, her thin frame, lack of well-defined curves, and small breasts give off a more androgynous vibe.
Profession: Scavenger and thief
Skills: Science, Subterfuge
Training: Simple and advanced mathematics, reading and writing, Pre-War history.
Other Abilities: Cooking
Apparel: A homemade jacket made from the top half of a Vault 117 jumpsuit, Black tank top, blue jeans, sneakers.
Weaponry: Sniper rifle, Silenced .22 pistol
Other Equipment: Vault Tec brand backpack, Pip-Boy 3000, 2x Pork ‘n Beans, 2x Irradiated Water, 1x Sugar Bombs, 1x Cram, 10x .308 Rounds, 20x .22LR Rounds, 43x Caps.
Affiliation: Advocate for the Enclave.
Religious Belief: Atheist
Sexual Preference: Bisexual
Relationship Status: Single
Personality: To most, Veronica is just some degenerate kid. She’s lazy and standoffish, showing little emotion, only caring about herself. The girl never seems like she’s happy, and would rather sleep all day than earn an honest pay. She always seems to be hiding her problems too, never letting anyone help in fear that they’d hurt her more. Veronica is paranoid, and can’t rest until she’s sure an area is secure. This may be due to ADHD, it sending her checking around every corner for anything that may be hiding, such as bugs, which she’s terrified of. Strider isn’t too fond of ghouls or super mutants either, not because she’s a racist, they just make her uneasy whenever they’re around. Veronica is clumsy, which is rather ironic considering her trades; an attempt at pickpocketing usually ends with her getting chased after. She’s smart, but can get caught up in the moment and sometimes only notices things after the fact. Combine all that with cases of insomnia and depression, and Veronica Strider comes out as a wreck of a human being. Despite this, she still manages to get up every day to try and make something of herself. She’s good at heart and can still get involved in charitable acts, and even give a few kind words if the need arises. Strider's basically just an average teenager with average teenager problems stuck in the average Post-Apocalyptic world.
Veronica Annabelle Strider XI was of a lucky few to have an illustrious bloodline before the falling of the nukes, and thus was fairly easy for her ancestors to claim refuge in a Vault. The Strider name first hit the map when a young man from a small town in North Carolina by the name of Alexander Strider donned a spandex singlet for the Championship Wrestling League, or the CWL. At around 2038, Alexander built his fortune and career on blood, sweat, charisma, and fortitude, earning the big golden belt that every superstar strives to earn, becoming the CWL King of the World and obtaining the moniker of Alexander “Striker” Strider. For the next 20 years Striker Strider would appear in crisp black and white at 8:00 PM EST to entertain people in the thirteen American Commonwealths, as well as Uncle Sam’s troops stationed all over the world.
In 2060, another Strider would enter the squared circle, but this time the individual in question was of the fairer sex. Veronica Annabelle Strider or “The Belle of the Ball”, daughter of Alexander “Striker” Strider continued her father’s wrestling legacy in the CWL’s Female Division. Veronica inspired Women all over America and proved that Ladies could be tough too, accumulating a five time CWL Queen of the World streak. This knockout gal not only had brawn, but also brain. She devoted just as much time to the scientific arts as she had to athleticism, and some of her colleagues claimed that the girl was working on big things. That is, until the bombs fell in 2077, when Strider had to abandon her lab in favor of Vault 117 in her hometown of Cannon City.
Interestingly enough, Vault 117 was filled with other celebrities, scientists, and philanthropists exclusively, with the overseer and Vault Staff exempt. Advertised as a luxury vault, it drew in people looking for a lavish lifestyle like the lives they had lived before. It contained pools and spas, sporting fields, and kitchens stocked with enough fine food to last a lifetime or two. Vault 117 also housed a computer mainframe containing literally everything one would wish to know about the Pre-War world. This ensured that the offspring of the Vault 117 dwellers would get the type of education that their forefathers could afford. It truly was the good life, it just wasn’t meant for the initial wave of occupants. When the vault doors closed, all occupants were drugged and sent to the labs at the bottom of the bunker, all in preparation for this particular vault’s experiment.
Vault 117 was tasked with breeding superior individuals who could continue the work that their ancestors weren’t able to finish due to the Great War. These people would be scientists and leaders, artists and musicians, great individuals who could shape the new world and provide it with assets to resurrect the once great United States of America. With superior bloodlines and the latest genetic sciences, the staff inside the vault was able to do just that, creating pseudo-offspring of the original inhabitants and raising them under the finest care that Post-Apocalyptia could offer. The children would be raised, taught, be given creative liberties, and then culled after a few decades so that a group of new bright minds could offer their input. Each generation would add another number to an original inhabitant’s name, as well as works of art, scientific research, and even films.
As the years passed the Vault 117 staff would observe, adding to their own research every day. A goal of theirs was to figure out how to properly raise the perfect child, and luckily for them, no two offspring of a bloodline ever came out exactly the same. One might take a liking to mechanics when originally they took up acting. The beauty of it all came in the form of choice; opportunities existed in the vault where they’d be harder to find outside. Obviously troublemakers would spawn every now and then, but they were the unlucky few to be killed early, and as the years passed, the seemingly well-educated inhabitants were none the wiser to the vaults true purpose.
It was rather unexpected when the Vault 117 doors opened in 2262, forcing its denizens to face the harsh bastardization of North America. Unable to close the door, nobody was safe, be it staff or subject. Scrap and metal were used to reinforce the fallen walls of Cannon City, providing a protective barrier where the vault door failed. This new settlement became highly xenophobic, afraid that any sane human would crave the knowledge and luxuries of the vault. Still, it was imperative that they learned what became of the Thirteen Commonwealths, and so the Vault-Tec scientist’s research was set aside for more practical measures. Scouts of Vault 117 would go as far as to travel north to Washington and New York to see if any bastions of human-kind remained. Others went east to the Carolina Keyes, more south to Georgia and Florida, and even a few ventured west into the vast unknown that was Middle America. Most stayed in the vault, waiting and watching.
Despite the harsh nature of the wastes becoming known, Veronica Annabelle Strider XI received the same upbringing that her forefathers had, learning things that would only see the eyes of Pre-War upper class. However, as the girl grew older, the differences between the way the world was then and the way the world was now stood out repulsively. She would have fallen into a deep depression if it wasn’t for the recordings of one President John Henry Eden, brought from D.C. to Vault 117 by one of its pilgrims. The President of the Enclave became a role model to Veronica, and his Enclave Radio speeches would comfort her. The idea that this Enclave could somehow fix the world sounded right, and so when Veronica turned 18, she set out to D.C. in order to join their ranks and offer her bright mind to the restoration of America, and the world.
The road from southern North Carolina to Washington was long, and it was foolish for such a young and inexperienced girl to brave the wasteland alone. With little more than a child’s backpack with sparse supplies and a decrepit rifle, Veronica found she was unable to handle the more violent side of the wastes face to face, and adopted hit and run tactics more commonly used in guerrilla warfare. Of course, she always avoided a fight if possible, and was never afraid to flee when things go out of hand. The girl would travel from settlement to settlement, pawning off things like ammo and cigarettes just to get by. If she was having a particularly hard week, then Veronica would resort to pickpocketing or stealing from homes. This harkened back to her childhood when the girl would break into the kitchens to take midnight snacks.
Houses were a whole different story compared to cookie jars, and it was inevitable that Veronica would be caught. She found herself stuck in a small settlement on the southern coasts of Virginia, so close to her destination, but it felt as though she was getting farther away as weeks passed. The small jail became a terrible bastille of dread, the dark grinding away the young girl’s mind and leaving way for boredom and depression. Not even the great president of the United States could comfort her, as the jailer was a cruel man and would punish anyone who caused a “ruckus” with beatings or worse punishments that are better off being unnamed.
After a whole month and a half of imprisonment, Strider awoke with a start at the sounds of gunfire and screams; Raiders were attacking. She could only watch as one entered a brawl with the jailer, eventually getting the upper hand by knocking his pistol to the ground. Coincidentally, it landed within reach of Veronica. It’s unknown if she shot the jailer through a fit of rage or the need to survive, but none the less he fell from a bullet from his own .22. Veronica was able to escape after all the prisoners were released. Upon arriving in the Capitol Wasteland, Strider was saddened at the news on what happened to the Enclave. She’s still determined to find them, but with no leads, everything lies at a standstill.
