Shea-Victoria Laguna

    Character Name: Shea-Victoria Laguna ( Pronounced "Shay" )


    Nickname(s): Shea, Vikki, Fox  
        Daluka ( This raider name given to her by Billions, but was "taken" from her when Billions discovered her identity. )


    Race: Human


    Sex: Female


    Age: 27 ( September 1, 2257 )


    Birthplace: The Pitt, Pennsylvania



    Height: 5'10"


    Weight: 142 lbs


    Eye Color: Blue Steel


    Hair Color: Light Blonde


    Hair Style: Short ( Unkept with Long Bangs, )


    Facial Hair: -


    Skin Color: Caucasian ( Very Light  - German, English, and French descent )


    Build: Lean & Wiry ( Shea looks almost emaciated from a distance, though in reality she is just naturally thin. )


    Distinguishing Features:

        Small Frame - Shea is small and lean to the borderline of skinny. Shea is very agile and dexterous, but lacks in the physical strength department.

        Eyepatch - Shea lost one of her blue eyes when she was thrown over the catwalk and into the scrap pits.

        Double Jaded ( Scars ) - The young woman has gone through many unfortunate situations and experiences. As a result she is usually cold, calm, uncaring, and quite unstable. Shea seldom sympathizes with others. Some might call her anti-social, but in truth she is just scarred physically and emotionally. The more obvious scars can be seen on her back, left thigh, wrists, ears, and right shoulder. The rest of them can be seen in her actions and heard in her banter.

        Tired Eye(s) - She often shows dark circles around her eyes from troubled sleep, stress, and unhealthy living.

        Chain-Smoker - Shea is always seen burning a cigarette, and has developed a light smoker's cough already.

        Slave Brand - Shea has a slave brand seared into her skin many years ago. It is on the right side of her neck, and the girl seldom attempts to conceal it.
    



Profession & Work History: Vagabond, Thief, Gun for Hire ( Former Pitt Slave )


Skills: Smooth Talker, Sneak, Perception, Speed, Sharpshooter, Minor Repair, Hand to Hand Combat, Barter, Basic First-Aid, Street-Smart


Weaknesses: Seemingly bipolar, Illiterate, Low overall Strength, no Heavy Weapons, no knowledge of Energy Weapons, no knowledge of Science, no knowledge of Explosives, Small Frame, Weight Limit, Can only wear Light Armor, Emotionally Distant, Distrustful, One eye


Training: Young slavers received firearm and fight training early in the Pitt. Shea was taught this up until she became a slave. Life on the Run taught Shea some fundamental Survival and Stealth skills at an early age. Before she made it to the Capital Wasteland, Shea and her groups of runaways learned to perfect their shooting and Stealth in order to survive. In her more recent years, Shea's experience bartering with mercs and traders has made her a good negotiator, despite her troubled personality. Nearly twenty total years of experience has made her deadly with rifles, pistols, and shotguns.


Other Abilities:

        Shea was unable to learn many tradition fighting techniques. The young woman couldn't deliver blows or swings as heavy as most other people, and thus her training became focused on the ideals of martial arts. Holden, another escaped Pitt slave, showed the girl powerful fundamental techniques like hip-throws and moves that focused on redirecting the enemy's blows and momentum against them. The man was captured before he could finish teaching her what he knew, but the girl had continued to practice the basics and experiment on her own from there. As a result, Shea isn't much good throwing punches, but her kicks and quick grapples pose a real threat in close quarters. Her unarmed style is a mixture of jujitsu and street fighting, but her first choice is still a rifle.


Gear & Apparel:

    ( While Shea has an entire wardrobe of garments at her apartment, the young-woman is most often seen wearing her usual gear: )

    - Bone Carved Eyepatch - Shea-Victoria's rather unique eye-patch. The patch it'self is a domed chunk of bone carved from a Deathclaw's horn. Shea purchased the oddity from a mysterious but friendly trader called Mr. Sherman. The item gives her right eye the look of a dark scale, but it's purpose is to effectively keep radioactive dust out of her sunken eye socket.

    - Small Hair Clip - often contains a few bobby pins, not that Shea is much good at lock-picking.

    - Sunbleached Sports Bra / Athletes Tank Top

    - Battered, Hooded Leather Jacket - Patched together from multiple coats. Shea has cut it off short near the waste, and removed both sleeves.

    - Fabricated Leather Armor Piece - Shea sports a reinforced leather pauldron on her right shoulder. A nook was pounded into it with a torch and ballpine hammer, giving the sniper rifle's stock a optimal rest. Shea's right upper arm, elbow, and part of her right forearm also wear linked and strapped pieces of her makeshift armor, giving her a defensive tool that doesn't weight much and can be strapped with .308 rounds. The shoulder pauldron has a steel latch and so does the waist belt, allowing her to latch the Sniper Rifle onto her armor and pack, thus freeing both hands.

    - Police Pistol Holster - a holster for a handgun typical worm by police, as the gun is held under the left arm by two crisscrossing leather chest straps. Shea currently keeps her revolver in this, but the fact that her overcoat is shredded and full of holes defeats the purpose of concealment. She just thinks it's handy.

    - Weathered, Patchwork Leather Cargo Pants - almost hotpants with random zippers and pockets.

    - Combat Boots - scuffed & dirty

    - Cargo Back Pack - Shea wears a military style, cylindrical backpack slung over her left shoulder, balancing the weight of her armored right shoulder. In it she keeps various chems & supplies like a few Stimpaks, Med-X, Jet, Buffout, Purified Water, and Caps. Because of her small frame and low weight limit, Shea can usually only carry as much loot as she can shove in her pants and the already half-full backpack.

    

Weaponry:





Affiliation: Independent

Religious Belief: Anti-Theist

Sexual Preference: Bisexual

Relationship Status: Single

Personality:

    Shea is often distant and dark... other times she occasionally has fits of hyperactivity. Her trauma has made her quite apathetic to the woes of the wasteland, and some see her as selfish, egotistical, or insane. Shea is only motivated by things that directly benefit her, and typically she is willing to double-cross a person if it means more caps for her. Over the years the woman has learned to act cool and fluid, bullshitting her way past issues in public while developing a silver tongue. ( When she remembers not to talk vulgar and cut back on the obscenities. ) Shea also has a great poker face.


    Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania had become a metal and munitions blast furnace once again. Some of the factories had been completely restored to working conditions. Iron works blew fresh smog into the air. The orange glow of molten metal escaped the walls of these industrial ruins, as did the cries of the damned. Metal smashed metal, and the shouts of slavers accompanied barking dogs. The need for slaves was at and all time high, flooding the maze-like metropolis with overworked, hungry, sick people.

    Rolf Laguna: one of the fresh forced laborers, who's new full-time job was running a metal shear, was brutally fed to the same machine by a slaver named Billions. ( Reportedly, he had told Billions to go fuck himself. No one told Billions to go fuck himself. )

    This unfortunate incident fell heavily on the young whore who was carrying his child, and for months the woman hid the pregnancy from her Slaver overseers. When a horny slaver named Toot discovered her belly one fateful night, the woman desperately claimed it to be the child of Billions as she was dragged to another building. ( Billions had made use of Rolf's widow many times in the few days that followed his death, nearly driving the woman insane. ) In a strange twist, the murderous slaver Billions decided to keep the child. He had always wanted to raise a mini-Billions.


    Three months later, the child was born. Taken from her mother shortly after breastfeeding, Shea was taken to the upper levels of the city. Her mother was left weak and alone in the slave clinic after nearly being beaten to death by slavers. The two would not see each other again for a decade.

    Life was hard for anyone in the Pitt, but the young Daluka, ( as Shea had been so dubbed by Billions, ) was the supposed child of a mid-ranked Slaver. Spared the child labor and more horrible fates of the slave children, instead she was treated to a dirty and brutal childhood with other raider and slaver kids. Billions was far from a good father, but he did give the young girl caps and clothes when necessary. It became apparent early on that Shea would be small. Her stature lead to numerous fights among her and the other children, with Shea often being outnumbered. Shea grew tough, and she grew mean.

    Violence and deceit. They became her only weapons in her world. The young slavers had their mock hierarchy, and although Shea would never be on top, she could at least be acknowledged as dangerous. Inflicting pain verbally and physically was a useful tool, one that Shea was forced to master. Brawlers sometimes bested Shea, leaving her bloody and swollen. The girl would heal. And she would come back again. And again. Until she had beaten them. Her tactics grew dirty, and her moves more difficult to anticipate. At the age of fourteen, Shea ( Daluka to her fellows ) was not the strongest raider at all. But none of them fucked with her anymore, fearful of a hidden blade or a knee to the privates. Many wanted to kill her, but were rightfully fearful of Billions.

    


    A little over a year after establishing her spot among the lost children of the Pitt, a dark day arrived. It was raining, a kind of acidic rain that stung the eyes and irritated the skin. Two slavers, Jeth and Super Bird kicked in the door to Shea's room. Jeth pumped two shotgun slugs into the wall beside her bed for effect. "Essbee" then pointed his pistol at her face, commanding her to get up and get dressed. She was escorted at gunpoint to Billions' room two buildings away. The rain continued to pour.

    Upon arrival, Billions ordered the two raiders out, and locked the door. He explained to Shea that her mother was a lying, worthless whore and he had personally fed her genetic father into a machine just because the ignorant man hadn't deserved to live. The stunned Shea was still attempting to understand the gravity of the situation when Billions began to waylay the girl with punches. When she finally fell, he gave the wailing girl a few boots to the ribs, and then finally raped her. She was removed from his room by Essbee, who dragged the girl to the catwalk.

    "Throw her down with the other fuckin' scabs. It's where she belongs."

    Essbee picked the shivering girl up over his head and tossed her over the rusty rail. Shea-Victoria Laguna, finally aware of her true name, landed heavily on a pile of scrap metal and car skeletons. A piece of rebar punctured her right eye. Had her jaw not cracked against a hunk of stray concrete, the bar would have shoved it's self into her brain. The last bit of strength left in Shea Laguna pulled herself off the metal heap and tumbled onto the wet earth. Essbee pulled his revolver, but was stopped. Billions advised him to save his bullets and let her suffer.

    Shea did suffer horribly, but miraculously, she did not die.

    
    
    After recovering from a bruises and a couple broken bones, the girl was a working slave. Thanks to a fellow slave named Rachelle, her eye socket had never become infected. Her ribs had healed, and the nastiest of the wounds had scarred over. Billions had not seen Shea since that night, thankfully, and the missing eye accompanied by the marked skin had disqualified her from the profession her mother had practiced. The now sixteen year old Shea-Victoria was never the target of angry slaves in the work camp. Those who knew of the girl's past felt sorry for the one eyed, scarred, broken young woman. Their pity, the Pity of Slaves, boiled in her guts like magma. The shouts of her overseers ran up her spine like electric pulses. The fact that Billions still lived filled her veins with venomous hate. She brooded. She studied the compound. She busied herself with fantasies of death and destruction. She seethed. Daluka was dead. The slaver had accomplished his goal.

    Shea had become another person, a toxic cocktail of hatred and pain that lived for the day her and Billions met again. Other slaves could see the girl's deteriorating state of mind, but were unsuccessful in comforting her. Their words only cut into her deeper, opening a wound that never seemed to fully close anyway.

2275

    As Shea fed chunks of scrap into an oven one evening, her back aching, the girl turned to find herself facing Essbee. He was ogling her like a child.

    "...Holy shit. I thought it was you. Wait 'till I tell Billions you're alive!" he chuckled, jogging out of the factory. When he returned, three other slavers followed. Shea was thrown around a bit by her former tormentor, then dragged to back to Billions place. The girl was deposited on the rug, and the slavers left her alone with Billions. The slaver studied her as he removed his coat.

    It was over quickly. A sharpened piece of metal, concealed in Shea's shirt every day for a year, ended Billions unwanted advances. And his life. It was at that moment Shea-Victoria Laguna felt the horrible truth beneath herself: Nothing, not even vengeance, could bring back her soul. She felt nothing, no sadness, no relief, just numb. After taking a moment to study the dead raider, the girl stepped over his corpse and began a quick search of his room. Either out of laziness or a twisted sense of sentimentality, Billions had kept her .38 pistol. Shea reclaimed it, took some of the slaver's clothes, and pulled the shank from the slaver's eye before exiting out the fire escape.

    The slave had made it half-way to the main gate when boots were heard running across the metal catwalks of The Pitt. Shouting followed. Shea was forced to head south-east through the crumbling ruins, avoiding the slavers currently looking for her. No doubt Essbee was among them, blade in hand. The thought was unsettling. Luckily, she made it through the without meeting a single Trogg or slaver. Emerging on the edge of the highly irradiated Ohio River, Shea took a few minutes to rest.

    The sound of dogs and boots echoed behind her. The murky waters of the irradiated Big Muddy rushed before her. There was no choice.

    The unconscious Shea was pulled from the river and carried away. When she finally came out of it, the girl found herself in the care of other slaves. The former slave was stuck in a tent, six miles south of the Big Muddy. Suffering from horrible radiation sickness and infection, Shea recovery took months. When her health finally returned, she accompanied the group of escaped slaves near the state line. Shea was a welcome asset to the runaways once they had seen the girl shoot a rifle. One in particular, Holden, had taking a liking to the bitter young woman.

2277

    The runaway slaves soon traveled like Old-World Gypsies, building makeshift carts and stealing a few brahmin from a lonely ranch. They all learned to steal. The morality of their actions never weighed much on Shea's thoughts. She had grown colder still.

    The group, numbering twenty, scavenged and hunted. They lived off the land and occasional trades among friendly travelers. The fought raider attacks several times, but thankfully they had been disorganized and unaffiliated with large factions. Highwaymen.

    The snaked across the wastes, leaving The Pitt as a memory. A bad dream. They could finally live in peace.

    At the age of nineteen now, only Holden's company and banter kept the girl with the group, their conversations often lasting hours without pause. His past as a fighting slave earned her respect, as did his knowledge of hand-to-hand combat. The fact that he was witty and something of a comedian didn't hurt, either. Their friendship ended when once the slavers found them.

    It was a slaver force on their way to the East, in the general direction of the only other arguably inhabited place: The Capital Wasteland. Fate was cruel. When they came across Shea and the runaways, the caravaneers were captured quickly. The young woman killed two of the slavers before being clubbed. She was beaten once again, tortured with the rest of the slaves. Branded, burned, and worse.

    When the sun rose, most of the captured runaways were in chains. The slavers led them away, leaving Shea-Victoria and a slave named Hope behind. Shea and Hope's new handlers had decided a few more hours wouldn't hurt. As she lay on her stomach in the dirt, her hand found the thug's pistol. An elbow crashed against his face and the 10mm fired twice in his gut. Shea moved quickly, shoving the slaver aside and rushing towards Hope's handler. The slaver had found his sniper rifle, a weathered old DKS-501. As aimed at her head and pulled the trigger, the gun refused to fire. Shea's N99 fired three 10mm rounds into his chest.

    She became unsteady, holding the pistol and nearly hyperventilating. Nearby, Hope began to squeal and cry. Shea fell to her knees as the wailing continued, lost in her own thoughts. Attempting to wake up from a nightmare. Minutes passed. A good friend would have tried to save Holden, wouldn't they? Shea decided she would rather leave. Still Hope went on.

    "Shut the fuck up." Shea grunted from her spot by the fire, staring into the dying embers. The slave continued.

    "They probably heard the gunshots, you know. You're fuckin' ballin' is gonna lead 'em right to us!" The slave continued.

    There was no choice. Shea awkwardly found her feet, raised the N99, and shot the crying girl in the head. Silence followed, accompanied only by the wind. The young woman waited for the regret. She waited for the bad feelings. None came. Minutes passed. She felt the same. Why?

    The girl searched her former captors, finally deciding to take the sniper rifle before she left. Perhaps it was salvageable. Looking through it's impressive scope showed no signs of cracks or damage. The scope worked perfectly, for all she could tell, when he vision suddenly found a dark blur across the valley. As she trained the cross-hairs on the form, it was clearly the slavers returning. The appeared to be moving quickly.

    "Oh shit."

  
    Her fleeing and following journey took the former slave deep into the wasteland. She had no idea where she was, only that the setting sun and supposed direction of the Pitt were always far behind her. For a time, the vagabond found safety with a man called Big Ed. Eddie was a scavenging merchant, and he allowed Shea to join him and his employee, Boothe, once she displayed her aim with the sniper rifle. He never asked about her scars or markings, and she never asked if Ed actually paid Boothe. The travels were long, and they often traveled hungry.

    
    One day Big Ed, Boothe, and Shea reached the limits of the Capital Wasteland. Big Ed was convinced it would be the promised land of wealth, and he would retire in a few years. His dreams were snuffed out one night as the wagon suddenly rocked across the old highway. Shea had been riding in the front, giving the brahmin an occasional swat on the ass, when a roar was heard. Her hand found the sniper rifle as she turned, but the wagon flipped quickly onto it's side. A monster snorted as she groaned. It was difficult to hear, difficult to think. The Yao-Guai tore Big Ed apart as Shea and Boothe found their feet. When the best rushed them, Shea put a boot to Boothe's ass. He stumbled in front of her as the beat slew him, and a single blast echoed from the rifle. The Yao-Guai fell limp, as did Boothe. Shea stood alone again, hyperventilation.

    Gathering anything useful, Shea put the brahmin out of it's misery and continued on. The caravan flipping would cause her hip to ache occasionally for the rest of her life.
    

    The Capital Wasteland did not turn out to be paradise, but it was decent enough for Shea. Guard and escort work became the method to buy food and necessities... really the only marketable skills Shea possessed beside running a few select machines in an iron factory.

    Her small size often worked against her when it came to landing clients, so the young woman always wore the DKS openly. Fortunately, the presence of a high powered rifle seemed to ease the nerves of many traders and travelers. During this time Shea developed a habit of drinking four or more Nuka-Cola's a day and smoking frequently instead of occasionally. The habits were expensive, and on top of her gear's maintenance, it left little to build a nest egg with.

    So the jobs became more dangerous, and thus payed better. Shea had no plan, and there was no goal in mind. Somehow she survived by going place ot place and shooting things. Sometimes she just made money being there in case she was needed to shoot things. As her skill grew with sharpshooting, so unfortunately did the hollow feeling that devoured her thoughts in the night. On her jobs she always had her eyes open and aware. What Shea was truly really searching for, however, not even she knew.

    As years passed slowly, Shea-Vicoria became known across travelling merchants and wasteland settlements as a skilled sharpshooter called Fox. The young woman fueled talk of her work with a growing ego. It was also generally assumed by clients that the more expensive a merc, the more skilled. Shea adjusted her prices accordingly, and the caps began to flow.

    She made decent money. She killed decent people. She stopped people from killing decent people. She made enemies. Caps exchanged hands. Drinks flowed. Her "luck" continued. The gritty details became unimportant, only the death and the caps. Or was that important? Maybe not. Only necessary. Many nights were spent in various motels and hovels, drunk and high. Nothing made sense, and nothing seemed to matter. Like a poison, the killing became the only thing she looked forward to. Something she could feel in her bones. There was a part of her that became horrifically satisfied only when she ended someone's life. Raiders, slavers, criminals, robbers, accused persons, it didn't matter. They all deserved a bullet. Or did she?

  Shea-Victoria Lagun continues to wander the Capital Wasteland. For what, she doesn't know.