BAURER, ANNE MORRIGAN

[ANNE MORRIGAN BAURER]

ANNE MORRIGAN BAURER

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I CAN’T HIDE THE MONSTER ANYMORE
ONE CAN, ONLY FEEL DESOLATE FOR SO LONG

FULL NAME: Anne Morrigan Baurer
NICKNAMES: Morgan, Annie, Annie-boy, Ginger Fury
AGE: twenty
SEXUALITY: She has no effing clue. : ) But in the end she'd favour the ladies a bit more than the men.
MEMBER GROUP: Citizen
OCCUPATION: New Orleans Saints Halfback

ONE STARTS TO CHANGE INTO
SOMETHING THE MIRROR DOESN’T RECOGNIZE

HAIR: Bright ginger, but of a more red than orange. Generally cut around her ears in a boys style.
EYES: Brown. Not very notable.
HEIGHT: 6 feet, 2 inches.
SCARS: She's got a fair share of them, but none are really that notable unless he points them out.
TATTOOS: Nada.
PIERCINGS: Nope.
PLAY BY: Camila Bordonaba. xP Loose basing here, peoples.

THE DARKNESS HAS BEEN BIDING ITS TIME
TO CLAIM ITS LATEST VICTIM, FRESH MEAT FOR CARNAL DESIRES

LIKES: Boxing, football, the ufc, mixed matrial arts, tae kwon do, rugby, basically any violent sport, getting in fights, skateboarding, big cities, loud music, competition, adrenaline, winning, being in control, confusing people, anger, freedom, her Gram, being feared, being respected, industrial music, hurting people, fight winnings
DISLIKES: if/when people bleed on her, cuddly situations, small dogs, cheerleaders, family (barring Gram), tears, cops, rural areas, bluffers, cops, cowards, tennis, the dumb, religion, being depressed, tears, cooking, losing, people who don't try, overly dormant-like people, dealing with her 'anger issues'.
FEARS: Not becoming the best, her family catching up to her, her getting drunk (she really dun want to risk being violent and stupid), ruining her clean criminal record
SECRETS: She has no idea where she swings, she deeply regrets her family issues, and has never been kissed
PERSONALITY:

Anne. Or sometimes Morgan, if she's feeling so inclined to be a boy that day. A girl that is made of aggression. Seriously. She's got a major "Alpha Male" complex and an extremely dominant personality. She's violable, vengeful and has a whole hell of a lot of fighting strength to make her point clear. Really clear. She swears like there's no tomorrow, for very little reason, and has a nasty tendency to smash people or things. Outwardly, this makes her personality simple. She's aggressive, acts like she owns the place, owns the ground you walk on and your right to life or death. She's quick to attack and unlikely to debate with anything but her fists, pure and simple. She inflicts pain to create fear, and enjoys the power rush. Anne's rough around the edges, no doubt, and never claims to be a nice girl. Her respect is hard to earn, and rarely does she give it directly, anyways.

Anger issues and natural over-aggression unchecked for years means she's got a short fuse and a generally rude demeanor. If a person can tolerate her constant threats, cursing or bitterness, though, they do have a rather loyal friend in her. She believes people get themselves into their own screw ups, and mostly can get themselves up, but be a friend, and bonus points if you're in her gang, and she may lend her brawn to the situation. Fighting and violence is her answer to everything, as she readily believes that talking it out has no hold on anyone or anything - besides, she knows how to play to her strengths, and she knows full well she's only average in the debate department. She sticks to her own standards, morals and values, very very rarely changing them ("I don't double cross my own standards"). She is passionate and energetic about anything she puts her mind to, therefore.

She's also competitive as all hell, and won't take no for an answer; never mind if the answer is no due to her gender. This issue has lead to a loathing of almost all authority figures in her life, since most had preconceived notions of gender, and as such, she has very little respect for people in power. Don't hit girls? She'll hit you until you have to. And if you don't, well, you might end up dead. The end. Almost everyone gets called "kiddie" "boy" or has "-ie" tagged to their name at some point or another. The simplest things will get her ticked off, from a person being too passive to being conservative will get a person marked for torment.

Because of her own childhood, bitterness and sarcasm reign supreme when she isn't mad or isn't going about being mildly friendly. Even so, civil questions are usually met with civil answers, and unless she's completely worked the wrong way, strangers heads are not often torn off. However; open a wound and she "defaults" back to aggression, at which point getting her to listen to reason is a bit difficult. Indeed, one of the easiest ways to catch Anne of guard is to simply hug her; even if this may trigger her to punch on a gut reaction. She doesn't know what to do with anything cuddly, romantic, or one of those moments where she'd supposed to be sympathetic. It's foreign. She trained herself to ignore those feelings, and when they do arise, she doesn't know what the hell to do with them. Even though she's nineteen, she hasn't figured out where she swings, and she doesn't get the whole "sympathy" idea. Among her close friends, she can prove to have a sweet, almost feminine side to her; but it's marginal, and usually backed up by a threat of sorts, to keep the 'tough guy' attitude up. In herself, she expects nothing short of perfection, nothing short of being the best, and this also wears back on tolerance she has for most people. She won't be the sort to discriminate, but she will be the first to come to her own opinions about something, and it is generally a permanent conclusion.

TO BECOME WHAT I BECOME
I VIEWED THE SUN FOR THE VERY LAST TIME

MOTHER: Kimmie Baurer, 43, Gardener [Estranged]
FATHER: Luke Buarer, 43, Businessman [Estranged]
SIBLINGS: Hannah Baurer, 18, Student [Lost Contact]
OTHER IMPORTANT PEOPLE: Faith Baurer, 87, part-time daycare worker & former fighter pilot
ORIGIN: NYC; South Bronx
HISTORY:

Anne's history is a long and odd mixture of events, from being barred from the dinner table to running through dangerous nieghbourhoods at night, to flipping her principal the bird at the age of seven.

It started young. Early on, Anne was not a fan of dolls. She much rather have toy soldiers. Her mother refused, but soon found that Anne had made paper guns for her barbies, and was staging wars anyways. The pressure to be the 'little princess' eased off with the birth of Hannah Baurer when Anne was three, and it was shortly thereafter that Anne got an interest in all thoughts sport-related...more certainly, violent contact sports. If people could die in it, she was attracted to it. Her parents didn't like the fact they seemed to have a son in a girls body, but her grandmother didn't mind at all. She'd been a bit of a "genderbender" herself; wearing pants when woman generally didn't, and playing sports in general. Anne soon became her grandmothers best friends of sorts. At age five, and in first grade, Anne embarked in Tae Kwon Do, and she excelled quickly, though her temper caused her to have run-ins with the strict discipline that the martial arts warranted. She pushed herself with drive many little kids didn't have. She'd work out and soon enjoyed the fact she could flex muscles the rest of the first-grade class didn't have.

This led to strife even in her parents relationships, and estranged her from the "little princess" Hannah to some degree. Anne didn't know why they hated it, she loved the feeling of power. But they didn't. Except Faith. And with her grandmother, that feeling of power trumped her parents. She won ton with Tae Kwon Do, but felt that it wasn't good enough. It didn't exert as much power as she'd have liked. And when she was six, she saw a little boys boxing club.

This, as we might say, was love at first sight. Of course there was an immediate problem, regarding use of pronoun. Anne was a she. Those boys were all he's. Faith asked and inquired, then even demanded, but at first, they wouldn't budge; even though Anne looked like she could compete with them. This new request caused her parents to tell her off, and Anne very politely flipped them the bird. To her parents, it felt like they had failed in raising a daughter, and that Anne had something wrong with her. Anne felt there was something wrong with the world, and decided not to be deterred. Her grandmother was an essential aid; and for one year the old lady and little girl practiced in that YMCA gym, right beside that boxing group of little boys, until they caved - possibly because they were getting questions why they weren't including the redheaded 'boy'.

Her talent eventually got her a ring name, "Ginger Fury", and despite a rocky relationship with and between her parents. It only got worse when a very muscular little Anne started to cross dress. The funding was no provided by her parents, though, but that pesky old woman; Faith Baurer. The relationships got worse as the year progressed, and soon Anne was all-but living with her grandmother. The family was glad to be rid of her, and it hurt Anne. It made her hate them. It made her feed off their hate so she could get revenge, get them to hate so much that she could get strong and laugh in their faces. It seemed quite as though Anne's "rebel teen" years happened long before puberty! Her parents divorced when she was nine, her father taking Hannah, and her mother formally taking Anne; but really, just letting her stay with grandmother. The position was fine with all parties.

It didn't stop there, either. Anne, now muscular and able to pass as a boy, began to look for more outlets for her anger. Rugby and football became those outlets. She began playing football at ten, clawing into a boys league on the simple basis that if she could box with the males, she could play football with them too; that it would be almost "unfair" to place her with her own gender. She now had a full idea of why she was so controversial to most people, and was glad she had the momentum form the Dojang and boxing club to support she was a boy in sport, female as far as reproduction was concerned. Rugby came along at age ten, and was possibly the easiest boys league to get into, due to the fact she had quite the "resume" already. Suggesting that she play with her own gender now almost came as an offence to Anne!

But as thirteen rolled around, everything stabilized as much as it could possibly stabilize. Her mother cut her off aside form some payments here and there to help with the girl's education and such, and much was the same for her father. For one while year since she was a toddler, things were sane for her. One whole year. And then, at fourteen, two things happened. Firstly, she recived her black blet and left the Dojang for good; it was too strict. Secondly, her peers started to like the opposite gender. And that meant everyone thought she liked the same gender. Or was going to become a guy soon. And that pissed her off, that people doubted who she was. She ignored it. She blatantly ignored anything to do with romance, or cuddling and from there, her current "fuck you" personality emerges. She turned from emotions like that, silly emotions that made people giggle at her; and decided she wanted nothing to do with it.
This is a decision she regrets.

A decision she does not regret, however, is taking up mixed martial arts; again, fighting with the boys. This, in itself, was an uphill battle, though her constantly showing up at the gym when they said no way a help. It wasn't her true love, but it was supplement for what she learned she wanted (and to achieve her goals, perhaps NEEDED) to do. For Anne wanted to box professionally; in the mens league. And she wanted to go to university, and she really was good at football. But her family wasn't rich and she was female.

There really was only one option, and that option could be summed up in two well-known words: Football scholarship.

She knew she could do that because she wouldn't be the first girl to play college football. In fact, she'd be the third. So it was possible. Maybe just, she'd have a shot at a sporting career; the only career Anne had ever wanted, except for a short spell when she had wanted to be a firefighter. If nothing else worked, that would be one of her few options. So, she focused herself. The MMA training dropped to twice a week, and rugby vanished from the equation altogether. Boxing and football were the main focuses of her entire high school life, and at least some of her genes were working to her favour. She gained muscle well, though all that conditioning as a child, and she had inherited her father's height, finishing up growing at 6'2" by the time she was sixteen; not bad at all. She kept her weight to about 190 since then, not yet wanting to venture into heavyweight boxing, and in her senior year of high school, she caught the attention of a talent scout, who saw at first a tall, super aggressive redheaded boy. Upon talking to the varsity team coach, he learned the team captain of the Bronx public school, and the halfback, was female. This didn't deter him, or, frankly, his superiors (after a bit of talking). The superiors figured it would make New Orleans University look like a cutting-edge place, and the talent scout was happy because he'd gotten the player he'd wanted. Anne was happy because she now had a way into university, and took up a major in biology; one of the relative few school subjects she enjoyed. Now, she figured it was a matter of time before she got one professional career started, and maybe, just maybe, she'd get more than one going.

To make money, she used the MMA skill and boxing ability to enter assorted tournaments and fights; the fight winnings going to help support herself. She kept with her practice and fought the boys, often offering explanation to them that the fact was, she has muscle mass, size and ability to match most male heavyweights, provided they weren't ridiculously large, in which case any male her size would have issues, too. It worked, well and truly enough, and so life in New Orleans began. She worked hard, and fought harder. Anne changed in the boys change room, though albeit she didn't strip down - just down to boxers and a sports bra, thank you, (which she argued all the boys had either seen at least a girl in a bikini or more before, and it wasn't like she was nude, anyhow), and the team halfback, who moved occasionally to play other positions, become the captain in her second year.

Two years out of high school, the countdown was on. There were no rules against ladies in the NFL. Not Alone, just...well, no lady had done it. Sure, coaches were considered a lady may break in half. Anne had yet to snap into a million shards, though she wisely made sure to take calcium. Next year, she'd be three years out of high school, almost done her degree and eligible for "The Draft". A year flew by. Eligibility came. Luck was one her side - like it had happened in high school, the muscular girl was mistaken for a boy on the field, though when the talent scout entered the locker room, he was quite surprised to find said boy lounging about and joking whilst in a bright purple sports bra. It was awkward, but he didn't turn around and go away. She was one of their better players, and a contender for the New Orleans Saints. He told her to get an agent. She did, a man by the name of Jonathan Galloway.

It was a controversial move the the Saints took her on, one that garnered the media and feminist groups for a while once it become clear they were indeed contracting a lady to play. The coach pointed to Anne's record and Anne occasionally told people to fuck off before she showed them her tackle strength, and the deal was sealed. With a bio degree in hand (she really has no idea when she'll use that again), she launched into her professional career just recently, at the age of twenty and a half.
BAURER, number 8.

WILL YOU STILL HOLD ME
WHEN YOU SEE WHAT I HAVE DONE

ALIAS: Dante. I live in a pot. =D
AGE: 17
EXPERIENCE: about four years.
SAMPLE:

.......But fine.

Lance's prices were very reasonable for his abilities, and for being the sort of hired killer he was. He felt he went well above the call of duty when he painted the walls with blood, leaving messages or the head of a ferret, or just scribbles. When he killed cleanly or made a mess, when he instilled terror or even just gave warning shots, he thought he did a damn good job, thank you very much. And other times, he just felt like goofing off. Goofing off generally didn't involve people death, no, that involved pissing people off. Like King Pins. He'd never liked them. Why? Well, he just didn't. And he liked to tangle with the big boys. If he was going to be notorious, he'd mess with one of the biggest gangs here. This didn't do much for his nerves, but whatever. He was on the brink of schizophrenia, and whether or not it happened didn't seem to concern him.

Which was what brought him to a home in the Upper East Side, a home that had dogs. He'd killed the two that had been outside, and filled water bottles with the blood, which went into a backpack. Time for some fun, yes? Now all he needed was the home of a King Pin. He had blood, plenty of it, and it was nighttime. Pretty good. Lance left the broken-in yard with agility of a well trained gymnast, and that was exactly what his record said he was. There was no police file on the other side of Lance Luke Maxwell Abbot; nope.

He reached up with a pale hand and pulled the visor lower over his eyes, brown eyes that didn't like the contrast between the bright street lights and the inky black of the night. Pity they'd gotten burnt somewhere in the course of his twenty years. His vision was sharp, just picky. Lance walked through the King Pin owned streets like they were his, knowing that the more confident he seemed the less likely he was to get shot. Besides; who was to say any of them would recognise him? Now all the black-clad rogue needed was a King Pin manor. He knew where a lot of them were, through is years in the gangs, and he had a rough idea of one he'd never personally visited, but it seemed like a King Pin possibility. If it wasn't, well, that would be fun too, since if it wasn't, the act would be blamed most certainly on the gang in the area.

Now he only had to get into the home. He made a line of approach quickly, a tree nearby the home. He was up and into it quickly, climbing up past the first floor and second, until the thin branches that just barely held the young man up reached out to a window. Perfect. Holding on with one hand, Lance reached down to his waist, where exactly five knives were. They were all throwing knives, but they had other purposes, too. Like prying open the latch on windows when up high in a tree. With a little finding the latch gave way, and Lance was able to lift up the window, cut open the screen and leap in. Thank god for his gymnastics. Thank god to be the ferret. He was in, and into a sitting room. He could paint the walls right here and be out very easily, but what was the fun in that? Lance liked easy escapes, and this was an easy escape, but it also would scream coward, considering he wouldn't have gone into the house. He could go into the hallway, perhaps. Yes, the ferret could do that. Maybe not Lance, but the ferret, which he fell seamlessly into being, could do that.

Silently now; to the door. And then he opened it, just enough to get out, then shut it behind him. Almost. Just enough for someone looking to know this was his exit, which was the point, since he might need to find it again after a crazy run 'round; worse came to worse, though it seemed no one was home. Carefully now. He took the backpack off his back, took out the water bottles, all three of them, then put the pack back on, and set about his gory task. He unscrewed the lid of one of the water bottles, and dipped his fingers in the blood, still warm. Then, onto the walls, and soon he was in full gory impressionist mode. Paint, draw, paint, splash blood, make a mess laughing at the King Pins, that someone could do this without them knowing, right under their bloody noses.

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this app was made be dee. steal and a band of angry-ass vampire-robot-nazi’s will find you and go elizabeth bathory on your ass.

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[DANTE IN ZE POT]