Bryn rembourré à ses yeux dans l'horreur moqueuse, enveloppant les deux mains autour d'elle et le cassant pour l'effet.
"Oh mon Dieu, je suis aveugle! Et... putain de merde, j'ai perdu une jambe!" Elle souffle, des mots qui coulent de sarcasme. Roulant vers l'avant de son siège terriblement inconfortable sur l'une des étagères derrière le bar, Bryn a limité le comptoir et vers la série hors-tempo de coups de feu. Elle a pris un moment pour regarder son travail, une litière de démons, tous criblés de balles, sauver la fraîche qui s'était assise la tête dans l'une des chaises. Un sifflet et un robinet ont offert à Conrad un "zap" ludique sur la cuisse, Skelter roulant entre les doigts dextérieux de Bryn.
"Nah, je me fous de toi. C'est vieux. Évidemment. Qu'est-ce que c'est que cette bande dessinée qui t'a fait chier? Tu as l'air de mourir, mais de mieux en mieux, et maintenant tu es sorti pour te venger." Bryn s'est emparée de sa propre impression d'un annonceur « extrême », un talent qu'elle s'était approprié d'écouter trop de feuilletons radio. Elle a pris le temps d'étudier le personnage de cow-boy, en essayant de le lire.
Deux holsters, c'est loin d'être ce qu'elle pouvait dire. De gros canons, du son qu'ils avaient fait, mais certainement rien de tel n'aurait pu faire une fosse dans un mur de démon ou de saloon comme ça. Quelque chose sur lui a été inscrit. C'était l'une des armes? Elle devrait attendre le rechargement. Gros bâton noir. Grand, pointu, bâton noir en métal. Ce type était une armure ambulante. Il avait même une ceinture pleine de balles, juste... Asseyez-vous là. Ses armes étaient de calibre élevé, ces balles étaient épaisses. Ça devait être 44. Les balles n'ont jamais été bon marché.
Un revenu jetable, c'est sûr. Qui que soit le Lone Ranger ici, il avait de la monnaie de poche ou un maroquier dans sa poche. Sa cape... Chose, Bryn ne connaissait pas le bon terme, il avait une jolie broderie jaune. À moins que ce ne soit son seul changement de vêtements, ce gars avait un peu de jingle et plus qu'assez d'en faire le tour, voyant combien il était prêt à dépenser pour ses sorties. J'ai regardé quelque part entre les jeunes et les vieux... trente ans, certainement. Il faisait ça depuis un moment, il est apparu. S'il n'était pas riche, c'était certainement un looter. Trop de balles à la main et trop de belles choses.
Bien sûr, la définition de Bryn de la richesse n'était pas la plus précise : étant donné qu'elle dormait sur du foin et une feuille depuis une semaine et payait pour le plaisir, ne pas avoir à pisser en public était l'épitome de la fortune.
Deux coups. Vite, chic chkk-brap-brap-brap. La sécurité était éteinte et l'auvent avait deux nouveaux trous dedans. Bryn était beaucoup pour la conversation, mais d'après l'apparence de ce gars, il ne l'était pas. Il avait l'air d'être d'humeur. Tapez pour parler avec ses armes. Tirer les démons plutôt que de les laisser errer vers eux laissait peu de place pour des surprises à leur fin - ils étaient encore à la périphérie, et le saloon était mur à mur avec deux autres bâtiments. Pas d'attaques au dos. Tous les démons qui se souciaient de lui sauter le cul l'auraient d'ici là - et par la somme de Bryn, le paquet de cinq était probablement lollygaging dans les deux autres magasins avant qu'ils ne se regroupent.
"Hé, Leather'R'Us. Retour à la mienne, compris? Tu sais comment ça se passe. La merde va vers le sud, nous sauvons différentes directions, étirons les démons minces et adoucissons dans la fraye. Vous l'avez déjà fait, donc je ne vais pas vous donner tout le spiel sur "Ne regardez pas votre arme en regardant le paysage regarder le paysage" n'est ainsi. Brynnet Schene, au fait. Tu vas m'appeler Bryn." Elle a tapé sur son dos, l'offrant à sa nouvelle cohorte. La cravate qu'elle avait faite pour sa jambe était déjà trempée.
"Surveille la jambe de gimp. J'ai été gâché par une rampe. Spook l'a lancé. Je suis bon à bouger. Pas comme s'il y avait un muscle sous le genou." Bryn a expliqué avec brièveté entraînée - ses phrases étaient presque rythmiques, courtes et douces. Une cigarette a comblé l'écart entre les deux dernières déclarations, rappelant à Bryn qu'elle avait besoin d'arrêter de fumer, juste dès qu'elle avait assez d'argent pour acheter un autre paquet. Détends-toi. Très, très facile.
"Vous avez un nom là-bas, Skippy? Parce que je ne peux pas continuer à t'appeler divers euphémismes pour 'Certains trou du cul en cuir avec deux jambes et un chapeau stupide.'"
Character Theme - Whiskey Saga--The Fratellis
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【Full Name】
Brynnet Elaine Schene
【Alias】
Bryn
【Gender】
Female
【Age】
23
【Sexuality】
Heterosexual; Questionably Aromantic
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【Personality】
Nobody ever seems to ask her opinion, but she always seems to be giving it. Loud and sarcastic, Bryn is a study in bombast and bravado. She has little regard for her own safety, poor social skills, and a tendency to boot first and ask questions halfway up their ass. She isn't easily stressed, but her anxiety shows when it finally does percolate; she'll often rub her stump when she's nervous. When overwrought, she often dives into a bottle or busts out a pack of cigarettes; her vices, at times, almost define her. Taking the 'kiss with a fist' approach to romance, Bryn plays hard even when playing around.
As opposition, she is tenacious and acerbic, throwing insults like acid-tinged confetti. She fights like a man possessed, refusing to falter until either she falls or the opponent does. Or, often, both. She finds easy reasons to hate or otherwise dislike people, and as such, she's usually the cause of every barfight she's been in.
That being said, though, she's far from a bad person; determined and loyal, if you've paid her, you'll get what you wanted and possibly a little extra. People who are willing to put up with her cacophonous, sardonic ways for long periods of time often find a friend in her, and, moreover, a confidant. Bryn is an excellent secret-keeper, and will not part with the words of those she trusts. While her sense of right and wrong is, at its core, a touch skewed, she doesn't just mindlessly rage against the machine; she makes stands when it's for the good of the people... Or her wallet. Bryn has an eye for money, followed closely by her bloodlust.
In private, she's intensely self-aware, often checking herself in reflective surfaces to make sure she maintains her 'mysterious' and 'powerful' persona. A natural introvert, her veneer of aggressiveness and lance-tongued wit disappears in privacy, replaced by a more clever, introspective, brusque version of herself. Bryn has only ever met one person with which she could be alone together, and as such, it has soured her on romance.
She sincerely enjoys good jokes, too.
In short, Bryn is feisty, aggressive, and alpha down to the core.
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【History】
Brynnet Schene should've gotten the same upbringing as her sister, but life never turns out that way. With an absentee, hunter father and a mother who died in childbirth, her first few years were spent in the nursery of a backwater hospital, taken care of by a gruff, older gentleman who she faintly remembers but strongly resembles in personality. While her twin--Lio Schene--was taken into the care of an affluent family residing in Capital, the well-heeled to-be-parents found that an only child was preferable to a pair, and left Bryn to her lonesome.
By the time she'd learned to walk and talk, tragedy struck. The doctor who had been taking care of her died suddenly of cardiac arrest, a sign of his old age. As such, Bryn was forced onto the streets, too young to really know how to work and too old to be taken in by chance.
That was when she learned the tenet that would define her as a woman:
Money buys happiness.
At first, she begged. Begged, begged, and begged, stuck in the same rut, wasting away for years. Three weeks after her 12th birthday, a man came into town. Well, men. Many, many men. A roving band of ex-hunters who'd formed a gang, using their superior skills to their advantage by way of raping and pillaging the countryside. One of the underlings saw promise in Brynnet, the waifish, spiteful girl. As such, she stole her away, her frail form unable to resist--though the broken English she spouted resisted in force.
This woman she would come to know as 'Mum,' but to others, her name was Irene Skelter. The two of them looked nothing alike; Irene was, by many standards, cute, slim in frame and coy in countenance, dusky and round-eyed. Bryn, however, was boyish, harsh, and angular, her emaciated form cold and angry. Even so, Irene would teach Bryn the intricacies of language, how to read, and, most important to the girl herself, economic arithmetic.
As Bryn developed into a young woman, she put on weight--in both fat and muscle. For a short time, she could've been described as tubby--during a terribly self-conscious time of her life, she took to stress eating, but the band of hunters--and her Mum especially--took exception to her habit and put a hard stop to it. To this day, she's deathly afraid of eating too much, recollecting the beatings both switch and brow. She put on more muscle, becoming fairly self-conscious in the progress.
Her schooling and training continued until she turned 19.
Bryn found the head of the gang dead in his tent, beside a note scrawled in barely-legible, half-chickenscratch cursive.
"You are hunters, not gangsters.
We hunt demons, not innocents.
Besmirch the name further and similar fates shall come to each and every one of you.
-- A."
This note would be Irene's wake-up call. In a fit of fear and rage, she forced Bryn out on her own, parting ways in a violent, tear-struck argument.
And so, Bryn hunted. Alone, but by choice, this time. Her first few hunts would prove fruitless, either failing to find demons or getting there too late, but on her 7th hunt, she found purchase.
The demon was massive. A brutal, horrific creature, standing on hackneyed legs too thick-yet-too-long, bent like the joints of a hound. Its teeth were so numerous that they fought for purchase inside its mouth, some falling cockeyed out of its jaw, pointing at terrible, threatening angles. The hulkish creature saw her before she saw it.
Before Bryn knew what was going on, her leg was crushed under the beast's impossibly large form, its stomach skewered on the edge of her blade. Instinct took over, adrenaline pumped, fight-or-flight kicked in.
Bullets and screams rang out in the middle of the wasteland.
The next thing Bryn saw was the bed of a tented infirmary. A doctor and her nurse craned over the bed, worried--and curious--about her survival. Moving the bedsheet, mind muddled by painkillers, shock hit Bryn like a bus.
Her left leg was gone from the knee down. The nurse implored that he had done everything he could, having found her while travelling--scouting--ahead of his superior. The leg had gone gangrenous, and bone was practically falling out of her calf. Bryn roared in protest, wrapping her hands around his throat. Then, silence--the doctor tranquilized her.
Ophelia Jakkart and Koden Neils. For the next two years, the three of them roamed the continent, with Bryn hunting bounties for their clinic in return for free service, which she found herself needing often. During these years, her trademark shoulder-to-hip scar would be accrued, among a variety of smaller, less visible cuts and scratches.
They were relatively successful, the three of them. That is, until a demon caught them in the dead of night, in the middle of their camp. It was Koden's turn to keep watch.
He'd been drowsy since the day before, thanks to a particularly nasty cut that would've been prone to infection, thanks to Bryn catching the flu almost a week before.
Bryn awoke to the sound of Neils's death knell, bounding outside, gun in hand, stump in its stilt rather than her custom blade. This demon was sly; slim, clever, its eyes betrayed its intelligence. In moments, it was upon her; she plugged the creature full of holes, but it kept coming. Pushing her unstable form easily to the ground, it went for the deathblow; Bryn dodged away from its claws, long, sharp tines, but they made purchase on her eye socket.
Milliseconds passed before she realized the demon was no longer moving. Its head was perforated with the largest hole she'd ever seen, made by an egregiously large magnum. Turning her head, eyes tinted bloody, she saw Ophelia, her savior.
After that event, Bryn couldn't bear to so much as look at Ophelia, blaming herself for what happened to her nurse. As such, she took to the only road she knew--the open thoroughfare, setting out on her own once more.
That is how Bryn, the hunter, came to be. She searches to make reparations with Irene, and for revenge on every demon out there--
Especially the demons clothed in the guise of man.
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【Weapons/Tools and Magic】
Helter-- Her pistol. Not magical, just very reliable. It's a modified facsimile of a Glock-17, holding 20 rounds in a slightly extended magazine.
Skelter-- Her blade. This saber is an inch shorter than regulation, and a touch thicker than most longswords. The blade is inscribed heavily, and uses the blade's copper core to generate absurd amounts of friction, creating an unstable battery and electrocuting the blade. The hilt and guard is rubberized, as Bryn is a poor mage and tends to err on the side of caution when using anything magical. The outer blade is tempered steel, welded with the copper at the tang, surrounding the core entirely.
Crowsfoot-- This strangely designed leg blade is ever-attached to Bryn. Curved and bisected at the end, the lower end of the prosthesis is punctuated by a small knife, allowing Bryn to use her still-working knee to apply enough force to dig into sandstone and grip onto steep inclines. It is inscribed such that it can also provide small spurts of energy, fired out of three cones on the back of the prosthetic. While nothing incredible, it can help Bryn balance in air, and increase the length of her jumps. This thrust is achieved by creating a temporary vaccuum in the tubes, and then rapidly venting its intake. It repeats this process as many times as Bryn needs it to, providing rapid minimal thrust. This is used in conjunction with the claws and hook of her boot, allowing her to climb sheer surfaces.
Jersey-- The skull of the first demon she'd ever killed. With the help of Irene, she had it cleaned and inscribed--the runes do nothing more than glow ominously, using the marrow like phosphor. It's really spooky though, for real.