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http://www.roleplaygateway.com/post1127155.html#p1127155
OOC link.

The day had started relatively normal. The sun had risen softly over the mountains to let its soft glow grace over the world set around them. The soft fingers of the wind rustled through the tree tops, delicately running over the inhabitants of the mountains, to stretch to the cheek of a young woman who lay sleeping in the tree tops. Her dark eyes fluttered open, a light groan escaping her lips as the morning light stirred her from her sleep. How she hated early mornings. Actually, she just hated mornings in general. In fact, there wasn't much she liked about anything. But early mornings were indeed what she disliked the most, or close enough to.

Jayda Mandel stretched and sat up, running a hand through her short hair. Sitting up had definitely been a bad idea. Her head spun wildly, the world swirling around her, feeling as though her brain was smashing around against the insides of her skull, threatening to burst through her forehead. She collapsed back against the material of her makeshift hammock, eyes closed as she willed her raging headache to disappear. Okay, hangovers were another thing to add to her growing lists of hates. Perhaps her likes would be a shorter list. Jayda laid in the confines of the hammock with her eyes closed, breathing softly and waiting for her headache to calm.

Her eyes were usually the first thing people noticed about her, not because they sparkled with life or because of the intensity of their colour but rather because of the absence of either. They were a very dark brown with deep flecks of gold within them, but they appeared only as the ghostly remains of a fire that had been swallowed by the night. But with these eyes closed it gave way to the rest of her features. Her short cropped hair, predominantly a dark brown, gave way to a lighter chestnut here and there and the style resembled that of a medium length male haircut except for the fringe that started more on the left side of her head and swept across her forehead. It was styled nicely, not that she ever did it, for she was fortunate that without any effort it would usually settle its own way to provide a feminine approach to such a cut. With a rather petite nose that seemed to rest in the dead centre of her face and elevated cheek bones she was quite stunning. But that was just a mask that kept hidden something much more sinister beneath the angelic features of a beautiful twenty-one year old woman, a mercenary, a killer.

She immediately regretted drinking the remains of her stock of liquor last night, but it had seemed justified at the time. A lone celebrationg of her birthday seemed to call for her to drown herself in the poison. She should have considered the consequences that were sure to follow. Now she wanted to do nothing but crawl into a dark crevice and sleep. But it was time for Jayda to get moving. Pushing through her heavy and torturing hangover she forced herself to climb out of her hammock, pack her stuff and climb down the tree, dropping to the ground. She gulped hungrily at her canteen, lapping up the water to moisten her mouth and wash away the horrible taste lacing its insides. She shoved her hands through her hair and, struggling still to stand up straight, began to walk. She had to move. The profession of a hired and travelling mercenary was not an easy job. It was surprisingly easy, or perhaps not so surprising, to find you had outstayed your welcome in any town you took refuge in. Not many people warmed to the idea of a cut-throat bandit living amongst them. Especially when they knew that at a certain price she could end everything for them. It was the cost of a life she chose, whether it was willingly or not. Now she was moving towards what was known as the United Mountain Cities. Despite being built upon the idealism of peace to escape the atrocities of the Capital Wasteland she was sure there would be the need for business there. No village or city managed to retain their dream of peace.

The walk was rather uneventful, travelling along the passages on the mountain, old trade routes some of them. It was a rather boring day all in all, the world around her littered with little more than undesturbed nature and innocent animals quite content with the useless existance they carried out. She followed the tracks with a bored expression as they wound through the mountains. Then something caught her eye. From the smoky green hills ahead she saw a plume of smoke rising. She squinted to try to see better but could make out nothing but the rising smoke polluting the clean mountain skies. Perhaps this day was going to be more interesting than she had thought. With a slight hurry in her step Jayda made her way towards the rising smoke, unable to deny her curiosity. Did she want to get involved? Not really. Was this a bad idea? Probably. Did she want to know what was going on? Definitely.

When Jayda arrived she was shocked to say the least to set her eyes on the scene before her. Hell. That seemed to be the only way to describe the smouldering ruins of the once proud village that lay before her. The rancid smell of charred flesh filled the surrounding air, plagueing the senses. Had she been a weaker woman she probably would have began to retch at the ghastly odour. The remains of raging fires clung desperately to the destroyed structures of the village, the flames licking at the smouldering remains. Some brave members of the city were clawing desperately at the rocks of what looked like the result of a cave in while others were trying to tend to the wounded. The shattered remains of people littered the devastated remnants of the wreckage before her.

Despite as a young girl being encourage - perhaps forced was a better word - to banish her emotions, in times of distress they were never far from the surface. On the outside she seemed cold and cruel but she would be lying if she said the scene before didn't tear at her sense of sympathy and compassion, no matter how deep it was burried beneath the surface. But then she would also be lying if a part of her wasn't excited by the sight of fresh blood shed and didn't enjoy the chaos before her. But despite being numb to the idea of death, enjoying delivering the particular sentence even, this was not something she had mentally prepared herself to see. What had happened? She didn't know. Should she help? Probably. Was she going to? Maybe. Did she want to? ...That was a question she didn't have the answer to.
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Name: Jayda Mandel
Gender: Female
Age: 21
Looks:
Weapons: A pair of M92 Elite II's equipped with TSS Quietstrike's (silencers) - They are her most prized possession. A Foliage Green Ka-Bar (dagger). For sniper missions she uses an MK11, her favourite sniper which she customised so it can be quickly pulled apart and stored in a brief case disguised as a back pack which she carries on her back along with the minimal things needed for survival.
Job: Mercenary
Brief History: At the age of four her and her twin brother were sold because, with a sick mother, their parents were low on cash. They were delivered to a scientist, Damian Karch, who was working on a new theory. A government scientist, he was determined to prove himself right, that they could create soldiers uneffected by the horrors of war. He spent every waking moment transforming them into soldiers until they reached their peek. Then it was time to test whether gender had an effect on two people with almost no genetic difference who have lived in the same environment. He forced them to fight each other until one was dead. Jayda was the one left standing. Then when he presented his findings to the army they shunned him and sentenced him to a life in prison for his brutality. Jayda had also been kept a prisoner for two years as they were afraid of what would happen if they let her loose on the public. Then one night, she grew sick of her surroundings and escaped. Feeding her uncontrollable and spasmodic thirst for blood she dived into a profession where her talents could thrive. And so she was born a mercenary.

When he was younger the police had always found themselves getting complaints about Moses. If he wanted it, he would take it, and if he didn't want you to hear him...you didn't. Some people described him as a ghost wherever he went. He could remain almost unseen and unheard so when he finally joined the city's excuse for a military he found himself placed as a scout. During the attack he had been one of the sharpshooters amongst the dying trees who was fighting a vicious guerrilla-style with the Super Mutants who had started attacking them. He had been moving from spot to spot and taking out attackers as fast and accurately as he possibly could, seeming to not show any outward concern with the burning of a town that had taken him in when he was only a little kid who had just escaped from a life of...well that was another matter.

Even with the combined fire of Cole, himself, and other riflemen: they couldn't stop the cave from collapsing. The flash of miniature nukes and grenades of various types had lit up the mouth of the cave in the midst of the fight. It had been hard enough. Now some young woman had just come walking in to their perimeter like she owned the place. Moses had headed out from the tree-line to make sure that the mutants had left and on his return trip he spotted her. A million possibilities ran through his head of what he could do if she was hostile. He could come in close with his axe or knife, he could just blast her away at range with his rifle, or he could even try to get her to surrender. Staying crouching behind a pair of large boulders approximately thirteen yards away, he rested his rifle in a gap between the two rocks, and drew a bead on her.

"I wouldn't move if I were you." He called out calmly to her.

Trembling. A horrible trembling. It came unanounced, without warning and now possessed her hands. Overcome by trepidation as they lingered in close proximity to the two handguns in the holsters at her sides, fingertips itching for the trigger. She felt her heart drum in the cavern of her chest, beating so loudly it almost drowned out the sounds of the surrounding chaos. She felt her breathing increase, inhaling sharply...shakily...unsteadily as the palatable aroma came at her in waves, crashing heavily over her nostrils. Her gaze was darting over the scene before her, drinking in the destruction, disorder and...death. Her head began to throb again, the dull pain nipping at her self-control as her hangover swirled bitterly with her blood lust. She clamped her eyes shut and cupped her face in her hands, willing her rising desires to settle. Draping her fingertips down her cheeks she let her tremulous hands fall limply at her sides again.

She had no part in this...war - or what ever it was - and she knew all to well that she shouldn't be here. She knew she should walk away, get as far away from here as she could but her feet were rooted to the ground. She had to get out of here. She had to go. Now. But she was bound here. Her heart swelled in her chest, ripping at the horrific ruins of the village but drumming wildly at the sight of anarchy. She let out a quivvering exhale to try to calm herself but it didn't work. The world swirled around her, the ghastly images of the aftermath of the battle bombarding her. The cries and screams of the desperate people filled her ears, a lullaby she'd heard before, singing to her, calling her to take action. To move. To kill. With the euphoria of the battle lacing her every heart beat and plagueing her limbs her quivering hands moved to the handle of her handguns, she could stand it no longer. She ached to shed blood. She had to spill it. There was no way out of it. It was an addiction she failed again and again to keep under control. She needed to satisfy that addiction.

"I wouldn't move if I were you". The words tore through the haze of Jayda's desires to caress her ears. Slowly her breathing fell back to normal, her chest rising and falling with light breaths. She felt her heart settle, reducing to rhythmic and gentle beats within her chest. She hesitated before reluctantly opening her eyes, pausing, letting the world fall to a stop around her and the horrifying images fall back against the bleak backdrop. The blood lust boiled beneath her skin but that break in her concentration had been enough to subdue it and allow Jayda to control it, for now. Her fingers slipped away from the guns, hands no longer trembling as she avoided inhaling deeply in attempts to lessen the stench of blood flooding her nostrils.

"But you're not me. I know being me looks appealing but wishing you were me will change nothing. So move, don't move, I don't care. But I'll do as I please," Jayda replied stoicly, flatly, almost gently as she turned towards the source of the voice, hoping her unease and struggle to keep her addiction in check wasn't evident in her expression.