- [What is your name?]
- My name is Alexia Graven Idd.
[What is your gender?]
- I'm a female.
Pretty straight-forward, if you ask me.
[When were you born?]
- I was born on the fourth of January in 2992.
[Describe yourself in a few words]
- I am creative, I love to read, and I'm socially awkward. Oh, also, I am shy.
Really shy. I am pretty good at theatre and creating musicals, not that anyone tends to care about the arts anymore.
[Describe how others would see you]
- My hair is blonde and it's indefinitely wavy. I have had multiple attempts to straighten it, but it lacks the current state to actually be straight. I sweep my bangs over to a particular side, either left or right, it doesn't really matter and I honestly don't care. My eyes are cornflower blue, depending on the light they may turn out to be more-so hazel in particular rather than blue. My skin is pale, but I just lack the necessary wits to go outside and kick a ball or do something interesting. I just thank my dad for being the ghost of the household. I wear makeup, but I try not to look like a dim-witted whore, so I just shove some cosmetics on my face and then I choose my appearance to look fine and dandy. My lips are a light pink and I don't have acne nor acne scars that many troubled teens live amongst. I wear pretty simple clothing. Jeans and a sweater, anything comfortable.
Yeah, that's about it.
[What are your weapons of choice?]
- I could tell you about all the weapons I like, but usually I have my favorite two. I mean, I could actually use any weapon in my preference, but I just choose two.
Honestly.
My first, favorable weapon is the shiv. It's a shiv, and it's small and weak and breakable, but I like how intimidating it feels to hold it in your hands and just like, whip it at someone's face. I probably should like, upgrade a piece of glass and a weak rag to some knife, but I like my shiv.
Ah, shivs.
My second weapon is some old pistol I found in a junky scrapyard without all the compatibilities of high technology standards. Just a few old bullets and some cheap recoil that busted up my shoulder a few times. To get to the specific details, it's a Colt M1991A1 Compact ORM, which is a pretty fancy name for some metallic parts pieced together to make this hostile object.
[Any notable equipment we need to customize and prepare for you?]
- Besides all the cushiony stuff that I put on my knees and elbows, I use a bullet-proof vest, except it's heavy. It's made of metal from some institute I can't recall, but clearly they were intending to have someone either fall to the ground in a fit of agony from the weight or be genuinely protected for the periodic span of their life. I had the vest fitted and designed to my liking, only because I couldn't bear lugging around something that suspended itself down to my knees. I had red, glowing incisions placed upon the waist and sides of the vest, allowing it to make me feel really technological when I'm not.
[Describe your personality]
- I will not talk to you unless I know you, honestly. I try not to come off as some bitch, but when I'm dealing with my good percent of awkwardness, it's pretty hard to deal with just piling my social skills I lack on top of that. So, let me just say I'm socially awkward, if you could not tell already. I happen to have dealt with a lot of bullies at a younger age, which just inflicted stress upon my mind to no longer speak, but if I were to, I'd come up with a jumble of words sounding like incessant nonsense. Let me just add into this mix of fun and joyous traits that I am shy. I like to read, too. I'll just sit down in a corner and start reading some historical book about Shakespeare. I honestly found that books were my get-away from reality and merely found myself locked upon a fictional world which was a utopian of magic and beliefs that I hungered for. I am creative, as I discovered this creativity that I lacked most of my childhood at the age of thirteen when I had attended a performing arts studio for the purpose of boredom. It was pretty awesome, as I can recall ten years ago. Their were a lot of lights and masks and make-up, which made me become awed by the utter beauty of the stage and to be the singular person singing or dancing, ravishing yourself in an act. I'd never find the courage to go up on a stage in the first place.
I probably don't even sound like a girl capable of handling any weapon, either.
[What are your strengths?]
- I'm weak.
That's why I use a shiv.
My only particular strength is being in melee combat.
[How about weaknesses?]
- Too many of ultimate debate. I lack stealth, so that's one weakness. I am a clumsy mess who knocks over fragile objects the instance that I stand upwards from a crouched position.
I cannot fight in the dark, and hand-to-hand combat will have me sent home with lost teeth and bruises patterning my bare skin.
[What do you fear most?]
- I fear death.
I know many do, but it just gives me the chilled apprehension of being lost into a state of black oblivion, into the unknown of scarce truth.
Yeah, it gets me thinking pretty deep.
[Any quirks we should know about?]
- Fuck no.
[Is there anyone you would be coming back to?]
- My mom. My dad is some American Mexican descent who's selling drugs by the hour and left us when I was three. He isn't even my true dad. Yeah, definitely my mom.
I have no friends.
I'm a loner, goddamn it.
[Tell us your story.]
- I was born into a family who'd end up screwing me over the day I was settled into the crib. My mom was a real bad alcoholic. After she was told she was pregnant, my dad had left me, only to have my mom re-marry three months later to the guy I told you about earlier. He smelled of pot, as I could recall when I met him at some diner. He had left us when I was three, but that didn't stop us from talking to him via the phone or meeting him at other places. He just wanted to see his daughter that wasn't even his. He had left us for our protection and safety, but I just bet he wanted to bang a few more woman. When I was in my young stages of childhood, my mother never re-married and sat on the couch with beers settled next to her. Her eyes were always red, her face swollen from her endless nights of pitiful sobs. I didn't understand any of it at the age of nine, but I was well aware of what had happened when I was younger. My life was boring, because it was the same thing that I'd be telling you over and over again up until the point of when I turned sixteen and my Mexican dad came rambling about with a particular gait to his left leg. He told us he just had bashed his knee entering our house, but I had believed that he had gotten into some brutal fights involving him with a few kicks to the leg. After we had cake and all, life went on pretty good. Dad visited a few more times, my mom stopped drinking and started going to bars with my step-father, coming home at two in the morning with all smiles and grins plastered upon her face. Either she was drunk, or she was getting laid every time she went with him. I started to take up the interest in weaponry, only because my step-father had told me of his collection of rifles. I used them on practice targets, and I just figured, hey, why not?
That's where everything led me up to now.
[What do you think of your crewmates?]
- I don't have an opinion.