Agnus Dei
- Eddies
- 429
General:
Name: Catriona Devine
Alias/Handle: Proserpina
Age: 25
Ethnicity: American
Birthplace: Night City
Appearance:
Blonde bob, blue eyes, legs for days. Stylish in a minimalist sense, always tramping about in the same black jacket (she's serving iconic). World standard attractive, giving more girl-next-door than alternative braindance queen. Tall (for a dame), hourglass figure, very much human in a not-rammed with cyberware kinda deal. No visible scars or tattoos, although one incredibly questionable Pre-Raphaelite-inspired tramp stamp (no, you can't see it, and no, she doesn't want to talk about it).
Background:
Family Ranking: Corporate Technician
Parents: Dead
Childhood Environment: In a decaying, once upscale neighbourhood
Personality:
Nice with a thick coating of sarcasm. Educated with a smug aura of know-it-allism. Headstrong with a denial of the existence of hubris. Vain with a false pretence of being humble. Condescending with the illusion of being helpful. Not terrible, more annoying. Preachy.
Friends:
Socks - Chilled out Scottish guy with a beat up ancient van called Moira, very solid hand (we think, we don't understand him either).
Tripz - Careless netrunner functioning only on a cocktail of Donaghy's and boost. She's sometimes screaming at shadows.
PCS - Ball of perpetual rage masquerading as a person. Will fist fight for eddies. Does she have a heart of gold? Depends on the day.
Enemies:
Wendy Allison-Stephen - Once told everybody in third grade that Catriona had webbed feet. Never forgiven, never forgotten.
PCS - Like I said, it depends on the day.
Role:
Homeless. Burden on society (if society even cared for its burdens). Petty criminal. Unsolicited street lecturer.
Skills:
Half an art history degree from Night City University.
Languages:
English, Italian, Dutch, French, Latin (why?)
Cyberware:
Neuroport (Standard)
Internal Data Storage (-1)
Empathy:
9
Humanity:
89
Gear & Style:
Classy, all things considered. Casual comfy, with a lot of black to make a statement colour piece pop. Look closer and catch the wear and tear. Heavy black boots, old, dependable, still going strong. Black leather coat, worn everywhere and cherished. Stun gun, but should probably upgrade to something with a little more bang for the buck.
History:
Once upon a time, Catriona Devine was destined to live the life of millions, in stunning mediocrity in a corporate hellscape of middle management and connections to achieve sideways movement to slightly different middle management.
However, at the height of her hedonistic student days at Night City University, Catriona's once-upon-a-time got flattened by a jacked taxi cab that also coincidentally flattened her mother.
With no living father to call upon, all of her mother's debts (including those accrued in the act of death and dying) fell upon the young woman, who rightly responded by undergoing the ritual of partying so fucking hard that you can avoid thinking about reality for a few blistering weeks. In the comedown, Catriona was left with little choice but to sell up everything there was to settle her inherited debts. The cherry on top of the sudden fisting of her life was that she was no longer able to pay her tuition fees at NCU and, as a result, dropped out.
Now homeless and destitute, she found companionship in a chaotic netrunner, Tripz, whom she had met in the chaos of grief raving, who invited Devine back to her place to crash.
As it turned out, Tripz's place was a small abandoned warehouse in Northside housing vagrants in a similar situation. It was far-flung from the world of pretentious art history students who thought wearing clothing with intentional rips and tears was the height of keeping it real. It was real. Too real. You don't know how real it is until you've laid awake on a salvaged mattress listening to a hairy Scottish guy fuck his way through all of his exes in the back of his van.
A little down the line, Catriona had the distinct pleasure of discovering that during ill-advised partying, she had taken out a small loan (with interest) from a local small-time boostergang which, if left unchecked, seemed liable to spiral out of control.
If only she had marketable skills.
Fuck.
Name: Catriona Devine
Alias/Handle: Proserpina
Age: 25
Ethnicity: American
Birthplace: Night City
Appearance:
Blonde bob, blue eyes, legs for days. Stylish in a minimalist sense, always tramping about in the same black jacket (she's serving iconic). World standard attractive, giving more girl-next-door than alternative braindance queen. Tall (for a dame), hourglass figure, very much human in a not-rammed with cyberware kinda deal. No visible scars or tattoos, although one incredibly questionable Pre-Raphaelite-inspired tramp stamp (no, you can't see it, and no, she doesn't want to talk about it).
Background:
Family Ranking: Corporate Technician
Parents: Dead
Childhood Environment: In a decaying, once upscale neighbourhood
Personality:
Nice with a thick coating of sarcasm. Educated with a smug aura of know-it-allism. Headstrong with a denial of the existence of hubris. Vain with a false pretence of being humble. Condescending with the illusion of being helpful. Not terrible, more annoying. Preachy.
Friends:
Socks - Chilled out Scottish guy with a beat up ancient van called Moira, very solid hand (we think, we don't understand him either).
Tripz - Careless netrunner functioning only on a cocktail of Donaghy's and boost. She's sometimes screaming at shadows.
PCS - Ball of perpetual rage masquerading as a person. Will fist fight for eddies. Does she have a heart of gold? Depends on the day.
Enemies:
Wendy Allison-Stephen - Once told everybody in third grade that Catriona had webbed feet. Never forgiven, never forgotten.
PCS - Like I said, it depends on the day.
Role:
Homeless. Burden on society (if society even cared for its burdens). Petty criminal. Unsolicited street lecturer.
Skills:
Half an art history degree from Night City University.
Languages:
English, Italian, Dutch, French, Latin (why?)
Cyberware:
Neuroport (Standard)
Internal Data Storage (-1)
Empathy:
9
Humanity:
89
Gear & Style:
Classy, all things considered. Casual comfy, with a lot of black to make a statement colour piece pop. Look closer and catch the wear and tear. Heavy black boots, old, dependable, still going strong. Black leather coat, worn everywhere and cherished. Stun gun, but should probably upgrade to something with a little more bang for the buck.
History:
Once upon a time, Catriona Devine was destined to live the life of millions, in stunning mediocrity in a corporate hellscape of middle management and connections to achieve sideways movement to slightly different middle management.
However, at the height of her hedonistic student days at Night City University, Catriona's once-upon-a-time got flattened by a jacked taxi cab that also coincidentally flattened her mother.
With no living father to call upon, all of her mother's debts (including those accrued in the act of death and dying) fell upon the young woman, who rightly responded by undergoing the ritual of partying so fucking hard that you can avoid thinking about reality for a few blistering weeks. In the comedown, Catriona was left with little choice but to sell up everything there was to settle her inherited debts. The cherry on top of the sudden fisting of her life was that she was no longer able to pay her tuition fees at NCU and, as a result, dropped out.
Now homeless and destitute, she found companionship in a chaotic netrunner, Tripz, whom she had met in the chaos of grief raving, who invited Devine back to her place to crash.
As it turned out, Tripz's place was a small abandoned warehouse in Northside housing vagrants in a similar situation. It was far-flung from the world of pretentious art history students who thought wearing clothing with intentional rips and tears was the height of keeping it real. It was real. Too real. You don't know how real it is until you've laid awake on a salvaged mattress listening to a hairy Scottish guy fuck his way through all of his exes in the back of his van.
A little down the line, Catriona had the distinct pleasure of discovering that during ill-advised partying, she had taken out a small loan (with interest) from a local small-time boostergang which, if left unchecked, seemed liable to spiral out of control.
If only she had marketable skills.
Fuck.
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