Post by anastasia belle camden on Jun 1, 2012 21:03:47 GMT -6
[atrb=style,width: 500px; background-color: B9B9B9; border: 10px dashed #754A4A; border-right: 15px solid #754A4A; border-left: 15px solid #754A4A; padding: 5px, bTable][th] anastasia camden THIEF/ASSASSIN, INDEPENDENT CRIMINALS, DIANNA AGRON | |
 the basics FULL NAME anastasia belle camden AGE & DOB twenty three, fifteenth of november. HOMETOWN new york city ETHNICITY american/israeli/russian LANGUAGES SPOKEN french, spanish, italian, hebrew, russian, english, arabic. SEXUAL ORIENTATION straight (unless there's a job where she needs to be something else) HAIR COLOR blonde. EYE COLOR grey/blue. HEIGHT & WEIGHT here | five foot, eight inches. about one hundred and thirty five pounds. DISTINGUISHING MARKS mole on right of belly button, scar on left hip five cm long (vertical) and on left foot on inside of ankle about three cm long (vertical) - both scars are from knives. LIKES/DISLIKES likes - money, a good gun, coffee (lots of it), leather jackets, luxury, relaxation, animals, intelligence, spain, travelling, fast cars, adrenalin, chocolate chip muffins. dislikes - excessive alcohol, drugs, basically anything that will keep her less than sharp, losing her favourite knife, people not paying up, sleazy men, cowards, people stabbing her in the back, whiney men, getting her ass kicked. STRENGTHS/WEAKNESSES strengths - intelligent, highly trained, loyal, hardworking, creative, lying. weaknesses - emotionally distant, vengeful, devious, unforgiving, stubborn, proud, cynical, perfectionist. SECRETS one: wishes she'd had a normal childhood. two: wants a future with kids/husband whatever it is that normal people have. | in depth |
PERSONALITY
So most people say I'm an ice princess but whatever. I'm hardworking, determined, if I put my mind to something I don't stop until I get it. I guess you could say I'm ruthless, ambitious and controlling because I expect a lot from the people around me. If I'm being honest, which isn't often, I'm stubborn and proud and when someone stabs me in the back I'll stab them in the back too, and then in the eye and maybe cut off a few fingers as well. You only really have to worry about me when I go up in flames because that's when you know you're in trouble. On my good days I'm flirtatious and actually quite relaxed with the people I'm with but the people I have my good days with are few and are very important to me. I like to think I'm elegant, emotionally strong, practical though in reality I'm probably arrogant even though I try to remember that over confidence causes mistakes. I'm emotionally distant with people, I don't feel comfortable getting close unless it's sexual. In fact, I could probably count the amount of close friends I have on one hand. I don't really feel comfortable in fuzzy, warm moments like hugs and stuff and I've never had a long term relationship.
FAMILY LIFE
Family? What are you talking about? It was more like a KGB training camp. Mother and father grew up in the life of assassination and thievery so they figured why not teach me some skills that would keep me alive...or something like that. Frankly, we didn't have any heart to heart chats that most families have. There was pretty much three rules in my family: one, be the best. two, don't tell anyone what we do. three, don't fight the career we've chosen for you. And I didn't. I followed along like a good little soldier, doing whatever Mummy and Daddy said, learning any skill they threw at me. The only time they were proud of me was when I was the best at something, and not just anything, the things they deemed important. I was Daddy's little girl when I was able to do something but get something wrong and it was back to the blank wall. All my life I worked to get them to be proud of me, to love me, and I'm not proud of this. But whatever. It doesn't matter now, does it?
PARENTS/SIBLINGS
Mila Camden nee Kollek (mother) - dead at forty two through a botched job. I'm sure she was a nice woman but to me she was the one who taught me hand-to-hand combat, how to hide knives in your clothes, you know, all the normal stuff. She was Israeli Mossad turned assassin/thief so everything she did, she did it to better herself for her job. Besides her job, I don't think she loved anyone except my father so I was just the new recruit in the family.
Joshua Camden (father) - dead at forty five along with my mother in a botched job. He was CIA turned assassin/thief so basically had the personality of a wall when it came to me. He didn't care what I did as long as I adhered to his rules and his idea of what my life should be. I didn't hate him or my mother, but then again I didn't have the warm, fuzzy feeling most other people have.
Joshua Camden (father) - dead at forty five along with my mother in a botched job. He was CIA turned assassin/thief so basically had the personality of a wall when it came to me. He didn't care what I did as long as I adhered to his rules and his idea of what my life should be. I didn't hate him or my mother, but then again I didn't have the warm, fuzzy feeling most other people have.
HISTORY
First some background. My mother was born in Israel, her father was an officer in the Mossad and when she was old enough, she followed him. When she was twenty six a rogue agent killed her beloved daddy and she went rogue too. I guess she stopped believing in the cause or something. My father was CIA, recruited right out of college. After training he went to Russia, where his parents were from, then on to Spain, the Middle East, and then a couple more places which I'm pretty sure are still classified operations. Anyway, one day he found himself in Barcelona where he came up against rogue Mossad agent Mila Kollack. They fell in love, he defected and they ran off into the sunset together. If you can say one thing for them, they loved each other very much, way more than they ever loved me.
I was born in New York City, a brief stop over for my parents in their busy killing and thieving lives. I'd say it was mundane just to not have to tell this but it's not true. I was given until I was five to be mature enough to start learning the trade, but even before that they were teaching me several languages. I have no idea what their motive was behind pushing me so hard but I played along like a good girl. I was always under a lot of pressure, to do well at school then to come home and study as well as learn knife throwing, kick boxing, a new language, a new weapon. God, it went on and on, every minute of the day was filled with something for me to do and I did it.
I guess you could say I was raised in a family where weaknesses weren't accepted and so to keep from being completely rejected I ran myself into the ground to make myself good enough for them. When I was seven we moved to London where they hired a housekeeper to look after me while they continued going on jobs. I didn't realize until later that Ms K. was ex-KGB, a body guard against anyone hurting me. I was surprised to learn that since, well, my parents have the parental instincts of a rock. But she was good to me, I even came to think of her as an aunt. She baked me cookies, taught me how to ride a bike and so on. My parents were away a lot with various jobs so it was just her and me. When I was ten we moved to Paris and then the following year we moved to Madrid. It seemed my parents had to move around a lot to keep ahead of the authorities, something I've learned for myself.
When I was fifteen, Ms K left. I was angry about that but like a good little soldier I hugged her and didn't cry, I waved goodbye and only collapsed in pain in private. Public feelings were a big no-no in my family. I basically raised myself from there when we moved to Prague and then on to Boston. When I was seventeen everything changed. My parents went on a job, it was pretty simple, basically they had to kill a guy for a quarter of a million dollars. Pretty simple right? Well no, it seemed he had some tip off about the contract and he hired his own assassins. Long story short, his killers shot my parents and left me orphaned. I sold the house, sold pretty much everything except a few things and now I live out of a couple of Prada suitcases. Since my parents' death I haven't owned a piece of land. I keep my money liquidated and in various banks and do whatever job comes my way.
I've been working in the life for about six years now. I don't know if I like my life or if I'm just living with it because it's all I know. A couple of months ago I heard about everyone coming together in Valkyrie so I hopped on a plane and here I am, looking for some work and maybe some fun.
[/td][/tr]I was born in New York City, a brief stop over for my parents in their busy killing and thieving lives. I'd say it was mundane just to not have to tell this but it's not true. I was given until I was five to be mature enough to start learning the trade, but even before that they were teaching me several languages. I have no idea what their motive was behind pushing me so hard but I played along like a good girl. I was always under a lot of pressure, to do well at school then to come home and study as well as learn knife throwing, kick boxing, a new language, a new weapon. God, it went on and on, every minute of the day was filled with something for me to do and I did it.
I guess you could say I was raised in a family where weaknesses weren't accepted and so to keep from being completely rejected I ran myself into the ground to make myself good enough for them. When I was seven we moved to London where they hired a housekeeper to look after me while they continued going on jobs. I didn't realize until later that Ms K. was ex-KGB, a body guard against anyone hurting me. I was surprised to learn that since, well, my parents have the parental instincts of a rock. But she was good to me, I even came to think of her as an aunt. She baked me cookies, taught me how to ride a bike and so on. My parents were away a lot with various jobs so it was just her and me. When I was ten we moved to Paris and then the following year we moved to Madrid. It seemed my parents had to move around a lot to keep ahead of the authorities, something I've learned for myself.
When I was fifteen, Ms K left. I was angry about that but like a good little soldier I hugged her and didn't cry, I waved goodbye and only collapsed in pain in private. Public feelings were a big no-no in my family. I basically raised myself from there when we moved to Prague and then on to Boston. When I was seventeen everything changed. My parents went on a job, it was pretty simple, basically they had to kill a guy for a quarter of a million dollars. Pretty simple right? Well no, it seemed he had some tip off about the contract and he hired his own assassins. Long story short, his killers shot my parents and left me orphaned. I sold the house, sold pretty much everything except a few things and now I live out of a couple of Prada suitcases. Since my parents' death I haven't owned a piece of land. I keep my money liquidated and in various banks and do whatever job comes my way.
I've been working in the life for about six years now. I don't know if I like my life or if I'm just living with it because it's all I know. A couple of months ago I heard about everyone coming together in Valkyrie so I hopped on a plane and here I am, looking for some work and maybe some fun.
[tr][td][th]
the player
ALIAS sigrid.
YEARS OF EXPERIENCE about six.
OTHER CHARACTERS none (yet!)
HOW'D YOU FIND US? caution.
RP SAMPLE
YEARS OF EXPERIENCE about six.
OTHER CHARACTERS none (yet!)
HOW'D YOU FIND US? caution.
RP SAMPLE
”What did you say?”
The words grated against her nerves as she thrust the phone away from her ear as the angry tirade continued. Swearing beneath her breath, she pursed her lips and counted to three, reminding her self that the client was less likely to pay if they were dead. The whining voice on the other end of the phone stopped abruptly, ”How are you going to fix this?” Ana took a deep breath, ran a hand through her long blonde hair and struggled to keep her voice calm, ”Look Mr Smith, it’s just been a small mix up. I’ll get him on his way to work tomorrow.” The shouting began again and again, she held the phone away from her ear. Ana rubbed the back of her neck as she listened to ‘Mr Smith’ go on and on about how she had failed to kill off his brother in law. She smirked at the pseudonym he had chosen. He was brand spanking new to the seedy underbelly of the world, you could tell by the nerves in his whiney upper class voice. The fact that he had chosen the oldest fake name in the book, John Smith, had almost made her laugh when she’d heard it. How many times had she had heard it? Four hundred? Five hundred times? Didn’t anybody know how to come up with a fake name anymore?
She did. Even now her black Prada wallet held the cards of a Miss Keira Holt, a civil servant from Peoria. It was just one of the many skills she’d worked herself to the bone to perfect and even now still inspected everything she forged as if her life depended on it, because frankly, it did depend on it. She’d had jobs break down on one wrong number in a bar code and the perfectionist in her hated any mistakes. Which was why she was so angry now. It seemed ‘Mr Smith’ had given her the wrong information about when and where her target, a Mr Walton, would be and because of that she hadn’t been able to do her job. Silently she sighed in frustration. Why the hell hadn’t she just taken a few days, maybe a week to study the target, get a hold of his routine herself instead of relying on the questionable reliability of a greedy business man. This was why she worked alone so she didn’t have to rely on incompetent fools who could make her fail.
Slowly she tuned back in, ”…you said it would be done by now so frankly, I don’t think I should have to pay you quite as much.” Cold fury frosted her veins as she lowered her voice, ”You pay me the full amount or I start cutting off limbs, Mr Smith. I don’t play nicely with people who try to keep me from what I deserve and if you had given me the correct information this wouldn’t be happening! Remember who you’re dealing with here Mr Smith and pay the money.” The great thing about her line of work was she didn’t have to worry about the usual business adage, ‘the customer’s always right’. For her it was pay the money or I’ll start cutting somewhere with a blunt knife. She smirked as she listened to him try to placate her, she hadn’t even had to get creative with him. Ice still coating her tone, she broke in abruptly, ”Look just pay me the fucking money and I’ll have him choking on his blood in three hours. You know where to send it. I want it there by six o’clock tonight.”
Ana didn’t wait for him to reply, she just pressed the end phone call button on her phone and tossed it onto the bed. It was time to get down to business.
The words grated against her nerves as she thrust the phone away from her ear as the angry tirade continued. Swearing beneath her breath, she pursed her lips and counted to three, reminding her self that the client was less likely to pay if they were dead. The whining voice on the other end of the phone stopped abruptly, ”How are you going to fix this?” Ana took a deep breath, ran a hand through her long blonde hair and struggled to keep her voice calm, ”Look Mr Smith, it’s just been a small mix up. I’ll get him on his way to work tomorrow.” The shouting began again and again, she held the phone away from her ear. Ana rubbed the back of her neck as she listened to ‘Mr Smith’ go on and on about how she had failed to kill off his brother in law. She smirked at the pseudonym he had chosen. He was brand spanking new to the seedy underbelly of the world, you could tell by the nerves in his whiney upper class voice. The fact that he had chosen the oldest fake name in the book, John Smith, had almost made her laugh when she’d heard it. How many times had she had heard it? Four hundred? Five hundred times? Didn’t anybody know how to come up with a fake name anymore?
She did. Even now her black Prada wallet held the cards of a Miss Keira Holt, a civil servant from Peoria. It was just one of the many skills she’d worked herself to the bone to perfect and even now still inspected everything she forged as if her life depended on it, because frankly, it did depend on it. She’d had jobs break down on one wrong number in a bar code and the perfectionist in her hated any mistakes. Which was why she was so angry now. It seemed ‘Mr Smith’ had given her the wrong information about when and where her target, a Mr Walton, would be and because of that she hadn’t been able to do her job. Silently she sighed in frustration. Why the hell hadn’t she just taken a few days, maybe a week to study the target, get a hold of his routine herself instead of relying on the questionable reliability of a greedy business man. This was why she worked alone so she didn’t have to rely on incompetent fools who could make her fail.
Slowly she tuned back in, ”…you said it would be done by now so frankly, I don’t think I should have to pay you quite as much.” Cold fury frosted her veins as she lowered her voice, ”You pay me the full amount or I start cutting off limbs, Mr Smith. I don’t play nicely with people who try to keep me from what I deserve and if you had given me the correct information this wouldn’t be happening! Remember who you’re dealing with here Mr Smith and pay the money.” The great thing about her line of work was she didn’t have to worry about the usual business adage, ‘the customer’s always right’. For her it was pay the money or I’ll start cutting somewhere with a blunt knife. She smirked as she listened to him try to placate her, she hadn’t even had to get creative with him. Ice still coating her tone, she broke in abruptly, ”Look just pay me the fucking money and I’ll have him choking on his blood in three hours. You know where to send it. I want it there by six o’clock tonight.”
Ana didn’t wait for him to reply, she just pressed the end phone call button on her phone and tossed it onto the bed. It was time to get down to business.
[tr][td][th]
template created by anna of the industry. do not take without permission!
[/table][/center]
