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About Dale Garcia

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  1. She cut the contact, removed her brain bucket and her gloves, putting some order in her unruly dark curls. Dale took a long breath and sighed. What am I doing here? She had been asking herself that same question for quite some time now. In fact, she had been since that cursed day her house was set on fire and her Dad died. She could still remember the burns on her father's face when the medical unit pushed the stretcher into the ambulance, hear him coughing and struggling to breathe, feel the warmth her brother radiated in her arms as the dam of his tears broke all over her blouse, smell the acre scent of smoke, omnipresent in the neighborhood as the fire hoses attempted to drench the wild fire eating her home, morsel by morsel, right after it took a bite at their Dad. She shook her head, sliding her backpack over one shoulder and opening it. Her knife was waiting for her between two sandwiches and a flask of rum, slumbering in its hand-made leather sheath, tightly strapped to a discrete but solid leather belt, bitter reminder of the old lady who helped her keep her nose above the water, back in Boston. She was going to miss her. No, she missed her. The leather belt quickly ended up around her waist, knife on her back, under her jacket. She pushed her sunglasses up her head, wiping her humid eyes, then fished for her flask, taking a long sip, feeling with an odd satisfaction the warm beverage travelling down to her stomach. Then she could feel something bump on her back. A soft, tender bump she hadn't felt in days. "Swi?" A low rumble, filled with comfort and reassurance, was the only reply she got, as the black cat leaped over her shoulders and rubbed its head against her cheek. "Mwen renmen w tou, Swi..." She said, greeting the black-furred animal with a caress. The pop of wood against the road caught her attention as an eerie figure appeared at the angle of the street, accompanied by a ray of sunshine probably meant to be its opposite. Grimsley was clad in a coat that seemed too big to be his, his black wood staff hitting the sidewalk every now and then, a transient smile, so quick Dale wondered if she would have missed it had she blinked, stretching his lips for a brief instant as he noticed the chocolate-skinned teen waiting by her bike, with a... cat on her shoulders? Laurie waved her hand as her eyes fell on Dale, and a couple instants later, the Scion of Kalfu was shackling her bike to the street lamp, her sunglasses back on her nose, concealing the fact that she almost had cried moments ago. "Hey," she greeted the two arriving teens, "I brought a friend. Swi, meet Laurie and Grim."
  2. Dale shook her head with a sigh. She had a bad feeling about this whole chasing-the-witches stuff, but she had to face the truth: it was going to be her life from now on. "It's not like..." She paused, then gave the thought a shrug. "You know what, nevermind. I texted Grim to let him know I'd help him out." She finished her coffee, dropped some change next to the cup, then suddenly stood up, a twitch on her cheek. "Gotta go. Hate standing still. I'll catch up with him at Cunningham's garden. ¡Hasta luego!" And off she stormed, her brain bucket in hand. It wasn't long till they heard the roar of the Triumph's three cylinders, growling then fading away, as she rode her way to her uncle's. "¡Hola tío!" She said as soon as she crossed the door, a short moment after parking her bike. Her uncle's voice could be heard from the garage. The man was working on a car engine, his arms covered in... oil? grease? or so Dale noticed once she peeked her head inside the open garage. "¿Todo bien?" she asked. "¡Ara!" Her uncle replied, a smile crossing his tanned features. "¿Dame esa llave, sí?" The reluctant teenager grabbed the dirty spanner between two fingers and threw it at him with a mischievous smile. "¡Toma!" A good-natured laugh was his reply as he deftly grabbed the tool and made it spin around his finger. "Tío, me voy a salir con amigos esta noche. ¿Le dirás a mi mamá?" "Sí." "¡Gracias!" Dale quickly left the garage, and headed to her room. She wanted to grab something before even considering searching the woods with her Band. She wouldn't bring her knife to school, but school was over for today. She doubted that anything would need her to go stabby-stab during the search, but she'd rather be safe than sorry. Shortly after, she was back on her motorcycle, on her way to Cunningham's garden, her weapon in her backpack. It was no Birthright, but it made her feel less naked to know it was close. The wind quickly washed away those morose thoughts.
  3. Dale waved a puzzled hand back as the Scion of Apollo departed. A cup of coffee magically appeared in front of her when she looked back at the table, and she barely had the time to thank Darcy as the latter returned to the herculean amount of other orders she had to get through. The fragile mask of affability she had maintained during the conversation finally cracked, and she took a sip of her coffee, hiding a pout behind her cup. "Okay. What the Hell? No entiendo lo que pasó, dimelo. ¿Porque la chica de Hades se comportó como una descarada puta?" The cup travelled back to the table, and the chocolate-skinned teenager fished out her phone. "I'm at a loss here, but least I can do is try to help when someone offers to do something." Her fingers fluttered across the tactile keyboard as she sent a text to 'El Severo' Grim, as her contacts labeled him. [Hey, I'm coming with you tonight. My cat could be of help, so count both of us in.]
  4. She rubbed her cigarette stub in one of the ashtrays set around the terrace tables, then followed her Band inside. It didn't take her long to spot them and get over there, stopping Darcy on the way with a charming smile. "Hey, hun, can I get a black coffee, no sugar, please ? I'll be over there." She said, pointing at the booth her Band was currently sitting at. The brown-haired girl gave her a small nod as reply, then returning to her busy business. " 'Sup?" Dale said, once at the booth. She glanced at the dark-haired beauty sitting before her. "Dale. I'm kinda new to this stuff, so I'll just be... listening." She picked a free seat before adding with another charming smile: "Don't mind me."
  5. "My father is Kalfu." Dale's bitter voice rose from the side of the room as she leaned over the wall, for a short instant, before deciding she actually wanted to walk again. "He visited me a couple months ago." She paused and looked at her Bandmates. "Do you guys know how a Loa visits someone ? He possesses someone else. He did that to my mortal father and trust me, it's scary. A. F." She closed her eyes for a moment, then walked over to the fridge to grab a Coke, popped the top, and raised it a bit in Maurice's direction before taking a long sip. "Two weeks later, a gang prick set our house on fire. My dad died in there. Police caught the guy who did that, but el pendejo coño hung himself up in his cell. And here I am. Simple as that." After another short pause, she glanced at the cyclops and, with a faint smile, added: "I like your place."
  6. Dale had remained silent since the Veil had lifted to reveal the door. She had had her Visitation not so long ago, and things of the surreal could baffle her easily. Maurice being a cyclops finished stunning her, and all she was able to do afterwards was to mechanically follow her new Band, walking inside their gigantic host's dwelling with the same silent amazement a kid would display for his first time in an amusement park. Her black boots were softly sweeping on the hard ground, intimated that she was by the size of the interior, as she took a look around while listening to the cyclops with a distracted ear. "I'm pretty much new to all of this... I wasn't even there when they got a hold of... Spearfinger's heart... ?" She replied to the cyclops with an uneasy voice.
  7. Dale pondered for a moment, removing her leather jacket to appreciate the cool of the stables, in contrast with the heavy hitting sun she had to endure while on her bike. A party sounded like a nice occasion to relax a little, but witches, right ? What a great way for her to start her "new" life as her divine papa's daughter. This wasn't going to end well. "Disguises, then ?" She commented with a displeased groan. "I could go as the third witch of the trio, if that helps." She went to sit on a milk crate, leaving her brain bucket and her jacket on the ground by her side. "If that girl is Hades' Scion, then she probably would have an idea of what to do with rogue wanton souls... Well, best to ask her 'bout that, right ?" She raised inquisitive eyes and scanned the Scion of Baldur's shape with a discreet but appreciative pout.
  8. The loud purr of a three cylinders engine could be heard outside the stables, as Dale's Triumph parked not far from the entrance. A black cat ventured at the entrance of the stables, but advising the horse-sized wolf suddenly staring at him, decided outside would definitely be quieter, its figure disappearing to be replaced by a pleasant human shape, truly a sight for sore eyes, holding her dull black brain bucket, painted on the back with a red mask straight out from horror tales, by the straps. She pulled down her bandana, yellow with black stripes, and pushed her dark glasses above her forehead, greeting everyone with a face brightened by the ride she just had. "Hey guys ! Sorry for being late, fuel station was loaded. What'd I miss ?" They glanced at the newcomer. "Hey, Dale. You didn't miss... much..." Rachel replied, after casting a short and amused gaze at the blond son of Baldur, high as can be, across the table.
  9. Dale felt... agitated. A lot of new faces. She wasn't quite used to Salem yet, only having visited her uncle a couple times before. She glanced at the dark-haired girl who approached the table, from heels to head, her gaze briefly pausing on Nadya's eyes, then a charming smile drew on her features as she greeted her. Her light gray halterneck didn't quite mask her cleavage, almost flirting with the school's dress code, but the black jacket - thick leather - she was wearing made up for it. From under the table one could guess the black motorcycle boots - and its thick treads with two inches heels - partly covered by kevlar jeans. "Hey, Nadya." The smile didn't quite reach her eyes, but one could feel it was genuine. It grew wider with mischief as she asked them both : "So... you talked about a... band ? I assume it's not about music, or else you completely lost me... You guys hunting... los anormal ?" Her features tensed at the last words.
  10. Name Dale Garcia Birth Name Dale Araceli Garcia y Gordon Aliases Dale, Ara, The Chocolate Witch, That Damn Freak Age 16 Legal Status Minor. Multiple citizenships (U.S.A., Jamaica, Mexico). Birthplace Austin, Texas, U.S.A. Ethnic Background Latino, African American Sex Female Occupation High School Student Known Relatives María Elena Garcia (mother), Lloyd Gordon (father, deceased), Roje Garcia (younger brother, 11 y/o) Spoken Languages English (Native), Spanish (Fluent) Handedness Right Height 5’6’’ Weight 135 lbs Eyes Brown Hair Dark Distinguishing Marks A red tattoo on the right side of her lower back - several discreet scars on her left forearm, probably clean cuts caused by a very sharp blade. Appearance and Personality An attractive, well-built teenager of average height and weight, dark skinned with melting chestnut eyes, and dark short curls undertoned chocolate, much as her skin, under the sunlight. An hourglass figure usually pleasant to see and to talk to when in social gatherings, and rather moody when on her own. She constantly gives an impression of animal flexibility, alert and rarely still. Her affable outsides hide an unsuspected vivacity, solid muscles and a cynic character, who has seen or endured her lot of distressing events. Dale is a troublesome teenager, always quick to tease, to one’s amusement or annoyance. She is impressionable to a short extent, always glad to chase the thrill rather than dwell in boredom, drawing positive energy from her rather negative mindset. She appreciates like-minded individuals, whereas purely rational people irritate her. Wherever she goes, you will invariably notice a black cat in her surroundings, with deeply yellow and unsettling eyes, and a strange red mark at the base of its neck, that you may have noticed on Dale’s lower back while admiring the chick’s warmly colored crop tops from behind. If you were watching even lower, the black cat would invariably be watching you. Background Statistics n stuff Experience Log
  11. Acato burst out in loud laughter, the chime of her voice crossing the whole cell array, and hitting the guard's ears as another annoying sound. Hearing him asking for silence, she lowered her voice. She then looked at her cellmate with a large grin, revealing her sharp canines. "Alright, my apologies, Lohkimian. My name is Acato Seros." Somewhat satisfied that she decided not to butcher his surname anymore, Lohkimian crossed his arms. "That's more like it..." The exchange between Jan and the guard caught Acato's attention. The other prisoners' voices began to sound familiar now, but she couldn't quite put a face on them. At Jan's last wry line, her jaw dropped, and she went for another round of pealing laughter.
  12. Acato pinched her lips for a while. "Alright, thank you Pam." How she ended up hunting a bounty, she had no idea, as for now, all her mind was asking was for the headache to stop. But still, it left her perplex. She approached the forcefield, staring at the lone guard for a while, her stomach grumbling. She shaked her head, then raised her voice, calling out to the other prisoners. "Any of you would have an idea of why I'd decide to become a seasoned bounty hunter ? I'm clueless..." The sarcastic emphasis on 'seasoned' sounded weird in the rather jovial tone of her question.
  13. Acato's eyes were getting used to the light, but the headache still remained, making any elaborate thought a hard task. She sighed once more. "What do we have here... You got a name buddy ?" "Buddy? Heh" he chuckled. "My name's Lohkimian Pamut. Most of you aliens are lazy and shorten it to some nonsense. It's not a hill to die on, even figuratively. That will be one of my own choice, thankyouverymuch. So I gave up trying try to fight it decades ago." he responded in his gruff voice and with a shrug. Acato nodded, repeating the name once to make sure she got it right."Lohkimian Pamut. Well, you are a rather discreet one." She pondered, unsure of how to ask her question. "Would you happen to know why I'm here ? I can't remember anything from the last days..." She gave in a short grin. "Oh. Yeah. Well, not really. I guess sorta, maybe?" he shrugged. "I'm not sure on specifics, but I think the lot of you tried to collect the New Republic bounty on Chell Kremanu. Sounds like you were doin' pretty good til his Stormtrooper detail crashed your party and then it all went to hell." he explained as he slipped out from beneath the bench/bed and, with some difficulty, rose to stand as his full 0.8 meter height. "I guess I shouldn't feel so bad then, as I almost had'em myself. 'There's hardly a problem that can't e solved with well placed explosives' is what my dad used to say." the small alien recited, thinking back to his parents for a moment before shrugging. "He was a miner. Anyway, I took that advice to heart and it's served me pretty well throughout the galaxy."
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