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About z-Amber Wren

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  1. Thinking quickly, Amber released John and jumped back from the table, moving to stand behind the door. From there, her intention was to jump the guard when she got the change – hopefully, he’d be distracted by the fact that John was loose.
  2. "Well, John, that's because they've wiped your memories," Amber explained, her hands tugging at the restraints. "We don't have much time, but the short of it is that they've done something to you and we need to get you out of here." "Something... what?" "Fuck if I know, I ain't the brains around here and it wasn't what was done to me," Amber said, shrugging. "I know this much. It has something to do with your memory loss, and it won't kill you, but they will. So, can you walk?"
  3. Amber nodded. "Good to know," she said, a clipboard with official-looking stuff on it tucked in her arms. She figured it would give her a reason to seclude herself with the guy she was supposed to spring if asked. But the guard wasn't paying any attention to it and Amber added with a smile, "Anything to make the job easier, right?" She entered the room, setting her jaw against the bad memories. She'd been here not that long ago. The young man was bound to the bed, looking listless. Hopeless. "Hey, there," Amber said, dropping her clipboard on a tray. "Do you remember your name, or have they given you the whammy yet?"
  4. Moses only walked another ten minutes before he found the source of his trail. The crazy golden-eyed woman waited for him on a fallen tree. It was about five feet off the ground at her perch, and even sitting, she loomed over him. Her purloined rifle was resting across her legs as she stared at him with that bestial gaze. “Why are you following me?” she asked, and her tone wasn’t exactly friendly. In her head, the wolves – or her own cracked psyche – continued to talk. We can take him! Storm Drinker’s exuberant cry made her flinch a little. No, she argued. He is… not an enemy. It’d be a stretch to call him a friend, and she knew it. She also sensed that the wolves wouldn’t react well to bullshit, even if she got them to buy it. I want to hear why he was following me. He’s addled in the head, so his reason may be dumb, but not malicious. And then she saw it – or rather, her. Leaping Fawn had appeared behind Moses, creeping out of the underbrush as if she’d materialized from the plants. Amber stared as reality kicked her brain in the teeth and showed her, without question, that she wasn’t crazy. Everything else had gone mad.
  5. Amber stalked along, the brim of her hat pulled low. Her contacts were annoying her, which only made this whole thing worse. They were necessary so that she didn't flash her yellow eyes all over the place, but she'd never worn them before and they weren't that comfortable. She was also aware that she didn't really look like her ID picture. It was probably close enough for anything other than full scrutiny, but she didn't like it. Grumbling to herself, the brunette headed into the complex, following her route. This plan was insane and she was crazy for agreeing to it. It was like something out of a TV show - and that didn't happen in real life. Dear Playboy, I was walking through a medical facility, planting bombs so that I could rescue a bunch of amnesic freaks when the greatest thing ever happened to me...
  6. Fox, should we give Katalyst a chance to post before we proceed? Is he ready to join us?
  7. Amber felt her tension ebb away as the woods closed around her. They gave her a sense of comfort as she snaked through the underbrush, her focus on the impossibly clear scent before her- You’re being followed. Leaping Fawn’s voice made Amber jump, nearly out of her skin. “Jesus!” she whispered, her eyes darting around. “What?” You’re being hunted, Raven Feather repeated and the growl in her voice was unmistakable. “Shit, shit…” Amber looked around again, hating that she was about to give into the madness. Fine… so who’s following me? Two-legged. Taller than you. Male. And? The confusion that followed her question forced her to clarify. What else about him? There was no good response from the wolves, or her insane brain, whichever it was. Whatever she was talking to couldn’t seem to differentiate between humans. Suddenly, a sense of smell flooded her brain, making her press a hand to her head as she swayed. But she knew that smell – Moses. “Is that…” Is that the scent of the man trailing me? The voices… wolves… whatever answered in the affirmative. I know him. He’s… She paused, not sure what to say. He’s not an enemy. He’s just… heading the same way I am. Leaping Fawn asked, What should we do? I’m going to alter course… lemme know if he moves with me.
  8. Between the conversation in the Prologue and the Raid Amber slipped away from the ranch house. A pistol was tucked in the holster she’d purloined for it, but her real prize was the rifle slung over her shoulder. It was a Remington Model 7, one of the better short-ranged hunting rifles in the US. Amber had decided she was going to make it hers the moment she’d entered the den with the intent of arming herself. She couldn’t take the rifle on the mission with her, but when they left the ranch, it’d be coming with her. The thought of turning thief bothered her only a little. Her morals had always been heavily skewed by practicality, and lately she’d had a lot of practical issues to deal with. Having no identity was the major one; losing her entire support network and having it replaced with amnesiacs who were in worse shape than she was constituted the other major issue. In the face of such odds, her morals bent themselves wildly to allow her the things she needed to survive. What bothered her the most was the need for such bending. It pissed her off to have her life ripped away, to have nothing left but the Special K Social Retard Group. It pissed her off something fierce and there was not a damned thing she could do about it. All she really had were her wits, her skills and her anger. And the voices. Growling to herself, she ignored the sensation of being watched. It was worse out here in the woods, which made her uneasy. She felt like she was being trailed by something. She paused and sniffed softly, catching the smell of the woods, something she knew was rabbit, another scent that was deer, something from a human – probably mostly upwind since all she caught was a barest hint – and wolves. How is this possible? How can I smell these things, much less know them? The world had given her another sense, but she really wanted to give it back - all the weirdness in exchange for her life sounded more than fair. If wishes were horses... Her uncle's favorite saying jarred her out of her slump, and Amber snorted to herself. Enough time had been wasted wishing that things were different. Shifting on the balls of her feet, Amber looked around and saw nothing. Scowling, she eased away through the trees, unconsciously following the trail of the deer.
  9. "Half a dozen?" Amber asked with an amused smirk. "You seem to have a high opinion of what I can do with my body, Fox." One corner of her mouth quirked up a little higher, making her smile lecherous. "Makes me wonder what else you think I'm capable of." Still grinning, she turned away from the gathered men. "I'm going to go pick out accessories for the party. Anyone else who doesn't want my rejects had better get in gear." The last was tossed over her shoulder as she walked back toward the ranch house to arm herself.
  10. Jesus, Amber groaned to herself. These guys are killing me. I need to get laid. Too bad none of these guys remember how to stick it in right, much less see to their partner's pleasure. While that held certain merits in regards to training them right, Amber wasn't really in the mood for patience. Preoccupied as she was with carnal matters, she was a little surprised to hear herself say, "I'm not leaving anyone behind." They all looked at her, surprised; Amber didn't often express any kind of sentiment or really kindness, so it was a bit ususual for her. Amber was just as surprised as all of them, but she didn't change her statment. In fact, she added, "No one deserves to be left in there." Straightening, she looked at Fox and asked, "Last question - what other weapons do you have for us? And yeah, I mean guns. You guys might have... skills and can be walking weapons, but all I've got is pretty eyes. Not quite enough for what we're doing."
  11. Amber listened to Fox, her eyes locked on him. Her scowl remained in place and even grew darker as he spoke. The life he was talking about was not one she wanted. Living on the run. No where to stop. No where to rest. Stealing to survive. Fucking Caduceus. She thought that sometimes the Channelers... or whatever they were, envied her. After all, she still remembered her life. She didn't have a great, gaping hole in the place of what should have been her life. She had it all: like her first kiss, the first fish she tickled out of the crick and her pride when that rusty old truck started. She knew what she's lost. Amber could remember her life and knew what Caduceus had taken from her. Her friends, her fans and her family were all lost to her. But Amber was more or less fine until Fox asked his question. Her lips pulled back from her teeth in what was almost a snarl as she glared at him. She felt defensive, as if she should feel insulted that he was noticing her anxiety. Without answering, she rose to her feet and snatched up the money, folding it and stuffing it in her pocket. She jammed the drumsticks in her back pocket and said, “So we’re raiding Caduceus? Where and what’s the plan?”
  12. Amber jerked under the assault of images and voices, her hands wrapping around the edge of the table. It didn’t help. Her yellow eyes were clenched shut under the assault; though she couldn’t hear it, she was panting, her breath rasping through clenched teeth as if she’d been sprinting the mile. “I wasn’t running!” It took her a moment to realize she’d spoken aloud. She opened her eyes and the others were staring at her. She blinked, scowling, as those creepy yellow eyes bored into Fox. “I’m not talking about hiding. I’m talking about a place to hole up and rest.”
  13. Originally Posted By: GrundleHmm...but if you play a wolf-girl you must have a sensitive nose...maybe the offensive scent is what put you off more than the sound per se? I can still edit it up, though, if that is not a big deal to your character. No, in part because the smell isn't necessarily offensive to her. She grew up in the back woods, lived with a lot of brothers and sisters in a small shack - BO is part of life. Originally Posted By: GrundleOn a side note, my character's lost background resonates with Amber's. I suspect he will be subconsciously drawn to her because of that. Awesome. It'll be fun to see that play out.
  14. Oh, my god... daemons? Who the fuck talks like this? Amber sighed, stiffening as she caught that one creep's eyes darting away from her. She stifled an angry growl, which only made her more upset - I'm not supposed to be able to do that!. It made her want to cry, but fuck that because she was tougher than that, god damnit. "Yippee, we're going," Amber snorted, sighing, "and then what? What the fuck do we do after the raid? We're about to run off and wage war on these guys and trust me, that's awesome in my book. I'd like to jam the toe of my boot in a few asses. But seriously, what then? We need a plan. Fox has got one, but you all... Jesus, no offense, but some of you aren't functional." Before any of the guys could verbalize any offense, Amber was continuing, "I can't think of a place we can go where those fuckheads won't be waiting for me. But I do know what we need - housing, income, food. Fox has been providing all that, but we need to figure out what we're doing next. "I've got some money left with a friend, but the second I contact them, we're on a timeclock. Fox, any ideas?"
  15. Grundle: Loved your first post. Can I ask for a minor edit? Farting in front of Amber wouldn't cause her to rant; she's a bit rougher than that (one of the boys, if you will). Maybe if he poked a breast out of curisity? That'd get a rise out of her. --------------------------------- Just as an aside, here's her background for you guys, until we get a forum. Amber grew up in the Appalachians in rural Massachusetts, part of a large clan of ‘hillfolk’. She learned outdoorsmanship from an early age, hiking, hunting and camping with her family. They lived off the grid, making their own food and buying only a few things that they couldn’t make themselves. There was a downside to this life; none of the modern conveniences, the condemnation of the ‘townies’ and the incestually close relationships of her family. But most of her childhood was happy. Amber displayed her musical talent early. When her family had a bonfire, she was roped into playing the handdrum and sometimes singing. Though she complained, she enjoyed it; making the music was something she enjoyed greatly. But as she entered her rebellious teens, this simple life wasn’t enough. Amber longed to see the ‘city life’ and do more than camp and hunt. She wanted to eat cheeseburgers and wear clothing she hadn’t made. She wanted to see the big city life. So she spent a summer working on a beat up junk truck, trying to get it working. By August 1, she was on the road, driving west. She didn’t stop until she reached LA, where she was faced with survival of a different kind. Amber ran into another kid named James Harrison; he insisted on being called Byron. Despite this pretension, they became friends. Through Byron, she found a small circle of friends, a place to crash and in time, a band. Amber and her friends formed Awkward Aliens, a hard rock band about three years ago. They’ve managed to get some fame in the Southern California area, but they haven’t made money at it yet. Then Amber was kidnapped, and life got really weird...
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