Post by Finley Collins on Feb 22, 2012 15:13:00 GMT -5
FINLEY GRETCHEN COLLINS
Kay
Third Person Limited
General Information
Age 27
Gender Female
Species Human, darling.
Physical Description
Playby Natalya Rudakova
Eye Colour Steely Blue
Hair Colour Red, but not ginger.
Height 5'9" barefoot. She'll break the 6' mark though when she dresses up for a night out on the town.
Describe Their Appearance Finley likes to be professional, given her job as a Torchwood agent. She favored suits, the more masculine the better. Because she was a woman in a male dominated field, especially in the Delhi hub, she liked to make sure that people never doubted her just because she was a woman. So, she wore suits, never grew her hair out, and didn't indulge in feminine whims beyond a bit of make up in the morning. Finley carries herself proudly; being a lot taller than most women, Finley uses her height to her advantage as an intimidation tactic as well as a defense mechanism.
Finley hates her freckles, she thinks she has way too many of them, but she refuses to do anything about them. Covering them up on a daily basis with make up was expensive and time consuming and having them removed permanently wasn't an option. Neither was dying her hair, or letting people know about her tattoo. In a misinformed move of rebellion at 14, Finley got a lower back tattoo just to go against her parents. Those who have seen the tattoo are not alive to tell the tale.
Personality
In General Finley likes to think that she's as tough as nails, the Clint Eastwood of Torchwood. Every day she puts on a brave face and plays the stoic, John Wayne type. In Torchwood 5, she'd roll in and drawl "Hey there, pardner" as a greeting. She put on the laconic cowboy exterior as a protective skin: when she was John Wayne or Clint Eastwood, the emotional toll of the job didn't get to Finley because it wasn't really her. She doesn't know that she does it, she's just trying to protect herself from losing more than she already had. Since she experienced so much loss so early on, Finley does her best to avoid losing anything, or anyone, else.
More or less, Finley's a great person to be around. She has a good sense of humor and she'll help someone out. Helping someone out gives Finley an excuse to not deal with her own emotions. Finley isn't comfortable having to handle her own emotions or views on things. It's classic avoidance. Ever since her family died, Finley hasn't been sure how to handle her own feeling since they had helped her every step of the way growing up. Now that she's out on her own, Finley isn't sure what to do about her emotions, so she opts to just ignore them instead.
Finley has a hard time joking around sometimes. When she's on the job (Which is always, working for Torchwood), Finley takes it very seriously. Since lives are always at risk where Torchwood business is concerned, she thinks that it is no place for tomfoolery. On the job means on the job, and Finley is very strict about that, not only for herself but for others around her. "You don't play around when you're working," She'd snap. "Unless you want to get someone killed". This doesn't mean she won't make the odd quip here and there. Verbal humor is fine, but when it gets into the practical joke area or the physical teasing that she draws the line.
As much as she hates to admit it, and no matter how vehemently she denies it, Finley needs someone. Ever since her Grandma Pea's death, she hasn't had a relationship that lasted more than a few weeks at a go. She gets the comfort and intimacy she needs, and then Finley moves on. Now that she's been working in Torchwood for a while, Finley's weary of getting into a serious relationship because of the demands of the job. That's not to say she doesn't want it though, Finley wants to fall in love (again, not something she'd admit) but it would be a bad move considering the nature of her profession.
Attitude Toward......Aliens. Finley rather likes aliens. More often than not, she's able to learn something from them that she couldn't learn any where else. Yeah, they weren't always good and too many times, Finley had to put a bullet in them but she saw the value in that too. Even dead, an alien life form could say a lot about anatomy, physiology, and the like.
...Guns. Guns are what make the world go 'round for Finley. She loves the idea of holding so much power in the palm of her hand. Having grown up in the backwoods of the United States, Finley was raised with buckshot in her dinner and gun powder on her pants. She isn't comfortable anywhere without a gun.
Attitude Toward... ...Harry Potter. It's ruined her life. People she doesn't know have run up to her and practically screamed in her face "ARE YOU A WEASLEY?". Needless to say, she's tired of it.
...The government. They can never get it right and they are always looking for the easy way out. Blowing up spaceships instead of attempting to negotiate (the same goes for other countries for that matter), waging war for economic reasons, and such things have fostered Finley's hate for the government. It's one of the reasons why she got into Torchwood: it was a place she could make a difference without Big Brother looking over her shoulder.
All The Little Things
Personal Effects
Her handy, dandy Colt Python, 6 inch. It had been a present from her father before he died and Finley adores it.
Her grandmother's wedding ring that had been in the family since the 1870's. Finley was very close to her grandmother and she wears her ring on a chair around her neck all the time.
Pocket knife, you never know when you're going to need to cut something.
Quirks or Habits Finley's a nervous nail biter. She's been trying to kick the habit so she'll chew on anything handy, whether it be a pencil or a piece of gum.
Extras
History (only for OCs) Finley was born in Kansas in the middle of no where. Her mother died when she was only two so she was raised by her father and his mother, her Grandma Pea. She worked on their farm until she was 14, when her father died in a farming accident. Her beloved Colt was given to her on her birthday, four short months before his passing. After he died, Finley had to start working full time in town along with attending school in order to help pay off the farm's mortgage. Grandma Pea stayed on the farm, working it during the day. Finley did what she could in the morning and when she got home, cutting her sleep down to three hours a night to fit everything in.
Grandma Pea died while Finley was 20, well into her second year of college. By this time, Finley had gotten involved in the military but was far from complacent and made a terrible soldier. She was dishonorably discharged a year after Grandma Pea's death for punching her CO in the face. She never gave a reason why she did it, she just did. Out of the military, Finley packed her bags (there weren't many of them) and she hit the road. Flying over to Europe, she bought a motorcycle and just started driving.
Eventually, she ended up in India. she ran into the instructor of Torchwood 5 there as he was battling a peculiar sand-dwelling alien. They were out in the middle of no where and he was trying to take it in alive but it broke free and immediately turned on him, trying to rip him apart. Finley didn't pause to think; she pulled out her beloved Colt and shot the alien three times in the back of its head. The instructor thanked her and instead of RetConning her and sending her on her way, he asked her if she was interested in a job that had just recently opened up at his hub.
Finley didn't have anything else, so she accepted.
For the past 5 years Finley has been working at Torchwood 5 but was transfered to the London/Cardiff area because of suspicious Rift activity. She begins the roleplay just starting off.
Sample Post
It wasn't a good situation. A weevil had managed to get loose from a collection team. At least one of the agents (some newbie) had managed to plant a tracker on it before it tore through his arm. Finley had checked on the agent who had passed out from blood loss before heading off to deal with the weevil. Her phone stayed out as she walked, her military issued boots that she had stolen from her past life, splashing carelessly through the water saturated gutters. Somehow, the weevil got into a museum. That meant that it was more or less closed in.
As she got closer to the museum, finding the entrance it had used easily, Finley pulled out her gun and checked it. It was loaded and her anti-weevil spray was on her utility belt within easy reach. Pulling out her torch, Finley stepped into the opening and into the muggy, cold museum. With a press of her thumb, the torch lit up in a bright, LED beam.
Moving carefully and quietly as she could, Finley moved further into the museum.
"Here kitty, kitty, kitty," She beckoned under her breath, scanning the space with her torch. There was a movement to her left and Finley stiffened. Slowly, she reached down with one hand to grab the weevil spray while she tried to focus her hearing on that area. The odd, reedy sounding breaths of the weevil were clear in the space, even over the hum of the air unit.
---
Walking out of the museum, dragging a hissing and spitting weevil, Finley couldn't help but roll her eyes. Rift activity was supposed to be more exciting than this. So far, all she had done was snatch up weevils left and right and do paperwork.
Finley passed the weevil off to an agent who had been tending to the now armless former agent. "You're doing the paperwork." She told him firmly, raising her voice to be heard over the weevil's hissing and spitting. "I'm going home. Don't bother me for at least eight hours." Finley gave the weevil one last spray to make sure it didn't cause too many problems again and turned on her heel.
She walked back to her car and drove to her tiny apartment in the middle of the "wrong side of the tracks". The four story stair climb was as it usually was, boring and tedious. Finley had to battle with her door's lock to get inside and had to use her shoulder to shut it all the way once she was in.
She couldn't wait to get her first real paycheck from the new hub, that meant she could finally move into a decent place.
The utility belt was unhooked and hung up in the hallway, the boots unlaced and left on the mud splattered map they lived on, and Finley was in the kitchen, opening her shitty fridge to pull out a barely chilled beer. Snatching up a pack of saltines, Finley walked to her beat up arm chair and slumped into it. Her feet were kicked up on the lawn chair turned coffee table and the beer was opened on the underarm of the recliner.
Munching on a saltine, Finley sat in silence until her beer was gone. Not bothering to get up, leaving the lights off since she never actually turned them on, she dozed in her chair.
After all, she only had 7 hours now until she had to be back at work. Why waste time getting comfortable when she could just sleep?
Kay
Third Person Limited
General Information
Age 27
Gender Female
Species Human, darling.
Physical Description
Playby Natalya Rudakova
Eye Colour Steely Blue
Hair Colour Red, but not ginger.
Height 5'9" barefoot. She'll break the 6' mark though when she dresses up for a night out on the town.
Describe Their Appearance Finley likes to be professional, given her job as a Torchwood agent. She favored suits, the more masculine the better. Because she was a woman in a male dominated field, especially in the Delhi hub, she liked to make sure that people never doubted her just because she was a woman. So, she wore suits, never grew her hair out, and didn't indulge in feminine whims beyond a bit of make up in the morning. Finley carries herself proudly; being a lot taller than most women, Finley uses her height to her advantage as an intimidation tactic as well as a defense mechanism.
Finley hates her freckles, she thinks she has way too many of them, but she refuses to do anything about them. Covering them up on a daily basis with make up was expensive and time consuming and having them removed permanently wasn't an option. Neither was dying her hair, or letting people know about her tattoo. In a misinformed move of rebellion at 14, Finley got a lower back tattoo just to go against her parents. Those who have seen the tattoo are not alive to tell the tale.
Personality
In General Finley likes to think that she's as tough as nails, the Clint Eastwood of Torchwood. Every day she puts on a brave face and plays the stoic, John Wayne type. In Torchwood 5, she'd roll in and drawl "Hey there, pardner" as a greeting. She put on the laconic cowboy exterior as a protective skin: when she was John Wayne or Clint Eastwood, the emotional toll of the job didn't get to Finley because it wasn't really her. She doesn't know that she does it, she's just trying to protect herself from losing more than she already had. Since she experienced so much loss so early on, Finley does her best to avoid losing anything, or anyone, else.
More or less, Finley's a great person to be around. She has a good sense of humor and she'll help someone out. Helping someone out gives Finley an excuse to not deal with her own emotions. Finley isn't comfortable having to handle her own emotions or views on things. It's classic avoidance. Ever since her family died, Finley hasn't been sure how to handle her own feeling since they had helped her every step of the way growing up. Now that she's out on her own, Finley isn't sure what to do about her emotions, so she opts to just ignore them instead.
Finley has a hard time joking around sometimes. When she's on the job (Which is always, working for Torchwood), Finley takes it very seriously. Since lives are always at risk where Torchwood business is concerned, she thinks that it is no place for tomfoolery. On the job means on the job, and Finley is very strict about that, not only for herself but for others around her. "You don't play around when you're working," She'd snap. "Unless you want to get someone killed". This doesn't mean she won't make the odd quip here and there. Verbal humor is fine, but when it gets into the practical joke area or the physical teasing that she draws the line.
As much as she hates to admit it, and no matter how vehemently she denies it, Finley needs someone. Ever since her Grandma Pea's death, she hasn't had a relationship that lasted more than a few weeks at a go. She gets the comfort and intimacy she needs, and then Finley moves on. Now that she's been working in Torchwood for a while, Finley's weary of getting into a serious relationship because of the demands of the job. That's not to say she doesn't want it though, Finley wants to fall in love (again, not something she'd admit) but it would be a bad move considering the nature of her profession.
Attitude Toward......Aliens. Finley rather likes aliens. More often than not, she's able to learn something from them that she couldn't learn any where else. Yeah, they weren't always good and too many times, Finley had to put a bullet in them but she saw the value in that too. Even dead, an alien life form could say a lot about anatomy, physiology, and the like.
...Guns. Guns are what make the world go 'round for Finley. She loves the idea of holding so much power in the palm of her hand. Having grown up in the backwoods of the United States, Finley was raised with buckshot in her dinner and gun powder on her pants. She isn't comfortable anywhere without a gun.
Attitude Toward... ...Harry Potter. It's ruined her life. People she doesn't know have run up to her and practically screamed in her face "ARE YOU A WEASLEY?". Needless to say, she's tired of it.
...The government. They can never get it right and they are always looking for the easy way out. Blowing up spaceships instead of attempting to negotiate (the same goes for other countries for that matter), waging war for economic reasons, and such things have fostered Finley's hate for the government. It's one of the reasons why she got into Torchwood: it was a place she could make a difference without Big Brother looking over her shoulder.
All The Little Things
Personal Effects
Her handy, dandy Colt Python, 6 inch. It had been a present from her father before he died and Finley adores it.
Her grandmother's wedding ring that had been in the family since the 1870's. Finley was very close to her grandmother and she wears her ring on a chair around her neck all the time.
Pocket knife, you never know when you're going to need to cut something.
Quirks or Habits Finley's a nervous nail biter. She's been trying to kick the habit so she'll chew on anything handy, whether it be a pencil or a piece of gum.
Extras
History (only for OCs) Finley was born in Kansas in the middle of no where. Her mother died when she was only two so she was raised by her father and his mother, her Grandma Pea. She worked on their farm until she was 14, when her father died in a farming accident. Her beloved Colt was given to her on her birthday, four short months before his passing. After he died, Finley had to start working full time in town along with attending school in order to help pay off the farm's mortgage. Grandma Pea stayed on the farm, working it during the day. Finley did what she could in the morning and when she got home, cutting her sleep down to three hours a night to fit everything in.
Grandma Pea died while Finley was 20, well into her second year of college. By this time, Finley had gotten involved in the military but was far from complacent and made a terrible soldier. She was dishonorably discharged a year after Grandma Pea's death for punching her CO in the face. She never gave a reason why she did it, she just did. Out of the military, Finley packed her bags (there weren't many of them) and she hit the road. Flying over to Europe, she bought a motorcycle and just started driving.
Eventually, she ended up in India. she ran into the instructor of Torchwood 5 there as he was battling a peculiar sand-dwelling alien. They were out in the middle of no where and he was trying to take it in alive but it broke free and immediately turned on him, trying to rip him apart. Finley didn't pause to think; she pulled out her beloved Colt and shot the alien three times in the back of its head. The instructor thanked her and instead of RetConning her and sending her on her way, he asked her if she was interested in a job that had just recently opened up at his hub.
Finley didn't have anything else, so she accepted.
For the past 5 years Finley has been working at Torchwood 5 but was transfered to the London/Cardiff area because of suspicious Rift activity. She begins the roleplay just starting off.
Sample Post
It wasn't a good situation. A weevil had managed to get loose from a collection team. At least one of the agents (some newbie) had managed to plant a tracker on it before it tore through his arm. Finley had checked on the agent who had passed out from blood loss before heading off to deal with the weevil. Her phone stayed out as she walked, her military issued boots that she had stolen from her past life, splashing carelessly through the water saturated gutters. Somehow, the weevil got into a museum. That meant that it was more or less closed in.
As she got closer to the museum, finding the entrance it had used easily, Finley pulled out her gun and checked it. It was loaded and her anti-weevil spray was on her utility belt within easy reach. Pulling out her torch, Finley stepped into the opening and into the muggy, cold museum. With a press of her thumb, the torch lit up in a bright, LED beam.
Moving carefully and quietly as she could, Finley moved further into the museum.
"Here kitty, kitty, kitty," She beckoned under her breath, scanning the space with her torch. There was a movement to her left and Finley stiffened. Slowly, she reached down with one hand to grab the weevil spray while she tried to focus her hearing on that area. The odd, reedy sounding breaths of the weevil were clear in the space, even over the hum of the air unit.
---
Walking out of the museum, dragging a hissing and spitting weevil, Finley couldn't help but roll her eyes. Rift activity was supposed to be more exciting than this. So far, all she had done was snatch up weevils left and right and do paperwork.
Finley passed the weevil off to an agent who had been tending to the now armless former agent. "You're doing the paperwork." She told him firmly, raising her voice to be heard over the weevil's hissing and spitting. "I'm going home. Don't bother me for at least eight hours." Finley gave the weevil one last spray to make sure it didn't cause too many problems again and turned on her heel.
She walked back to her car and drove to her tiny apartment in the middle of the "wrong side of the tracks". The four story stair climb was as it usually was, boring and tedious. Finley had to battle with her door's lock to get inside and had to use her shoulder to shut it all the way once she was in.
She couldn't wait to get her first real paycheck from the new hub, that meant she could finally move into a decent place.
The utility belt was unhooked and hung up in the hallway, the boots unlaced and left on the mud splattered map they lived on, and Finley was in the kitchen, opening her shitty fridge to pull out a barely chilled beer. Snatching up a pack of saltines, Finley walked to her beat up arm chair and slumped into it. Her feet were kicked up on the lawn chair turned coffee table and the beer was opened on the underarm of the recliner.
Munching on a saltine, Finley sat in silence until her beer was gone. Not bothering to get up, leaving the lights off since she never actually turned them on, she dozed in her chair.
After all, she only had 7 hours now until she had to be back at work. Why waste time getting comfortable when she could just sleep?
