#chqs.intro

[junkrxt]

NAME: CYREX “JUNKRAT” KAIZEN GOES BY: JUNKRAT, REX, JUNKER. FACECLAIM: BERK ATAN AGE: 29 PRONOUNS: HE/HIM ZONE OF ORIGIN: ZONE 2 STATUS: MECHANIC @ CHQS & CHAOS JUNKER ON THE DL

TRAITS

+ PRECOCIOUS + SHARP WITTED + SLICK 

- CHAOTIC - DISORDERLY – TUMULTUOUS

HEADCANONS: 

Calloused fingers pick at the wrapping on Rex’s left hand, wet where an unhealed injury lies underneath. A honeyed crimson seeps through the brown-stained brace and the Junker’s stabbing his right thumb into the palm of his hand – stems the flow (so he imagines.) and eases the pain vibrating through his hand as it shakes under irritated tendons. There’s an abundance of cusses slipping from Kaizen’s lips that remind him that it’s his clumsy manner of battling through an uncharted junkpile; sharp is broken metal; like glass at its edges when a hand catches the tip ever so cleanly. He’s surrounded by chaos (that’s how everyone else would see it, at least.) when in fact, it’s an organised catastrophe of scrap and mechanical-potential. He’s sprawled on the roof of a broken vehicle, indented under the weight of the man and his gizmos as he looks at the rising sun above; streams of light reflecting off his steampunk-esque glasses that are strapped to his forehead and shield the rays that have every likelihood to burn his sockets – one of the more horrific of instances for a man who prides on reparations to sustain life.

Black boots thump on the concrete rooftop – Cyrex convinced that his hole-up of a headquarters (the one he doesn’t act like a screwed-on being for.) is on the collapse, every day, something new crops up that he’s tinkering together. Never is anything broken for too long, tarps overhead that form a blockade from overheating, a gentle whir in the background of a refrigerator-like device that he’s storing scraps in. Junkrat is the perfect calibre of a name – though, the tailed creatures that scutter along the floor between overgrown ivy would probably argue against the moniker. Not that Rex sees them as junk, but they’ve got a nice crunch – kind of like bone, some would say. He finds use for that too; perfect sounding alarm for little junk boobytraps that put him on the other end of a Raider’s alert.

Kaizen’s got a favourite rat, she’s called Tess, surname, Tickle.

Distinguished is his attire; braces, ripped, torn and an eyesore of a mechanic in the walls of CHQS. Though unquestionably talented when challenged in the art of techno talk and rather a soloist if it were chalked down to a performance. An old, carcinogenic aroma is distinct enough that it is only outweighed by burnt oil and rubber of the rover’s Rex is known to fasten together; call him a motorhead; will race you to any milestone; all territories and let unforgiving crashes be their end. It’s not obvious with how he behaves that the tinkerer is any gifted in the maintenance department; but he’ll outdo any upgrade with a toothpick and package tape and make it work if that’s the only things available.

BIOGRAPHY

There’s never a need for anything to be fixed if the world remains perfect. Those phrases that cover the ‘if it’s not broken don’t fix it’ never really apply to Amhaven – in Rex’s history, never has.

Never short is the demand for skilled hands; quick fingers that have developed based on a world gone mad.

Goggles on, sparks alight like fireworks spraying directly from the ends of Junkrat’s fingers; he’s constructing. Machinery in brutalised hands and a lazy kind of roll of his head side to side like he’s impatient to finishing this particular project. Always the mechanic, likes to think he’s often the best of them. Anyone else is a lesser – comes to be why he’s always remained fairly isolated, rooted himself in places nobody else dares risk; a building (like most of them in the concrete jungle) on the brink of collapse; perfect headquarters for privacy, to build a retreat from stolen tarps and sticks. Old timber that’s got such rot through it that even woodworm doesn’t want to touch it. Metal, bone and the world at the scrapper’s fingertips; his haven.

Kaizen remembers his early years – sort of, a collection of memories compiled of gathering trinkets and gizmos that he wrestled with concaved vehicles for. Once wore a truck’s steering wheel like it was a new age war accessory – popped out the centre, acted like he was some kind of Havoc (also, a stolen shredded zone one relic of a comic book that he lost in two days to his own fire friendly hands.) Though, it stuck, as did the vision of his first taste in the Junker, Raider clash – he’d never seen a nose pop like a grape til then either, splat; a sound that really buries deep into the core of anyone. Crunch of ivory beneath Ransacker’s boots that had once belonged to his guardians; mentors; parents and fast does Rex learn some things simply cannot be fixed with even the fastest, adroit fingers.

Death’s permanent – no fixing that.

Scrambles away from the wreckage, a slick coating of red that decorates skin and clings like oil to every crevasse. It stains, both physically and mentally and if souls were ever an interest to someone like Junkrat, it probably has a mark there too. If only as a fuel to the man’s vigilance to the way of being a junker; more than just shiny things and scrap metal to be forged and utilised to self-serving purposes, an adaptable lifestyle that Kaizen blossomed into and now – in adulthood, understands rivalry with R&R and all its complications.

Though, the chaos is also welcomed when Cyrex has his gadgets in place like mines on a field. He often watches with botched binoculars in one hand from the rooftop of an abadoned multi-storey, legs swung over the edge with something to snack on in his other hand. It’s like cinema, the way incoming Raiders intend to… raid – so Rex assumes, and there’s just explosions followed by traps that provide all levels of lethality. A kind of wry smile as he throws offchunks of meat into his mouth and chews with amusement as stolen trucks attempt to barrage in and end upturned in a ditch; flames dancing along the dry grass in some mad max-esque carnage.

Friday night entertainment at its finest.

Deserved after a hard working week as recruited mechanic at CHQS – ha.

But yes, he does do that too, snags a spot in the mechanic ranks and enjoys the minimal joyride of liberating labrats whilst he’s maintaining the safety of those traveling between. How he got there – questionable. What isn’t, is how adept he is at doing it. Therefore, the carbuncle that he is in homemade tarp cargos and some form of fabric adoring his torso; a kind of armouring of metal and scrap that seems haphazard in its placement (though entirely logical if Junkrat were to think on it) are certainly, even in Amhaven, not the best of business attire, but it works. The scrapper always remains glad that his only requirement in the building is maintenance; tinkering upgrades that have every kind of ability to be less lackluster, more dangerously eccentric.

Tess Tickle as his right hand lady; lucky charm; never does his tinkering fail.

Until well, sometimes, it does.

And he has to go back and repair it.

Cue the sounds of thunder when he approaches in his jacked rover with enough modifications that would kill half the zone if the vehicle were to explode. Don’t touch it, he’ll probably show you how many uses a screwdriver actually has.

CONNECTIONS

RAMESES "RA" EL AYOUBI | Other half; the Mother to the Rat Pack Collective where Junkrat’s the father. (In Rex’s opinion.) Chaos fuelled duo that has probably been responsible for at least sixty percent of both missing objects and rats that eventually end up in The Collective; living in the shared homebase (the one that’s not on Rex’s rooftop because... Ra says he needs... walls.) within a formerly desolate Chuck ‘E’ Cheese sign. Kaizen’s built a runway for the RPC out of it, a few acquired and repaired neon bulbs very reflective of Z1 in the odd letterings. Yes, Ra and Junkrat (more Junkrat... probably) are this delinquent-like at most times. And yes, they really did argue about walls; their first domestic one could say.  

FURTHER DEPTH

Named his rover/machine of a car, Hyena because, sometimes feral; sometimes doesn’t listen; often acts out and well; makes a lot of noise. 

Will greet you with a wrench in the shoulder, or a spanner to the stomach. Ultimately depends what he has in his hands when you look at him odd. 

Odd does indeed mean just be in his general vicinity. 

On a good day, he might grin and look more like he might either kiss you (not that you’d want to) or ask you to race him and Tess Tickle to the meeting room. Yes, the one he definitely should not be in. 

Almost always covered in grease, oil, lubricant, some other unidentified roadside substance and excess foodstuffs if not all at the same time. 

Don’t mention the smell. He can’t fix that, it’s natural. 

Probably replaces most civility with unpleasantries in regards to verbal communication, otherwise, he’s probably throwing peanuts at someone when waiting for something to boot up and he can work on it.

Generally goes by Junkrat due to many obvious traits, also does carry Tess Tickle around in a lil self-made backpack-like cage with a totally safe exercise wheel to keep her entertained during transport if she wants to go out on days. 

Yes, he talks to the rats, there’s a whole liberated Rat Pack Collective. Where did they all come from? Don’t worry about it. Ask Ra. 

Wears everything out of Mad Max, scraps of brown and dirtied attire that makes him look like a wilderness explorer; totally on brand, absolutely his style, the red stains... don’t recommend asking about those either. 

TBA

QUICK LINKS

THREADS

SELF PARAS

MUSINGS

CHQS

[kieranfrey]

KIERAN FREY ZONE 3 RESEARCHER

NAME: Kieran Frey AGE: 37 PRONOUNS: She/Her ZONE OF ORIGIN: Zone 3 STATUS: Zone 3 Researcher TRAITS: + Analytical, Curious, Intelligent | – Abrupt, Proud, Sarcastic

BIO

car accident tw / child death tw

Kieran was born in Amstelland to a previously nomadic family who settled into their new lives in a beautiful city.

She grew up a curious child, and though her parents weren’t terribly old when she was born, with a sister 15 years her senior, they weren’t exactly spring chickens either. She was a handful, constantly asking questions, constantly seeking out knowledge.

Kieran was never disobedient for the sake of it, but for the sake of discovery, of learning something new and pushing the limits wherever she could. She was always fascinated by the why of what people did, rather than the how. The reason behind the action. The driving forces behind anything.

As she grew older, it was clear that she had an aptitude for learning and discovery, and these interests and drive had her on an accelerated course of study. She was grateful her sister took center stage, so that she could be more or less free to live her own life, without any expectation.

–

She was 19 when an unplanned pregnancy put her plans to travel to Austria, where her family was from, on hold. But as was the Zone 3 motto – everything had a silver lining and her son James was hers.

Being a single mother wasn’t something that had been in the books but her family helped and she continued on her career path, getting a job at CHQS where she began as a junior researcher, starting with a focus on Zone 3.

Between being a mother and a demanding job, Kieran fell into a pattern of work and home life, her own interests beyond the two put on hold.

She was 25 when her entire world was upended. There was a car accident, a moment of distraction on the part of another driver, that left Kieran in the hospital with all the best care, and her six year old son, six feet under.

Things like this rarely happened in Amstelland. But, at least there was always a silver lining, or so people kept telling her. Grief was alright, but being stuck in it was not. The end of life was a reason to celebrate what was, not mourn what would never be. People kept telling her that her silver lining was that she was alive! That there were new signs and regulations set up where the accident had occurred –- so it would never happen to anyone else again. Everything has a silver lining.

She resisted the thought until she resented it. Until she couldn’t help but look around Amstelland and question what she saw there. It wasn’t natural to move on so easily. To find happiness where there was none. But in a place where her son’s death was met with a party to celebrate his young life, rather than a funeral to mourn it...she didn’t think she could say anything, she was trapped in a world that didn’t want her to vocalize her grief beyond the allotted time they deemed appropriate.

So she swallowed it when she was expected to and for two years did her best to get back into the swing of things, clawing her way back to a sense of normalcy. Needing desperately to feel normal again.

–

She began to do research across Zones, collecting data and studies to help those at Zone 3′s CHQS gain a better understanding of the other Zones. Travel helped her more than she thought possible and she’d spend extended periods of time in other Zones conducting her research. Normal eventually came to her, though it took time. 

As the years have gone by, Kieran has returned to herself, rising to become one of Zone 3′s head researchers. She semi-resents the fact that her older sister casts a long shadow and knows that people think her job and any opportunities she’s had are a result of her sister’s position, rather than her own merit.

This pushes her to work harder to show that she can contribute more, not just because of who her sister is.

It’s been almost 20 years since she started with CHQS. Kieran believes in her work, and believes that by understanding other Zones, everyone will be safer and better equipped to go survive during their travels.

HEADCANONS

Always carries a small notebook and pen on her person to scribble notes, observations and reminders she forgets to look at.

She’s an early riser and subsists on coffee and muffins.

She believes there are other Zones out there and has only recently begun to compile additional data to support that theory. Previously, she was working more towards the study of each Zone but after years of conducting said research, she’s interested in a change.

Fascinated by experts in other Zones and often takes time to interview them on seemingly unrelated topics to Zone study but believes everything is tied together.

Wants to travel to Zone 0 for study but knows that would never be allowed.

Food between Zone never ceases to amaze her, and she’s found favorites from each she enjoys when she travels to them. Music between Zones also fascinates her, and how it affects people differently, along with the similarities between the Zones’ genres.

She’s got a tattoo of her son’s birthday on her ribcage. She doesn’t talk about him with anyone, but she still dreams of him, still sometimes wakes with tears in her eyes. Time does heal, however slowly, but the past twelve years since his death have taken her on a journey she wouldn’t wish on anyone.

Despite being very analytical, which can sometimes maker her seem distant, she has a deep sense of compassion, it just takes a while for her to feel comfortable enough to show it.

@chqsintro​

[aeryncortazar]

AERYN CORTÁZAR HIKER | ZONE 1 DOCTOR

NAME: Aeryn Cortázar, MD AGE: 32 PRONOUNS: She/Her ZONE OF ORIGIN: Zone 0 || Currently Zone 1 STATUS: Hiker || Zone 1 Doctor  TRAITS: + Kind, Lionhearted, Vigilant || – Impulsive, Opinionated, Stubborn

BIO

tw: death, illness 

Aeryn was born in Zone 0′s Colorado. 

The United States, and the world, really, were in a state of disarray and chaos, a slow descent into hopelessness and desolation. 

Both her parents died when she was eight, after getting sick which was darkly ironic considering they were both doctors, and she was left in the care of her aunt Isla who worked for CHQS, also as a physician. 

It was clear that the next step was to take Aeryn away from Zone 0 and somewhere safe, like Zone 1.

She hiked there the same year her parents died, before the world could get any worse while they were there and she was officially a hiker in Zone 1.

The years went by and she posed as a Local, her aunt being the only person she could really speak to about anything that happened and despite the adjustment, she was grateful to have Aunt Isla by her side. 

Eventually, she’d start college, diving headfirst into medicine, following in the footsteps of her parents and aunt. She wanted to make the world, whichever world she was in, a better place and thought that medicine might be a way to do it.

When she was officially a doctor, and hired by CHQS she realized that the organization in Zone 1 had the ability to help so many more people than they were. She learned about the other zones in her training and while Zone 3 seemed able to take care of itself well enough, Zone 2 felt like an echo of Zone 0. A place in desperate need of help.

The fact that Zone 1 had so many resources, so many ways to help and yet did nothing beyond the bare minimum boggled Aeryn’s mind.

Eventually, she decided to take matters into her own hands. She didn’t think she’d change a system overnight, but anything she could do was better than sitting idle. So on various trips to Zone 2, under the guise of providing basic medical help for those in need in Amhaven, she began to treat people with more than the prescribed Zone 2 methods. She’d use Zone 1 tech to give people a better shot at recovery, aided by a traveler who shared the same mindset she did. 

It’s not a great system, and she knows there’s a lot of risk involved but she saw how Zone 1 let Zone 0 collapse when they had the ability to help, and if this is something she can do to make a slight difference, she will. 

HEADCANONS

Aeryn has photographs of her parents she keeps hidden, knowing that anything from Zone 0 is technically prohibited in Zone 1. She also knows it’s impossible and dangerous, but there’s still a part of her that wants to travel back to Zone 0, to see what’s left of her home. 

After an incident on one of her first trips to Zone 2, when she was almost killed, Aeryn took it upon herself to start training in self-defense. She is proficient with a knife and carries one on her whenever she’s traveling. She hates guns and will only ever use one if completely necessary. Aeryn is, by no means, top-fighter material, but she’s scrappy enough to get by and will bite you if necessary.

She speaks English, Spanish and Dutch, which has always been very useful in her practice.

CONNECTIONS

ZONE 1 CHILDHOOD FRIENDS: People who believed her to be a Local growing up. This is a bit self explanatory –– just childhood friends, people who made her feel welcomed when she moved to New Amstel.

ZONE 0 FRIENDS: A childhood friend who hiked here too. From Colorado or from somewhere else (Tbh we can make it work). They lost contact when she and her aunt traveled to Zone 1 but now they’re meeting again years later. 

ZONE 1 TRAVELER: Someone who shares similar beliefs about the disparity between zones. Who believes in helping Zone 2 residents and who helps her between the zones on her travels. They’ve known each other for a while and trust each other implicitly.

CHQS COLLEAGUES: Self explanatory, from any department really!

@chqsintro​

[quinncastel]

GIDEON TOWNSEND | QUINN CASTEL ZONE 1 TRAVELER | ZONE 2 RAIDER

I’ll elaborate on this more when I have a sec but it’s been a long week so, without further ado, I give you this two-faced SOB: 

NAME: Quinn Castel || Impersonating: Gideon Townsend AGE: 38 PROUNOUNS: He/His ZONE OF ORIGIN: Zone 2 || Currently in Zone 1 STATUS: Technically Zone 2 Local/Raider ||  Impersonating a Zone 1 Traveler at CHQS TRAITS: + Adaptive, Charming, Quick-Witted || – Competitive,  Distrusting, Machiavellian

BIO

Quinn Castel grew up a street rat in Zone 2. He and his “adopted” sister and brother learned to get by on sheer will and street-smarts.

With a near photography memory, he found himself a quick-study at most things, which helped him learn how to scrap, steal and survive.

He was always a bit of the mastermind of their antics – orchestrating ways in which they could not just survive but also thrive. In a dog-eat-dog world, he learned to be vicious in fights, knowing that it was kill or be killed. He learned to think harder and faster than all those around him. How to look at the details while never losing sight of the bigger picture.

Eventually, more people wanted to follow him – they saw he was capable, calculating and cut-throat enough to make it in their desolate world and in Amhaven specifically.

He became the leader of a group of Raiders that were known throughout their city to be ruthless and shrewd. They weren’t reckless but they knew how to take power but, more importantly, how to keep it. They controlled several main waterways in Amhaven, gaining wealth by charging a high tax to get through. They also began to control one of the city’s main water supplies.

It was good but it wasn’t enough.

There was more out there, Quinn knew this, and he began searching for ways to do more. To be more. Surely there was more for them than a decaying city?

This thought plagued him until, 3 years ago, he came across someone he knew...attacking the very same person. It was his first encounter with a doppelgänger. It was a small thread, the first of many that he pulled at. And when he kept pulling, the truth unraveled itself.

There was more. There were people who could come and go. Who kept them there despite having more to offer. To help. And they refused. So Quinn made up his mind that the only thing left to do was to take it.

How was the question that was answered just over a year and a half ago when Quinn spotted his own doppelgänger. Gideon Townsend. A traveler from Zone 1. An answer and a key wrapped up in one person.

It took a year of careful study, of eagle-eyed observation and espionage for Quinn to pick the right moment to strike. To enact a plan none but his siblings knew about.

He took care of Gideon Townsend, assuming his identity as a Zone 1 Traveler and embarking on a mission to lift his people out of the mud and mire.

Quinn is currently impersonating Gideon Townsend at CHQS and all of his Zone 2 associates/followers, believe him to be dead save his siblings. Down to the scars and tattoos Gideon had, Quinn is fully embodying the traveler as if his life depends on it. Which it does. 

It’s a risky endeavor, but one that will be worth it if they can get the technology and knowledge of how to move between Zones and, more importantly, the opportunity to take what has been withheld from them: the opportunity for me. The chance to get away from a dying world.

CONNECTIONS

These will definitely expand once I think about them more but here are a few thoughts:

QUINN SIBLINGS – they’re not blood related but they are the people he trusts most in the world. They were all orphans on the street of Amhaven when they met, children without homes or families so they made their own. They are the only people who know about Quinn still being alive, and his doppelgänger being the one who is dead.

GIDEON CONNECTIONS – casual associates, friends, flings – people who won’t notice anything different about Gideon. / close associates, close friends – people who may, overtime, consider something different about the way he smiles, or tips his head but nothing that really raises the eye (just to avoid “they totally can tell he’s not himself!”. let’s discuss!)

[nikocas]

NAME: NIKO CASTILLON GOES BY: NIK, NIKO, N. FACECLAIM: JAIME MURRAY AGE: 44 PRONOUNS: SHE/HER ZONE OF ORIGIN: ZONE 1 STATUS: ZONE MANAGER @ CHQS

TRAITS: 

+ FOCUSED + AUTHORATIVE + METHODICAL 

- IMMORAL - ABRASIVE – SYBARITIC  

HEADCANONS: 

It’s not the clacking of shoes in CHQS walls, but instead the gentle whip of a full-length jacket that alerts all to Nik’s appearance; a presence that emanates control, yet remains entirely too terrifying to offer a suggestive smile as a greeting. Castillon’s dark grey cotton cape is iconic; pockets hidden on the inside that house switchblades, infotech that is probably a bit too restricted for someone of her level but evidently, hers. Everything appears orderly, a smile that’s as falsely welcoming as the grin on a Cheshire cat offers. Behind those hues lies a humour – laughing at her peers; begs the idea that there’s intelligence unmatched in them all; perhaps narcissistic is a trait ignored in the ZM’s playbook.

Neon strobes set alight Niko’s person, in the underbelly of New Amstel is where Castillon thrives. A hustler if there ever was such a definition; an appearance that only the bravest want to challenge to a drink – to a game; gambling of the most illegal degree, with everything beyond paper; flesh and bone is a thrill that seems below her rank – but perhaps that’s why it is so enjoyed. The real smile comes in the shadows of the slums, a humour that’s genuine and without professionalism; gets to play ball with her favourite shitpit (Jarek Novak, she’s looking at you.) in the grimy walls that look a little nicer with bright colours streaming through the rowdier; seedier of places.

An apple is impaled on a switchblade, cloudy white juices slide down the serrated edge of the metal, threaten to make Nik’s hands sticky with fruit entrails where she’s biting into it without fear of slicing something open. Eyes watch the game afoot; poker of sorts; a card game at least, from a distance; calculate her odds before investing into it herself. Always the daring – always the winner, loss sits sour in the ZM’s stomach.

Niko’s a master of such deceptive qualities – carries an air of importance, a professional in the waking hours of the workplace. Structured and organised is everything she does on paper, delivers everything in prompt time; never late. Yet, outside the walls, in the covers of the more shadier of places, she can really bury deep into the desires that hide in the daylight hours. A happiness – though, she’d never word it like that – only found amongst the less smart of individuals; a hunger that isn’t quenched with documents but instead, confidence in the arts of adaptability. Power is far too good for her and in all forms it comes, Castillon doesn’t like to hand it over, or give it up without a contest.

BIOGRAPHY

Some are naturally orientated to being a follower – others the followed; leaders that wear power like a cape for all to gaze an adore. In Castillon’s playbook, that cape’s not just metaphorical, a status symbol of how the tug and war of influence leads to asserting control over that very power. Too comfortable at the top, never considers the higher that podium, the further it’ll be to fall.

Though, occasionally, desire overcomes control – a blinding thing that reminds all that it’s so much easier to plummet than it is to climb.

Niko’s far too narcissistic to think like that; only has sight of more.

On a door – window office – of course, writes: Niko Castillon, Zone Manager and houses but such a meticulously organised office that if anyone were brave enough to ever ask how it remains that way – they’d find that there’s something a little darker hidden in the drawers, behind the bookshelves, within the confines of reworked literature that isn’t so pleasant. There’s rumours even that office is the home to the devil; possessed by a demon of sorts that sits like the grim reaper over a desk with a pen in hand that could double as a pistol – it’s not unheard of for Niko to weaponise such things.

But it’s not that side that’s fronted in the walls of CHQS; all diplomacy is Castillon there. A well respected – well rounded woman with a fierce eagerness to succeed in her position, to better the workings at the company and a faux smile offered to all employees as though they could trust her with anything. A despicable balance of terror and respect drilled hard; a no nonsense approach that never really sees fruition beyond policy reprimand. Niko – in her comfortable place right now, does often pretend like she hadn’t once not been there. And still, even now she is, remains to keep one foot outside of it.

Because a woman with an insatiable need to have status; power, desires a little more than just the ordinary, it cannot be held captive in CHQS at every waking hour. Thus, a release is required, and the underbelly of New Amstel has always been where its freed.

Though Niko would deny it to all – she knows the gutterrats and the shady folk a lot more than she knows her employees; can read their poker hands as easy as absorbing words in a book, and it’s where that smile is no longer false and those switchblades she carries serve a purpose beyond just a comfort of being present. Power comes in so many forms that Castillon probably doesn’t quite know herself which of the many she wants to pursue, if not every kind; to be the kingpin of the underbelly, the one day Director of New Amstel and have a status that carries throughout every crevasse of the plain.

Big aspirations, let’s not kick a woman for dreaming.

But, she’ll do more than kick you for saying as much. Masterful in performances; acts that nobody really knows – or can say, which Niko Castillon is the real Niko Castillon, but she’ll take bets on it and hustle you into next week. Let’s the polished suits and clean attire create fools to underestimate potential. Classier than a scam artist – more respected than a small time pickpocket, advantageous is her clearance to technology not quite extending to the beneath of New Amstel, but often, she doesn’t even need it.

There can be a kindness there, something that’s more reflective of her appearance; the powerful status and the role within the Zone; as quiet as it remains from the locals, those ones see a skilled cardslinger. A woman with a penchant for winning and a success roll of any dice handed to her – but, she’ll always insist on using her own, platinum-plated, didn’t you know? 

At the barside, still a betting woman – borders the threshold of addicted to it, but balances that desire for control a little too well to ever collapse into it completely.

One foot in, one foot out, works.

Everyone’s ally, simultaneously, nobody’s. Vain, self-serving and would throw most underneath the moving train if it meant she could further her own ambitions. If it’s not obvious in the way that every fruit is found at the end of a switchblade and eaten like a candy apple because she doesn’t use shady bar’s cutlery, or allow dirt to ruin a freshly laundered suit without good reason – then the way a stare is pinned at you and she bites that fruit like by the end of it that knife is free to used again for all matter of possibilities, should be.

That and how the businesswoman’s verbal filter is off the moment that foot leaves CHQS walls. Most of everyone’s shitpit from then on – among other names. Ever the opportunist; its how she got the job as ZM to begin with, broke out of the underbelly’s cycle to clean up a persona that carries throughout New Amstel – and with a boss like she has, it really hadn’t been all that difficult.

Shitpit number one right there.

CONNECTIONS

JAREK NOVAK | Boss Shitpit. | If CHQS ever broke out into a civil war, the question would be, Is Novak and Castillon heading opposing sides, or are they one and two leading the winning one? A definitive relationship where professionalism meets debauchery; they share some vices in the underbelly of New Amstel, private affairs that never meet within the walls of the workplace. Niko hates how unfit for the role Jarek is, evidently, and yet he’s the boss and there’s a little too many similarities when they’re not fronting business suits and they’re holding gambling hands with wicked poker faces; too good at playing pretend. Also a little too versed in watching one another take a few punches, help a guy out? Sit at the bar with fruit, a drink and rack up a bar tab sounds a little better. 

FURTHER DEPTH

Zone Manager (New Amstel) and cardslinging hustler on the side. 

Refuses or ignores any general chit chat that starts to dig into her past, anything before she got the job at CHQS.

Has about twelve personalities and if there’s something she wants, she’ll switch through those persona’s to develop trust; be exactly what you want her to be so she can manipulate you for self-serving reasons. 

Niko is likely to insult you on the first meeting if its in the underbelly and you’re an unfamiliar to the usual; within the walls of CHQS, she’s the gracious Zone Manager who’ll be so happy to help with anything you need. -insert fake warm smile here-

Unhealthy obsession with status; power and seen as this idol of sorts; do we think this is some subconscious desire to want to be wanted, who knows? Tune in and we’ll find out.

Does genuinely carry switchblades around like they’re personal knives and forks, also, somehow magically pristine white handkerchiefs at all times. 

Doesn’t like to get her hands dirty, dirty, but will, probably be even more pissed she had to if it got to that point. 

Outstanding member of CHQS; punctual; contributing and usually probably only outshined by Jarek in some sick twist of fate considering she thinks he’s entirely incapable in his role. However, in the underbelly, they’re totally different. 

Well, unless they’re alone in a CHQS office together and it’s like two children in some pissing contest and all fronts vanish. 

Kind of thinks she’s hot shit but will also not care if you think otherwise. 

TBA.

QUICK LINKS

THREADS

SELF-PARAS

MUSINGS

CHQS

[alisondotting]

Is that (HAYDEN PANETTIERE) I just saw walking around (WICKER PARK)? No, that’s just (ALISON DOTTING) a (28) year old (TEACHER). He has been in Chicago for (A YEAR AND A HALF).

About Alison:

Alison was born in Connecticut, the second of four siblings

She is a high school math teacher, teaching algebra and precalculus

Was an All American swimmer and runner in high school and college, which eventually led her to getting into triathlons

Married her college boyfriend a year after college, but she found him cheating on her less than a year later

Young, divorced, and not wanting to move back in with her parents, her best friend invited her to move in with her for a bit. That’s how Alison ended up in Chicago.

She fell in love with Chicago quickly. She found a job, made a few friends, and really felt like she was starting to pick her life back up

Her husband was her first really serious relationship, and his betrayal was very difficult for her to get over, and she still has a lot of trouble dating because of it

She is one of the friendliest people you’ll ever meet. She’s the person you go to when you need something, because you know she’ll always help you.

Possible Connections:

Best friend: friend that brought her to Chicago

Neighbor: She lives in Wicker Park, and she is the type to get to know her neighbors. She’s the neighbor you go to when you need a cup of sugar

Bad influence: Although she’s always well behaved, she has one friend that always gets her in trouble: handing her an extra drink, taking her to parties/clubs, etc.

Friends!!! She always needs more friends

[sawyer-craven]

hi there y’all i’m lia and i’m in the pst timezone. i listen to a lot of 90s and 00s boybands and really embarrassing music. like dream street on a constant loop.

━ ★ ( dove cameron, cis female, she/her) Is that DOVE CAMERON I just saw walking around BRIDGEPORT? No, that’s just SAWYER BAILEY CRAVEN a TWENTY-TWO year old CAREGIVER & WAITRESS. SHE HAS been in Chicago for FIVE MONTHS. She is RESOURCEFUL, COMPASSIONATE, & RESPONSIBLE but can also be LOVESTRUCK, OVERSENSITIVE, & LOST so be careful.

( drug use mention, addiction mention, neglect )

her current hairstyle is light blonde, cut up to her shoulders (despite how many gifs i have of her with long hair)

she comes from a small town in texas, has a slight accent to her tone.

sawyer comes from a big family, nine siblings, and she’s the third youngest of the bunch with her brother, dawson, and her sister, isabella, following in line at 8 and and 2 years old respectively

the rest of her siblings are all over the age of 18, and are her half siblings while dawson and isabella are her full siblings

they were raised by a single mom

her mom is a drug addict and lost custody of her two youngest children and now sawyer is their guardian

needing a fresh perspective, she was approved to move to portland so they couldn’t have the influence of their mother around

right now she works 40 hours a week as a caregiver at a retirement home and 20-28 hours a week working as a server at a dining establishment

she’s barely making enough to afford rent and to afford a babysitter for when she’s at school or work

but she manages, though she admits that she could use a lending hand

she took four years off after high school and enrolled at Harold Washington community college which she will attend part time in the fall. 

doesn’t know what she’s studying yet because she develops new interests every so often

dyed her hair purple once in high school

loves skateboarding and basketball. she’s also a bit of a klutz so she always has bruises and scrapes on her legs from falling over

when she was in texas she volunteered at homeless shelters, animal shelters and other organizations every other weekend, believing that the most important thing to do in life is to give back to the less fortunate and wants to find something like that again

a big gay, but also a BABY GAY

also a hopeless romantic. like she loves LOVE. she develops a crush on almost every girl she meets if she’s nice to her

despite all of that she’s never had sex with anyone let alone even kissed anybody

goal in life: to live out a romantic comedy

her favorite band is the killers

but her favorite music artists are lana del rey and kehlani

is usually very outgoing, has no trouble with making friends because she appreciates many people that come from most walks of life.

[conalldonnacha]

Conall “Donnacha” Kilmartin

DoB: 29 September Age: 52 Pronouns: She/her Sexuality: Not anyone’s business Zone: 2 Employment: CHQS Zone 2 Director Personality: Gentle, restrained, calming to be around | withdrawn, sharp-tongued, vicious (situationally)

Bio:

The hard world of zone 2 has made everyone Conall has ever known a hard, hollow soul. Much the same was expected of her as she grew up. Her family was neither powerful nor capable, the gang they ran with was middling at best, frequently suffering heavy losses to lives and territories. For a brief moment, her uncle served as a unifying leader, temporarily gaining them ground and resources, but even this eventually flagged. Life took its toll, and it would have been too easy for Conall to follow, but much to the mystery of everyone who knew her, she didn’t. As a young man, her voice remained as tender as it had been when she was a toddler, her hair remained long and uncut, somehow silken and free of tangles. As a boy, she had once found a tiny flower growing in between some toppled bricks. Picking it seemed too cruel, but the consideration was wasted. Her brother found it and stomped it to pieces.

You cannot be gentle without fear. Conall has long adorned herself with flowers, accessorized with the nicer greenery. Her brother, however, learned a peculiar lesson after 3 months of explicable rashes on his legs. It only occurred to him what the cause might be when the rashes suddenly faded around the same time Conall was moved from laundry duty to hunting. A lesson long taught yet unforgotten until the day her brother died. Every lesson she’s had to teach since has been done in a similar way. Those who have witnessed her violence directly (mostly animals, but not entirely) have not lived to divulge the experience. Conall’s particular style of close combat is not without its consequences. The mysterious wounds she sometimes sports are a better indicator of the fate of a troublemaker than their sudden and unexplained absence.

Leadership is neither something she aspires to nor rejects, it simply comes as a consequence of demanding respect. Quite by accident, she eventually rose to the same position her uncle had once held, and held it for longer. Without the greedy aggression that drove others to careless territory and resource grabs, the moves she directed were more careful, controlled, and intentional. More likely to succeed. As a consequence, Conall taught many that more was not always better, that strategy often prevailed. Those who did not learn the lesson simply ceased to be, their absence largely unremarked upon.

Resources are not uncommon in zone 2, it’s simply a matter of learning how to extract them. Though she would not know the word “botanist” for many more years, her interest in the natural world served as a boon to those who followed her. Conall was quick to discover those plants whose nuts could be ground into protein-rich meal when meat was scarce, the berries whose flavors best preserved meat into the harsher months. It was this exact knowledge that gave her pause the day she found a sapling she did not recognize.

Small and struggling, it had produced a single fruit, a vibrant yellow hardly seen in anything but the flowers she privately cultivated. It felt a shame to take it, but curiosity overcame. The juice inside stung a cut on her hand from an early encounter with a deer, and though the taste was tart, it was tempered by a vibrant sweetness. The flesh was pulpy and soft and stuck in her teeth, and though it felt familiar to some small pitiful fruits she tended to avoid, it was exceptional and unusual in every way. And there was only one.

Over the months, Conall kept a close eye on the small tree. Hunting expeditions curiously stopped moving into that area, the small patch of forest almost entirely forgotten with time. One day, as she dropped in to visit her charge, Conall observed two small flower buds on one branch. Over the next several days, they bloomed into small white flowers with thin, curled petals. The scent of them recalled the fruit the tree had previously born.

And then one day, one of the blossoms was gone.

Determined to find the culprit and furious at the fate of her precious ward, Conall spent countless hours in hiding, observing the tree, waiting. But nothing changed. In time, she would come to realize there was no hope of catching CHQS security in the act, but at the time, the not knowing was infuriating like nothing had ever been. But what could she do?

She could move the tree.

More so than anything before, securing a safe place to cultivate the tree required a flex of her social prowess, but in a few days, she had acquired an abandoned building in which to hide her treasure. A few individuals hankering to prove their loyalty as a response to some recent wrath asked no questions of their new assignment. With incredible caution and practiced hands, the small fruit tree was stolen away to a new location, where Conall observed that it looked rather lonely by itself.

Acquiring more plants to cultivate alongside the tree also provided a good cover story. It was unreasonable to dedicate bodies to the care of a pet project. But to safeguard resources? That was another story. She was quick to fill the abandoned building with the most useful of local vegetation, pleased to find that the large glass windows created a welcoming environment and encouraged growth. The guards protecting the new project never noticed when the tree went missing, but it haunted Conall for months.

Even if the original purpose of her garden had mysteriously vanished, the benefits of her new undertaking could not be denied. Resources were more plentiful than ever before and questions soon faded, her people hesitant to doubt a good thing. Though thoughts of the fruit tree followed her, Conall dedicated newfound energy into her garden.

When the recruiter found her, it was hard to say whether Conall was terribly surprised. An explanation and feigned apology were offered for the missing tree - a Meyer lemon tree from zone 3 - but more useful than this, she was offered an opportunity.

Conall didn’t care much for the kitchens in Convergence, overrun with unfamiliar things and foods she did not recognize. The gardens, however… plants she recognized from her home, dying and failing in the dead soils, began to flourish under her care. Balancing the needs of a new job with the care of her people was… difficult, to say the least, but Conall eventually found a balance, using her time at Convergence to absorb as much as possible about the new worlds she had been exposed to. For years, she cultivated food for the kitchens at Convergence while maintaining power over her people, leading them to historic levels of wealth and comfort. It was when her clan was engaged in a border skirmish near CHQS that pulled her away from work that management really paid attention to her. Yet another opportunity presented itself.

Retirement isn’t much of a concept in zone 2, as lives rarely last so long. But with Conall’s rise through the ranks of CHQS, it was hardly possible to maintain leadership in two places at once. So she chose. A lackluster replacement stepped up while Conall “retired” to a quiet life, afforded dignity and privacy. The clan quickly flagged without her guidance, but a new calling drew her attention, and her pity died quickly. Though it took years of dedication and quiet competence, Conall eventually rose to the rank of director. The process of learning the subtle manipulations of the corporate world have provided Conall with an entirely new set of social skills, something that has been quite fun to play with. She still personally oversees cultivation of zone 2 produce, though the kitchen staff are well aware of her affinity for lemon bars.

Headcanons:

Much to the great mystery of everyone else, Conall is always in some way adorned with flowers. Whether woven into her long hair, sewn into her clothes, or embellished into her belongings, they are a recurring theme. Even when they are only motifs, a faint scent is ever-present, ever-changing, and always gently floral.

“Donnacha” is actually her first name, but it is a precious one spoken only to her by only a few individuals throughout her many years. Very few know it and those that do have been made acutely aware of how much they ought to forget it.

Generally speaking, she’s quite lovely to be around. Calm and soft-spoken, her presence puts most at ease. The exception is when she has not been heard or obeyed. Though her calm nature rarely changes, her sharp tongue puts many to rights immediately. Any lingering rebellion or disobedience dies readily at her practiced hands, though this is a process she allows few to witness.

The fastest way into her good graces is with a lemon bar.

Though she cultivates a variety of zone 2 flora, the flowers that constantly adorn her are harvested from the wilds around her home. Somehow it doesn’t feel the same to grow flowers, she’d rather find the beauty of her own world through her own efforts. Plus, it seems cruel to grow something only to kill it.

Though a shrewd leader who scarcely reveals her motivations, her corporate climb at Convergence is not without its purpose. She recognizes the growing instability of her world and hopes to one day have a hand in changing its fate.

Though capable of great violence, she rarely exercises that power. Her power comes most from the respect her manipulations earn her, second from the relationships she forms with people who have no qualms with causing great bodily harm to others.

Her pronouns are something she was given as a child out of spite. Seen initially as weak and incompetant, her brother and uncle mocked her by feminizing her. It was hardly an insult however, as the people in her clan she most admired were the women whose hunting, gathering, and cooking sustained everyone. Though unusual, she embraced the feminine for the rest of her life, especially appreciative of how often it causes others to underestimate her.

Important people:

(UNNAMED), a security guard-turned-manager who has risen through the ranks with her over the years. For every ounce of her quiet calm, they are equally aggressive and quick to anger, and manipulative to boot. Much her gruntwork is carried out by this person, whom she lavishes with positive affirmations and personal flower gifts. The relationship is reciprocal, and those problems they can’t solve with violence, Conall solves for them.