Razor

"One, two, fuck you."

Personal Information

Appearance

Boots. Coat. Hat. Leather and road-dust. Razor looks like she just drifted in from the Wild West, or maybe stepped off the deck of a pirate ship. Glittering grey eyes. Permanent sneer. Stubby, bitten nails. Scarred knuckles. She's all sharp edges and brooding malice, held barely in check like a dog on a chain.

Personality

A fierce Loyalist, and veteran of many savage skirmishes with the Camarilla, Razor's seven parts flesh, and three parts bile and vinegar. She thinks you're a piece of shit, and she's not scared of you knowing it.
For someone with so unmistakable an aura of coiled violence waiting to break loose at any moment, she's surprisingly still. You'd expect her to be edgy, twitchy, restless - but she's not. With the exception of a predilection for prowling back and forth like a caged tiger when agitated, movement is generally economical, never purposeless, and like action, is held fire until needed. Terse and surly, she's just as sparing with words.
She doesn't walk, she stalks. She doesn't wait, she skulks. She doesn't speak, she snarls. And she doesn't smile. Period.
Razor has a very strongly developed sense of herself and her own - which is not necessarily limited by her Pack - and with those, can be surprisingly, casually tactile. Everyone else is meat to be wasted.

Notable Traits

Dirty blonde dreadlocks. Snarling manner. Loping, slouching walk, like a wolf with a long way to travel but in no hurry to get there.

Rumors

• She's got a soul so black and rattlesnake-mean, the Devil himself spat her back out of Hell.
• ...
• ...

Inspirations and Soundtrack

• Anne Bonny, Black Sails: "Thank you, for helping me." "I didn't do it for you."
• The Saint of Killers, Preacher: "Figure you got yourself some guns in them belts, boy." "Yeah. But you don't look to me like the man who'll take 'em."

OOC Information

Member Information
Player:	P. Saunders
Number:	2003100615
Domain:	Brisbane