Name:
Crusch (pronounced Croosh)

Gender:
Female

Appearance:
Crusch has straight black hair and bangs, some white undertones and streaks, and an emphasis on her right side. She has a silver right eye and a dark grey left. Due to the trauma she underwent as a child, parts of her hair lost pigmentation and one of her originally dark grey eyes went pale. Across her nose is a large scar from stitches and smaller, less notable ones, across her body.

Crusch usually wears darker clothes from hues of grey to near black. She wears layered clothes with the bottom being simple loose cloth akin to a robe or dress. The upper part of the layer is loose and can be pulled up like a good or tightened to be a makeshift scarf. The second layer is black and doubles up on the chest and torso. It drapes down to provide comfort in mobility. On top of it all, Crusch wears multiple straps that act as an exterior corset to prevent her clothes from flapping. Her shoulders are lightly padded. She wears thick black boots and thin pants beneath it all. Her clothes are very similar to this with the exception that the red bits are grey scaled.

She carries small weapons with her including a rudimentary revolver she loaned from the guild, a small dagger, and a shortsword.

When she was experimented on, she obtained some permanent disfiguration. The entirety of her left shoulder and chest is black with infection, one too large to burn off. She has small ridges along her spine from her vertebrae mutating and changing shape ever so slightly. Tight clothes will reveal this feature so she prefers not to wear them at all. On the right side of her face, the same one with the colorless eye, her veins have darkened so that they're visible up close.

Personality and History:
From a young age, Crusch saw herself as a protector. The streets were filled with rats and humans who were no better than vermin. To keep herself alive, she stole from the local baker's garbage, and on bad days, she was beaten black and blue. She's naturally skeptical of the world around her since it's done her no favors, but had a soft spot for her only friend.

During her time captured, she underwent inhumane treatment and her resentment of her captors leaked into the friend who abandoned her. Her will to fight was crushed and eventually, Crusch brushed the notion of escape as a fairytale. So, when she finally was released into the wild, she was a lost soul with no purpose in life.

She was unable to hold a normal job due to her appearance bearing resemblance to the infected. Many employees refused her because of blatant discrimination and fear of her being distasteful to patrons. With nowhere to go, Crusch eventually worked on a commissionary basis for guilds, a company of the same family who tortured her. Ever since she was left behind, Crusch closed her heart off to everyone around her and often finds solitude the most peaceful. She struggles to accept acts of kindness as just that and believes that everyone works with ulterior motives.

OOC; Prologue of when they were younger

Her nails dug into the meat. The fat residue from the marbled flank peeled off and it lined her fingernails like lube. The green spoiled corners of the meat filled her nostrils with a rancid odor and the reds were a mix between a vibrant bloody red and stagnating maroon. It would be the best meal she’s had since last month. When she finally dared to look behind her for a moment, she staggered and nearly fell and the clinking of the footsteps grew dangerously close.

“Come back here, thief!”

The guardsmen had been hot on her tail for at least the last five minutes. If she didn’t have that sprain on her leg, she would’ve outran them by now, but her leg injury gnawed at her and the subtle pain had grown into a hindrance during her escapade. But her luggage made it harder to run so when she turned the corner into the alley, Crusch tossed the bread and meat into the debris on the side and made a run for it.

However, a sharp pain coursed through her leg, stunning her for a brief second, and eventually their larger strides made up for speed as an armored hand grabbed the scruff of her shirt and yanked her backward. The back of her head slammed into the stone walls as a dull throbbing pain radiated throughout her skull. The two guards who blurred into four and then six said something, but Crusch couldn’t hear a single word. She couldn’t hear the bustling of the city anymore and a blaring and consistent ring replaced it. She watched them converse with each other as Crusch fought to keep her head upright and keep her eyelids open.

“I don’t have it,” she groaned weakly. The guardsmen turned back to her before untethering a baton from their side.

“Wait- wait I won’t do it again!” She pushed back against the wall with her feet in an attempt to stand up, but one of them grabbed her shoulders and pushed her down before mouthing something. She scrunched her face up. “What?”

“I said,” the man said irritated, “Turn around and put your hands above your head.”

Crusch was rather confused at the request for she had never been put in jail before. She didn’t think that stealing food justified jail time since she had always imagined the people would support a roof over her head with their taxes. Tentatively, she obeyed. She put her back to her and raised her hands just barely above her head.

“Watch and learn,” the same guard said. His partner bounded her hands together with his own and pressed them against the stone-cold wall.

“What are you doing?” She tried to pull away, but it was as if he didn’t even notice her attempts. Panic began to fill her body as her heartbeat gradually heightened. Every time she failed to escape, she tried again with fervor until she began to tire herself out.

“These brats only learn if they have something to be afraid of.” From the corner of her eyes, she watched the baton trace the uneven wall and move closer towards her. “It’s our job to make sure they don’t do it again.”

Then the stick struck her fingers with a thundering crash and immediately, Crusch recoiled into a ball while cradling the injured hand. Her teeth dug into her lips in the hope that this pain would outdo the other and she wouldn’t be caught crying, but she began to sob, and when the first tear fell the rest came naturally.

“Next time I see you in the market, I’m breaking your other hand.”

Even as the footsteps gradually disappeared, the pain didn’t subside and the longer she held her breath, the more it hurt. Yet, when she tried to breathe, her breath was broken up by hiccups and sobs. Crusch wanted to lay there and wallow in her pain longer, but she couldn’t. Someone was waiting for her and that thought alone forced her legs to move.

She backtracked her steps until she came across the place where she hid the food. With her noninjured hand, she pulled the wooden crates and miscellaneous garbage aside to reveal the meat and bread she fought so hard for. Now, they were caked with a layer of gravel, but she was too tired to care. Carrying the food in one hand, she stumbled her way back home.

Wyrd wasn't sure how long it had been since he had lost his mother, but he was certain he had gotten use to all the changes that came with it too quickly. Her death wasn't sudden, she wasted away in her old bed in his old home from sickness, with only the kindness of a few neighbors keeping him from following her into the grave. Though that kindness soon stopped once she died, the fear of taking in another mouth to permanent feed fresh on their mind as they shooed him away like a stray dog. He was so small then.

Wyrd still remembers clinging onto to, at the time, the kindest of his neighbor's skirt with tears in his eyes as she screamed at him, seconds away from smacking him with the wooden end of her broom as she demanded he never come back to her house again. Her expression was still burned into his memories to this day. Wyrd had then returned to the small apartment he use to share with his mother and sobbed until it even hurt to think only to collect himself. He didn't know why he knew he had to take what precious little things he had and to leave his small little apartment, but he did.

Somehow he was able to scrounge together some scraps together for food, but when days had turned to years, Wyrd found that people were less hospitable to him now. He was a scrawny little thing at this point, he lacked the looks his mother once had and the smarts she boasted about his father, and with nothing to offer he was worse than a stray. A hindrance to those around him. At least he was quite, it was easier to ignore a pest when it made itself scarce. He still needed a way to survive the endless twilight of post.

That's how he found himself digging through the rubbish of other's to find anything of value to sell. A gentleman he came across would offer him a bit of stale bread or scraps fabric and the like to repair his clothes for anything valuable he could come across. If he didn't find anything of use to sell, it was a quick way to find a little something to keep the hunger away if it really came down to it. Wyrd knew he was being taken advantage of, but a means to an end was better than nothing. Besides, he was starting to get an eye for what to look for, and he was certain that this gentleman was growing soft on him.

it was one of those days(or nights, Wyrd could hardly keep track of time at this point, and he didn't care to) when the sounds of a scuffle could be heard on the other side of the alley, just out of view. Crouching behind boxes and trash he was digging through, Wyrd could feel himself holding his breath. It was never good to catch the attention of city guards, anything or everything could be grounds for a beating if he wasn't careful enough. Exactly what he didn't need after coming across the treasure he just found: high quality scrap fabric.

With how pretty it was, Wyrd was even surprised someone would want to get rid of the little remnants that were now tucked in his arms. He was even tempted to keep them, he'd have to decide that once he got back home, certain he had enough scrap metal to hand in to get at least something. Once the sound of footsteps echoed though the alley walls, Wyrd made a move to book it, he was out later than he expected, any later and he would have explaining to do.