Post by Wonder Woman on May 29, 2015 11:31:58 GMT -5
Basic Information
Player Nickname: Diana
Do you want other role players to give you feed back?:[/i] Yes.
Model / Actor's name: Miranda Lambert
Name: Zinda Blake
Alter Ego: Lady Blackhawk
Age: 90 (looks early 30s)
Birthday: April 5, 1925
Alignment: Lawful Good
Height: 5'7
Weight: 130 lbs
Hair: Blonde
Eyes: Green
Physique: Zinda has the typical curvy, hour glass shape popular among 1940s style pin ups, of which she was an inspiration both prior and during World War II. This said, she isn't a lingerie wearing cream puff; born and raised on a farm, Zinda is a strong, hard working woman. Training: Zinda has gone through several training programs, including basic US Army training circa 1942, as well as special ops training with the Blackhawks. She's also a graduate of the Nebraska beauty pageant circuit and is currently enrolled in a "computers for beginners" program at the behest of her Birds of Prey teammates.
Equipment: Zinda is a skilled pilot, driver and gunhand. She keeps two side arms, Glock 17s, on her at all times, and due to her history, has been given a permit to carry consealed. Otherwise, she operates under meele style weapons, using whatever is at hand to get the job done. Description
Appearance: Zinda's Blackhawk uniform hasn't changed in the 70 years she's had it, and is based off a feminised, sexualised, version of the male Blackhawk uniform with a black skirt and black jacket with the Blackhawk Crest on the chest. She has been known to wear black pants instead of the skirt depending on the mission. In civilian life, the blonde bombshell typically lives in comfortable clothes; jeans, t-shirts, jackets and hoodies. Her farm girl shines through when she's off the clock, so best to keep to the comfort and durable clothing. Personality: As a graduate of the 1930s Dust Bowl Beauty Pageant circuit, Zinda can come off with incredible polish if she needs to, though she's more comfortable down in dirty in the mud. Possessed by two seperate sets of skills, martial and domestic, Zinda often finds it hard to fit in with some of the women and men in the world today, often finding herself dreaming about going "home." Her military training makes her a very tactical thinker and while Dinah and Helena may opperate better as detectives, when it comes to the planning of an actual invasion or op, Zinda is your woman.
Strengths: - incredibly loyal - tactical thinker - physically fit - works well under pressure
Weaknesses: - addictive personality (potential alcoholic) - mentally unbalanced (PTSD)
Audition post
"I hate you," she sobbed, breaking down into full tears. Her chest shuddering as her head bent, forehead touching the smooth, cold granite of his headstone, the emotion washing over her in a wave. She didn't mean the words, of course she didn't. They were just so much easier than saying the other words, than saying "I love you," or "I miss you." It was easier to rage, be angry and feel the hatred than to accept the sorrow and loneliness.
Ugly tears, that's what her mother, a Dustbowl Beauty Queen, used to call it when Zinda truly cried; the kind of tears that came from real emotional pain and distress rather than an attempt to get her way or out of trouble. This was an ugly cry; tears streaking her face, nose running, full body sobbing.
Her right hand set down the bottle and draped over the tomb stone. She needed his support now more than ever before, and unlike the other times when he had been her rock, he was gone. The cold of the stone pressed through her coat and sweater, but the smooth hardness was still somewhat comforting. Her cheek felt the coolness of it, soothing the streaks of hot tears somewhat. “I need you so bad, baby,” she managed to whimper out between tightly drawn lips, sobs and sniffles, her tears falling shamelessly from her reddened cheeks onto the base of his monument. “You lied. You said you’d always be home. You said you’d be there!” Again, replacing the fear of loneliness and the heart break with rage, a convenient safety mechanism she employed regularly in the “past” and would likely continue employing in the future.
Time stood still as Zinda repositioned her body, curling up as if she were lying in the grave with him, her head resting against the sharp edge of the stone. No one came to question or inquire about what she was doing. Perhaps it wasn’t that odd to see a crying woman in a cemetery in these days. Zinda would be unaware of the current political environment.
The sun slid below the horizon, and the sounds of nightlife woke her with a start, a deep cold having infected her body despite the whiskey pumping through her system. She had cried herself to sleep.
"I loved you, you son of a bitch, and when I need you the most you're already fucking dead," she spat, wiping her tears away. "I still love you..." she whimpered, her eyes welling with fresh tears. "And I always will..." She fought back the fresh flow of tears, pushing herself to her feet and brushing the damp earth an grass clippings from her jeans and coat, shaking them free of her hair.
She sniffed, wiped her eyes and brushed the dirt from her knees and backside. Straightening the jacket she wore against the cold, Zinda took a breath. "I'll do y'all proud, boys... even if I am the last Blackhawk."
Leaving the cemetery, Zinda called a cab to pick her up. The dispatch said it'd be twenty minutes.
"Change the pick up location to Long Shots, then please an' thank ya, Ma'am," she asked, disconnecting and making her way to the bar for another drink.
Player Nickname: Diana
Do you want other role players to give you feed back?:[/i] Yes.
Model / Actor's name: Miranda Lambert
Name: Zinda Blake
Alter Ego: Lady Blackhawk
Age: 90 (looks early 30s)
Birthday: April 5, 1925
Alignment: Lawful Good
Height: 5'7
Weight: 130 lbs
Hair: Blonde
Eyes: Green
Physique: Zinda has the typical curvy, hour glass shape popular among 1940s style pin ups, of which she was an inspiration both prior and during World War II. This said, she isn't a lingerie wearing cream puff; born and raised on a farm, Zinda is a strong, hard working woman. Training: Zinda has gone through several training programs, including basic US Army training circa 1942, as well as special ops training with the Blackhawks. She's also a graduate of the Nebraska beauty pageant circuit and is currently enrolled in a "computers for beginners" program at the behest of her Birds of Prey teammates.
Equipment: Zinda is a skilled pilot, driver and gunhand. She keeps two side arms, Glock 17s, on her at all times, and due to her history, has been given a permit to carry consealed. Otherwise, she operates under meele style weapons, using whatever is at hand to get the job done. Description
Appearance: Zinda's Blackhawk uniform hasn't changed in the 70 years she's had it, and is based off a feminised, sexualised, version of the male Blackhawk uniform with a black skirt and black jacket with the Blackhawk Crest on the chest. She has been known to wear black pants instead of the skirt depending on the mission. In civilian life, the blonde bombshell typically lives in comfortable clothes; jeans, t-shirts, jackets and hoodies. Her farm girl shines through when she's off the clock, so best to keep to the comfort and durable clothing. Personality: As a graduate of the 1930s Dust Bowl Beauty Pageant circuit, Zinda can come off with incredible polish if she needs to, though she's more comfortable down in dirty in the mud. Possessed by two seperate sets of skills, martial and domestic, Zinda often finds it hard to fit in with some of the women and men in the world today, often finding herself dreaming about going "home." Her military training makes her a very tactical thinker and while Dinah and Helena may opperate better as detectives, when it comes to the planning of an actual invasion or op, Zinda is your woman.
Strengths: - incredibly loyal - tactical thinker - physically fit - works well under pressure
Weaknesses: - addictive personality (potential alcoholic) - mentally unbalanced (PTSD)
Audition post
"I hate you," she sobbed, breaking down into full tears. Her chest shuddering as her head bent, forehead touching the smooth, cold granite of his headstone, the emotion washing over her in a wave. She didn't mean the words, of course she didn't. They were just so much easier than saying the other words, than saying "I love you," or "I miss you." It was easier to rage, be angry and feel the hatred than to accept the sorrow and loneliness.
Ugly tears, that's what her mother, a Dustbowl Beauty Queen, used to call it when Zinda truly cried; the kind of tears that came from real emotional pain and distress rather than an attempt to get her way or out of trouble. This was an ugly cry; tears streaking her face, nose running, full body sobbing.
Her right hand set down the bottle and draped over the tomb stone. She needed his support now more than ever before, and unlike the other times when he had been her rock, he was gone. The cold of the stone pressed through her coat and sweater, but the smooth hardness was still somewhat comforting. Her cheek felt the coolness of it, soothing the streaks of hot tears somewhat. “I need you so bad, baby,” she managed to whimper out between tightly drawn lips, sobs and sniffles, her tears falling shamelessly from her reddened cheeks onto the base of his monument. “You lied. You said you’d always be home. You said you’d be there!” Again, replacing the fear of loneliness and the heart break with rage, a convenient safety mechanism she employed regularly in the “past” and would likely continue employing in the future.
Time stood still as Zinda repositioned her body, curling up as if she were lying in the grave with him, her head resting against the sharp edge of the stone. No one came to question or inquire about what she was doing. Perhaps it wasn’t that odd to see a crying woman in a cemetery in these days. Zinda would be unaware of the current political environment.
The sun slid below the horizon, and the sounds of nightlife woke her with a start, a deep cold having infected her body despite the whiskey pumping through her system. She had cried herself to sleep.
"I loved you, you son of a bitch, and when I need you the most you're already fucking dead," she spat, wiping her tears away. "I still love you..." she whimpered, her eyes welling with fresh tears. "And I always will..." She fought back the fresh flow of tears, pushing herself to her feet and brushing the damp earth an grass clippings from her jeans and coat, shaking them free of her hair.
She sniffed, wiped her eyes and brushed the dirt from her knees and backside. Straightening the jacket she wore against the cold, Zinda took a breath. "I'll do y'all proud, boys... even if I am the last Blackhawk."
Leaving the cemetery, Zinda called a cab to pick her up. The dispatch said it'd be twenty minutes.
"Change the pick up location to Long Shots, then please an' thank ya, Ma'am," she asked, disconnecting and making her way to the bar for another drink.
