NorthOfOrdinary
Princess of Pumpkin Spice
Driver - Cherry Coke
A small woman stands on the hood of her car, staring out towards the approaching dust storm. Through the sand, you guess that she's about five feet plus an inch or two. Her hair, dirty blonde and long, is getting whipped by the wind. She's short, petite, pale, just a kid...a faded pink tank, daisy dukes, combat boots, and a leather jacket a size too big cling to her skin. She's pretty. She's gotta be just over eighteen, maybe nineteen, twenty at the most. You creep closer. She has a hot body and a hot ride. Both'll fetch a fine price. You're within a few yards when you hear the click.
She levels a revolver at your head.
"Screw off vulture." You would of laughed at the grease-covered princess in front of you, if it weren't for the barrel staring down the bridge of your nose. There was a noticeable fear in her eyes, though she presented herself with a cool hardness. You raise your hands and step closer. How did someone her size even survive? "I said back off!"
You quickly reach for her weapon and for a second feel cold steel before you stop as an explosion tears through your shoulder. Did that b**** just shoot me? You stare at your arm. It's a good thing you're on too much morphine to feel the partially amputated limb. That would hurt. When you look up again, she's already gone from the hood. The engine cranks, and the vehicle roars away, leaving you covered in sand and blood. Two motorcycles, your comrades, give chase. They won't catch her. She's gone.
After driving straight for the better part of an hour, Cherry Coke lays on the brakes and her car comes to a screeching halt. She locks the doors and crawls over the center console to reach the backseat. Cherry's jacket becomes a pillow as she lays her head to rest. Since her brothers died she hadn't slept peacefully, but this was close enough. Tomorrow she'd continue driving. She was a drifter and life on the road was all she knew. She'd shoot as many bandits as it took to survive, nay, as it took to find somewhere as peaceful as the legends of old. Preferably, she'd just outrun them all. She was kind to those friendly enough, but she never stayed in one spot very long.
She levels a revolver at your head.
"Screw off vulture." You would of laughed at the grease-covered princess in front of you, if it weren't for the barrel staring down the bridge of your nose. There was a noticeable fear in her eyes, though she presented herself with a cool hardness. You raise your hands and step closer. How did someone her size even survive? "I said back off!"
You quickly reach for her weapon and for a second feel cold steel before you stop as an explosion tears through your shoulder. Did that b**** just shoot me? You stare at your arm. It's a good thing you're on too much morphine to feel the partially amputated limb. That would hurt. When you look up again, she's already gone from the hood. The engine cranks, and the vehicle roars away, leaving you covered in sand and blood. Two motorcycles, your comrades, give chase. They won't catch her. She's gone.
After driving straight for the better part of an hour, Cherry Coke lays on the brakes and her car comes to a screeching halt. She locks the doors and crawls over the center console to reach the backseat. Cherry's jacket becomes a pillow as she lays her head to rest. Since her brothers died she hadn't slept peacefully, but this was close enough. Tomorrow she'd continue driving. She was a drifter and life on the road was all she knew. She'd shoot as many bandits as it took to survive, nay, as it took to find somewhere as peaceful as the legends of old. Preferably, she'd just outrun them all. She was kind to those friendly enough, but she never stayed in one spot very long.
"Nobody could catch Cherry Coke. She'd write her legend in the tracks of a screaming Chevrolet. "
Stats:
- Cool+2 Hard=0 Hot+1 Sharp+1 Weird-1
Barter: 4
Harm: 5/5
Driver Moves:
- Combat driver: when you use your vehicle as a weapon, inflict +1harm. When you inflict v-harm, add +1 to your target’s roll. When you suffer v-harm, take -1 to your roll.
- Eye on the door: name your escape route and roll+cool. On a 10+, you’re gone. On a 7–9, you can go or stay, but if you go it costs you: leave something behind or take
something with you, the MC will tell you what. On a miss, you’re caught vulnerable, half in and half out.
Gear:
- Colt .357 Trooper Magnum - 3-harm close reload loud
- Clothing - 1-armor
Car:
- 1967 Chevrolet Impala SS Black (massive=2, 2 battle options)
Strengths: aggressive, easily repaired.
Weaknesses: loud, guzzler
Looks: vintage, muscular
Battle options: +1speed, +1handling
History:
- Which one of you once got me out of some serious shit?
- Which one of you has been with me for days on the road?
- Which one of you have I sometimes caught staring out at the horizon?
Gigs and Barter:
- Serve a wealthy NPC as driver
- Serve a wealthy NPC as courier
- Others, as you negotiate them
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