bobith
Member
- Joined
- Feb 22, 2020
- Messages
- 9
- Points
- 1
Character Name
Maxine Salt
I Agree
Yes
Has this character appeared in a previous lore?
Yes
Age
34
Blood Type
AB-
Personality
Maxine is a blank slate. At her core, she's a paranoid woman obsessed with control, personal autonomy, and safety. However, she refuses to show this to the outside world. To someone who is warm and welcome, Max can be warm and welcoming. To someone who has nothing to offer, she can be cold and distant. A social chameleon, she reflects what she is presented with. She can come across as quiet or shy but that would be to misunderstand her nature. Some people speak before they think and others think before they speak. Maxine is the latter. To those who know her well she could be perceived as kind. However to know her well would mean one is useful to her, so of course she is kind. She must keep that person around, and the human psyche responds well to kindness. The end justifies the means.
Character Motivations
Maxine desires her own personal safety and complete control of her environment. Every detail of day to day life must be meticulously organized and reorganized. She also desires immense wealth.
Physical Appearance
Maxine is a tall and well muscled woman, standing around 5' 10". Her eyes are wide set in her even features and are a light brown, betraying her slight middle eastern heritage. Max's skin is pale, and her hair shaved close to the skull. To let it grow out would be to show femininity and in Max's eyes, weakness. She wears a leather jacket with spikes on the shoulders and tight fitting black pants most days. Her chin narrows to a viscous point.
Character Image Link
https://i.pinimg.com/originals/9f/05/f9/9f05f95431d4da089920e53e30d6319d.jpg
Mechanical Occupation
Unemployed
In-Character Occupation
Mercenary/Drug Smuggler
Biography
Maxine was born in Tehran to a CIA agent and a local bartender. She knows little about the first few years of her life with her mother. Some happy memories filter back through the haze. Shakshuka cooking on the fire. Laughter. Arabic and hookah smoke. Dad would come visit now and again. He'd teach her so many great things! She got to shoot his gun, fight with him in the backyard, learn a bit of english, spanish, farsi. All those languages of the places her father had been, and the stories he would tell- she remembered those. Stories about life in America, a place she reasoned must be truly magical.
Max remembers when they came to take her. Age seven. Her father had been indicted for high treason, she later came to learn. Her mother was involved- passing the info along to local insurgents. Ah, the follies of love. The US forces descended on their hut, kicking in doors, floodlights lights in the faces of the sleeping children. They dragged Grandma away, and her mother too. She went into that helicopter kicking and screaming. Max never saw her mother again, nor any of her family.
The young girl was relocated to a group home in Texas. Her english was terrible, and she found little comfort alongside the other children. She lacked the capacity to speak about what had happened to her and any time she did it was dismissed as a childhood fantasy. Her parents, she was told, were immigrants to detroit, arrested for cocaine dealing. That was the official story. At 14 she fled, heading south across the border. With nowhere to go, the young girl was picked up by the local cartel. What was this American doing here, in Tijuana alone? She was to be ransomed, it seemed. Max pleaded and pleaded, there was no one who would pay for her. Her family was gone, she just wanted to stay /far/ away from America. The men laughed and threw her in a cell. Weeks later they asked again, who would they pose the ransom to? Nobody, said Maxine, would ever pay for someone like her. Maybe it was the desperation in her eyes, or the coldness in her voice that convinced them that she was telling the truth. One of them, a young man named Marco eager to prove his ruthlessness fetched his rifle. If she could not be sold, she had no use to the gang. Money was king after all.
It was Max's smile that stopped him in his tracks as he places the barrel against his head. She remembers his words well. "Qué perra sonríe al morir?" What kind of bitch smiles at death? Max was finally facing her freedom. This life of pain and rejection would end at last. "Hazlo rápido." Make it quick. Her fathers words rang in her head, another memory drifting back. "Maxine, no matter where you stand, you stand with my legacy." She would be with him soon.
Marco couldn't do it. His hand shook and the rifle slowly lowered. The men laughed at him. "She's your problem now, kid." Bitter at his failure, Marco and Max were sent out to steal motorcycles together the next morning. It was the beginning of a partnership that would span twenty years. From petty theft, to trafficking Maxine rose through the ranks, always as Marco's underling. Her coldness slowly earned his respect, though he was four years her senior. Eventually Marco took over the local business when he and Maxine gunned down the old leader in a brutal coup. Any opposition was crushed. Their power expanded over northern Mexico and Tijuana flourished as a hub of drugs and prostitution. Those same American politicians that threw her father away came here for the young girls and cheap cocaine. Max forgave them, of course, for their money. Their patronage kept her and Marco safe, for a time.
When max was thirty and Marco thirty four they had a son, Pablo, and decided maybe it was time to retire. They were rich, rich beyond their dreams. That is not the way things work in the world of smuggling and crime, they would find out. Before the trio got a chance to leave, their compound was raided. Marco and Pablo were killed instantly, a hail of gunfire tearing through the drywall into the baby's bedroom. Max was out visiting friends in the countryside, saying her goodbyes to people she had come to cherish over these last twenty years. She came back the next day to find the bodies.
Words cannot describe a mother's grieving. She clutched the infants broken body and wailed in that desecrated home, tears mixing with the blood on the floor. God knows how long she sat the before the police arrived, again with guns drawn. The sirens brought her back to her senses, and she stumbled away into the night with a backpack of cash and her rifle, a Yugo M90.
After a year and a half of wandering she met an old contact in a bar in west texas. Rico was his name, and he had some information that was very much of interest, he thought. Max told him to fuck off, and the man stood to leave.
"Your mother is still alive, Max. In Kentucky."
Would you like your character to start with any items?
Automatic Rifle and ammunition.
Knife
Armor
Cigarettes
10000 Cash
Would you like to be placed in a random group at the start of the lore?
No
Is your character a member of a group application?
No
Group Members
Maxine Salt
I Agree
Yes
Has this character appeared in a previous lore?
Yes
Age
34
Blood Type
AB-
Personality
Maxine is a blank slate. At her core, she's a paranoid woman obsessed with control, personal autonomy, and safety. However, she refuses to show this to the outside world. To someone who is warm and welcome, Max can be warm and welcoming. To someone who has nothing to offer, she can be cold and distant. A social chameleon, she reflects what she is presented with. She can come across as quiet or shy but that would be to misunderstand her nature. Some people speak before they think and others think before they speak. Maxine is the latter. To those who know her well she could be perceived as kind. However to know her well would mean one is useful to her, so of course she is kind. She must keep that person around, and the human psyche responds well to kindness. The end justifies the means.
Character Motivations
Maxine desires her own personal safety and complete control of her environment. Every detail of day to day life must be meticulously organized and reorganized. She also desires immense wealth.
Physical Appearance
Maxine is a tall and well muscled woman, standing around 5' 10". Her eyes are wide set in her even features and are a light brown, betraying her slight middle eastern heritage. Max's skin is pale, and her hair shaved close to the skull. To let it grow out would be to show femininity and in Max's eyes, weakness. She wears a leather jacket with spikes on the shoulders and tight fitting black pants most days. Her chin narrows to a viscous point.
Character Image Link
https://i.pinimg.com/originals/9f/05/f9/9f05f95431d4da089920e53e30d6319d.jpg
Mechanical Occupation
Unemployed
In-Character Occupation
Mercenary/Drug Smuggler
Biography
Maxine was born in Tehran to a CIA agent and a local bartender. She knows little about the first few years of her life with her mother. Some happy memories filter back through the haze. Shakshuka cooking on the fire. Laughter. Arabic and hookah smoke. Dad would come visit now and again. He'd teach her so many great things! She got to shoot his gun, fight with him in the backyard, learn a bit of english, spanish, farsi. All those languages of the places her father had been, and the stories he would tell- she remembered those. Stories about life in America, a place she reasoned must be truly magical.
Max remembers when they came to take her. Age seven. Her father had been indicted for high treason, she later came to learn. Her mother was involved- passing the info along to local insurgents. Ah, the follies of love. The US forces descended on their hut, kicking in doors, floodlights lights in the faces of the sleeping children. They dragged Grandma away, and her mother too. She went into that helicopter kicking and screaming. Max never saw her mother again, nor any of her family.
The young girl was relocated to a group home in Texas. Her english was terrible, and she found little comfort alongside the other children. She lacked the capacity to speak about what had happened to her and any time she did it was dismissed as a childhood fantasy. Her parents, she was told, were immigrants to detroit, arrested for cocaine dealing. That was the official story. At 14 she fled, heading south across the border. With nowhere to go, the young girl was picked up by the local cartel. What was this American doing here, in Tijuana alone? She was to be ransomed, it seemed. Max pleaded and pleaded, there was no one who would pay for her. Her family was gone, she just wanted to stay /far/ away from America. The men laughed and threw her in a cell. Weeks later they asked again, who would they pose the ransom to? Nobody, said Maxine, would ever pay for someone like her. Maybe it was the desperation in her eyes, or the coldness in her voice that convinced them that she was telling the truth. One of them, a young man named Marco eager to prove his ruthlessness fetched his rifle. If she could not be sold, she had no use to the gang. Money was king after all.
It was Max's smile that stopped him in his tracks as he places the barrel against his head. She remembers his words well. "Qué perra sonríe al morir?" What kind of bitch smiles at death? Max was finally facing her freedom. This life of pain and rejection would end at last. "Hazlo rápido." Make it quick. Her fathers words rang in her head, another memory drifting back. "Maxine, no matter where you stand, you stand with my legacy." She would be with him soon.
Marco couldn't do it. His hand shook and the rifle slowly lowered. The men laughed at him. "She's your problem now, kid." Bitter at his failure, Marco and Max were sent out to steal motorcycles together the next morning. It was the beginning of a partnership that would span twenty years. From petty theft, to trafficking Maxine rose through the ranks, always as Marco's underling. Her coldness slowly earned his respect, though he was four years her senior. Eventually Marco took over the local business when he and Maxine gunned down the old leader in a brutal coup. Any opposition was crushed. Their power expanded over northern Mexico and Tijuana flourished as a hub of drugs and prostitution. Those same American politicians that threw her father away came here for the young girls and cheap cocaine. Max forgave them, of course, for their money. Their patronage kept her and Marco safe, for a time.
When max was thirty and Marco thirty four they had a son, Pablo, and decided maybe it was time to retire. They were rich, rich beyond their dreams. That is not the way things work in the world of smuggling and crime, they would find out. Before the trio got a chance to leave, their compound was raided. Marco and Pablo were killed instantly, a hail of gunfire tearing through the drywall into the baby's bedroom. Max was out visiting friends in the countryside, saying her goodbyes to people she had come to cherish over these last twenty years. She came back the next day to find the bodies.
Words cannot describe a mother's grieving. She clutched the infants broken body and wailed in that desecrated home, tears mixing with the blood on the floor. God knows how long she sat the before the police arrived, again with guns drawn. The sirens brought her back to her senses, and she stumbled away into the night with a backpack of cash and her rifle, a Yugo M90.
After a year and a half of wandering she met an old contact in a bar in west texas. Rico was his name, and he had some information that was very much of interest, he thought. Max told him to fuck off, and the man stood to leave.
"Your mother is still alive, Max. In Kentucky."
Would you like your character to start with any items?
Automatic Rifle and ammunition.
Knife
Armor
Cigarettes
10000 Cash
Would you like to be placed in a random group at the start of the lore?
No
Is your character a member of a group application?
No
Group Members
