Krysta
Krysta | ||||||||||
Player: @alincial00 | ||||||||||
[[Image:|300px|]] | ||||||||||
"Whatever will be, will be!" | ||||||||||
Biographical Data | ||||||||||
Real Name: | Christine Krueger | |||||||||
Known Aliases: | N/A | |||||||||
Gender: | Female | |||||||||
Species: | Human | |||||||||
Ethnicity: | Caucasian | |||||||||
Place of Birth: | San Francisco | |||||||||
Base of Operations: | Comicbook Store | |||||||||
Relatives: | Deceased | |||||||||
Characteristics | ||||||||||
Age: | 22 | |||||||||
Height: | 5'6 | |||||||||
Weight: | 140lbs | |||||||||
Eyes: | Blue | |||||||||
Hair: | Blonde | |||||||||
Complexion: | Pale | |||||||||
Physical Build: | Lithe | |||||||||
Physical Features: | Multiple piercings | |||||||||
Status | ||||||||||
Fame: |
Local | |||||||||
Alignment: |
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Identity: | N/A | |||||||||
Years Active: | N/A | |||||||||
Citizenship: | America | |||||||||
Occupation: | Unemployed | |||||||||
Education: | College | |||||||||
Marital Status: | Complicated | |||||||||
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MaekadaBoxSlim created by @Maekada |
Contents
[hide]San Francisco
Millenium City
Tropes
Kindhearted Simpleton - Good will and acts of kindness come as second nature to Krysta, with near limitless ammounts of trust, faith and optimism in those around her. While she may have a few pearls of deep wisdom to offer, don't ask her to work the toaster or she may burn your house down.
Plucky Comic Relief / The Klutz - It would seem that whenever Krysta is around, no situation can be taken seriously. Her spirit and cheer appear to be indominable, either a welcome gift to a group or an irritating distraction. Stupid questions and tumbles galore; a common catchphrase for the blonde woman is a high pitched squeak followed by a prat fall.
All Girls Like Ponies - Krysta really wants a pony.
Friends
Telekinesis
Trivia
- Krysta comes from a German heritage. Her great-grandparents fought in World War 2. (Not on the side you'd hope.)
- Despite the name, Princess Fluffybutt is actually a male.
- Krysta has been banned from attending any Chippendales show due to excessive giggling.
- Krysta is tremendously fond of Halloween yet her choice of costume is often ill advised. This has resulted from her being expelled from every Halloween party she's ever been to.
- Krysta is an avid fan of videogames. A subscriber of a popular MMO, she's played an elven hunter for over two years and is still perfectly happy to run around the starter area, hunt bunnies and explore the woods.
- Krysta once failed a survey.
- Krysta is often confused by hats.
- Everytime someone in the media says the words "Buttcheeks," Krystas family is paid $0.25 in royalties.
- Krysta once got into a fight with a stop sign. She lost.
- A happy accident on vacation once saw Krysta landed with her own chat show on Swedish Television. The show lasted only four episodes and was described as "Infuriating." She now appears on the 10SEK stamp.
- After a seven hour long conversation, Krysta was once punched in the head by a Buddhist pacifist.
- Following a freak accident at an experimental psycho-analytic laboratory, Krysta has been left with the amazing ability of being able to read her own thoughts.
- Krysta believes that clouds are stalking her.
- Krysta has been banned from ever returning to China. As a result, many now know her as Bén-Huáng-Nǚhái.
- Krysta has a crippling fear of sheep.
- Krysta has no inner-monologue, conscience or voice in her head; just Shake Your Coconuts by Junior Senior on repeat.
- Krysta avidly believes Samuel L. Jackson is her spirit animal.
Track List
- 01 - AWOLNATION - Kill Your Heroes
- 02 - Junior Senior - Shake Your Coconuts
- 03 - Alanis Morissette - One Hand In My Pocket
- 04 - Goldfinger - 99 Red Balloons
- 05 - Jimmy Eat World - The Middle
- 06 - Weezer - Pork and Beans
- 07 - Rammstein - Mein Teil
- 08 - The Baseballs - Umbrella
- 09 - Foo Fighters - Everlong
- 10 - Against Me! - Because of the Shame
- 11 - The Ataris - Boys of Summer
- 12 - Nightwish - Bye Bye Beautiful
Short #1 - "Dear Destiny..."
6PM and the Sun was sneaking away below the horizon of Millenium City, leaving the long street not with it's warm touch, but instead the cold street lights. To and fro a busy throng of people wandered alongside a conga line of cars; the last dregs of the evening commute. Most folks were going home, returning to their families after a days hard work. At least one of the people on the street was just leaving, in fact.
A young blonde woman weaved her way against the tide of the crowd, offering polite excuses and apologies whenever she almost bumped into someone or was forced to awkwardly side step. At a lazy, thoughtful pace she wandered, shielded against the creeping cold thanks to her favourite leather jacket and a wooly red scarf. Unlike the commuters making their way out of the city centre, Krysta was heading towards it, towards the cities dominant RenCen. She had no business being in the Heroes square at all, never did and it was still too early to head for a drink at Club Caprice, no, she was heading there for other reasons.
Krysta broke from the chaos of the street out into the much calmer park sitting on Westsides skyline. The route would take another ten-fifteen minutes to reach her destination but she could never resist a chance to stroll across the grass, especially with the beautiful sunset overhead. With the grass stroking the sides of her canvas shoe, she felt the familiar pang of damp soaking into her socks. A quick check of her jeans pocket told her the letter was still there.
A leisurely stroll through the shadowed park later, the blonde cornered through the RenCen, doubled backover towards the observation tower and was soon gliding upwards; riding an elevator to the top of the tallest builing in the entire city; the highest point for miles around. Thoughts danced around her airy mind as she rose up and up and up. She thought of her friends, of Chupe and Punky, of her recent time spend with Bria, oh lovely Bria...
As the glass-encased lift broke the level of the rooftops, the fading Sun struck out again, desperate to remain for a fleeting last minute; the last light of the day washed over her pale face and calm smile.
It made sense to her that this was the place to be, without a doubt. Most might think Christines thoughts silly and frivolous much like everything else about her, but she'd never care. This was a good idea.
Destiny was watching, even now. From above. Krysta was sure of it and was determined to contact the girl however she could. With no email or phone number, she was left wit no idea how speak to Desinty - no idea where she was or where she could be. Chicago? But where? This would work instead.
Dear Destiny,
Hi there! You don't know me, not really, but my name is Christine. You can call me Krysta! It's so nice to finally say hello to you. I hope this letter finds you well.
Bria told me all about you! Or, well, she mentioned you a few times but I think I understand enough. She told me how special you were to her and how close the two of you were, she told me about the Southside Broads and the bad people you both put with, people like Tammy and her step-dad. Chicago sounds really rough, you're both so strong for living there! I can't imagine how hard it must of been for you both. But you had each other, right?
That's what makes it so sad. I understand it's a natural part of life and we shouldn't be upset, but sometimes it can't be helped. I think it's always two stories at once, on one hand you're gone now, you won't get to be married and maybe have kids and grow old and have lots of happy memories. On the other hand, Bria won't get to come to your wedding, she won't get to look after your kids and she won't get to grow old with you. I don't know which is more heartbreaking.
Then there's the chance that maybe - just maybe - I'll be the one instead. That makes me happy, I'm gratful to have that wonderful chance, but I don't want to replace you. I'll never replace you because I know how much you mean to her. Sometimes when we're alone together and she's talking about Chicago and the Southside Broads, I can see it in her eyes, I can see just how much she misses you.
It's only for now anyway, you'll be together again one day and maybe I'll get to meet you too!
What I'm trying to say is you don't have to worry, I'll look after her for you - I promise!
Love, Krysta
PS. If you get lonely, there's a very special lady up there with you, she'll keep you company. Just tell her I sent you.
A neat fold here and a neat fold there saw the letter take the shape of an elaborate paper aeroplane. Krysta stood calmly on the very edge of the collosal tower, the city so far below she could see the edge of the suburbs and far beyond. The wind whipped and pulled at her hair and scarf, threatning to drag her from her perch if she was not careful. With only the gentlest of flicks, the letter-aeroplane took off from her fingers.
Away and away it spiralled, carried high on the winds, spun on the relentless updrafts and thrown by the endless crosswinds.
There, on the very edge of the world, Krysta sat alone as she watched the letter until she could see it no more; confident that somehow it would find its way to Destiny.
Short #2 - The Rabbithole
"You better be takin' care of yourself, sweetheart. I oughta kick yer arse for foolin' around with them gangbangers. Ain't no good can come of it, darlin', you know that. I ain't surprised you're gettin' mixed up in their turf wars."
"It's not a turf war! Just... y'know, old grudges. Besides, they're not bad people! Brianna isn't at least, you'd know that if you came to meet her!"
"Uh-huh, you're sayin' that now, darlin', but you be careful. Ain't no tellin' who's out to help you, and who's out to help 'emself. You don't wanna end up workin' for some sleazebag in that card shack again, do you?"
"W-well, no..." Krysta mummbled into her phone as the hollow sounding voice reprimanded from the speaker.
"Exactly, so just be careful. Besides, if you get your arse in trouble, it'll be me who's gotta come sort it all out. Listen, I gotta go, I'll call you back--!"
Before Krysta could even respond, the line cleared with a clack and the familiar dead-line tone buzzed at her ear. She pushed the button to end the call. This happened all the time; no doubt right now the bounty hunter was chasing or fighting or questioning someone, all very dangerous work. The young woman palmed at her eyes and tried to push the concern from her mind, certain the phone would ring again before long.
Alincial; a rough-neck Texan with a long history of military service and, more importantly, one of Krystas closest friends. The alien-demon-sort-of-thing had saved the young woman from an awful job, provided her with shelter and over the course of a year, became a big sister to her.
Krysta dropped the phone down on the cusion beside her and, with a sigh, looked around where she sat. At home, in their basement-level apartment. The room was large enough, situated under a lesser known comic book store and had all the basics (except for a proper bed, annoyingly enough) and contained a wealth of their clashing possessions. Alincials weights, Krystas yoga mat. Krystas computer, Alincials record collection. Sure, it could use a tidy, some decorating and a few dividing walls, but a home was a home.
The blonde heaved another bored sigh and sat in silence, watching the blank screen of the TV. Her mind began to wander to that day they first met.
SLAP came the hand onto that pretty candy girls rear, held so perfectly by the black material of her Hefner-style bunny costume. The blonde squaked, shot the gentleman a bitter scowl and went about her business, stalking away from the card table towards the bar of the smokey room. An older woman behind the bar - face plastered with makeup - could only grin in amusement. Krysta dropped her tray of empty classes down on the bar and whined.
"If one more guy touches me I'm going to-!"
"Do what, say something awful?"
"-about his hair! Yeah!" Krysta lowered her head and glowered, naturally impossible to look serious in this ridiculous bunny costume. The woman behind the bar - Lin - wore a matching outfit, as did six or seven other girls coming and going, weaving in and out of the many card tables. The room was some kind of rear storage behind a factory, refurbished with oak furniture, red carpets and golden trimmings. It might of looked quite upper-class were it not for the countless ashtrays, beer bottles, foul stench and smog hanging in the air; wall to wall card tables and unsavoury types. Here, rich businessmen freely rubbed shoulders with thugs and crooks alike. Sure enough, Marcos Pool Hall was no pleasant place to be.
A hand with far too many rings pat-patted at the blondes head and fondly stood her bent wire-frame rabbit ears upright.
"Up and at 'em now, can't have you slacking off, can we?" Lin was a brusque woman - thirty-five, maybe fourt - with a short bowl of bottle-platinum hair and far too much makeup. Her direct, sultry and mature nature lent a Matron-like feel to her; the Matriarch of Marcos candy girls. This made her a favourite of the girls and the patrons alike.
With a glum sigh, Krysta reloaded her silver platter with shots, cigars and gum and made her way back out onto the battle field. The routine was fairly simple. She'd gracefully wiggle her way in and out of the tables, round and round the hall, until her tray was empty enough to call for a reload. That part was simple enough. The attention she - and the other girls - were given was a two-way thing. On the one hand, Krysta almost enjoyed it. On the other, she loathed being pawed at and treat like an object. Even worse, she was supposed to return the favour with her sweetest giggle, most suggestive smile or bat the doe eyes at the handsy perverts.
"I need the money!" She told herself as she winced, passing by a group of men, someones arm 'accidently' brushed over her chest. Behind her, she heard the group chuckle and titter. "-and the place to stay."
Temporary, it was only temporary. A few more weeks and she'd be able to afford a real apartment - no more sleeping on the couch in the dressing room. From there, it's the simple case of finding a better job. Sure, the pay probably won't be as good but-- She squealed, her arm shot out by reflex and caught someone in the side of the head with her elbow, sent him tumbling off his chair with a bang. Wide eyed, Krysta waddled away post-haste, rubbing at the spot on her thigh where she'd been pinched.
"Eey, Kreestah!" Called an exotic Spanish voice from the office door. Krysta froze and turned to look at the boss; Marco Santiago, an orange faced weasely man with a shimmering silk shirt, heavy gold neckchain and all the subtlety of a particularlly extroverted flamingo. Krysta seethed, passed her tray to a passing colleague and stalked her way over to the office, all grace from her step gone.
"What have I told you about that? Those asians might like you squealing like a victim, but not our boys. How hard is it to be sexy?" Marco rumbled in his Brooklyn accent. Mark Sanderson was as fake as they come. Fake tan, fake gold, fake accent. He planted his hand on the office door - red paint peeling from the surface - and pushed it open with a jerk of his head, signalling her to enter. Krysta hung her head, preparing for a telling off. Before she could cross a threshold, it happened.
"I suggest anyone who doesn't want to end up wormfood, get down now!"
Krysta wheeled around to face the source of that rough, English snarl and for that one moment, everything - time itself - stood still. Three figures had entered the double doors at the end of the gambling hall. The one in lead and by the far the largest stood boastfully with a machinegun of some sort leveled at the patrons. Behind him stood a tall thin woman with short hair and further back still, a muscular blue-skinned woman in a coat, busy wrestling one of the dens burly bouncers into submission against the wall.
Krysta dropped and covered her head. She heard herself scream into the deafening storm of gunfire. When the gunfire finally stopped, the room exploded into chaos. Survivors of the leadwind broke into a riot, trying to escape through any of the side doors or brush past the trio of assailants. Krysta couldn't move. Frozen in horror, she stayed huddled against the back of the table. Ear ringing and countless screams assaulted her senses. She vaguely heard an angry French-accent hiss something, followed by a cruel barking response.
Marco huddled next to Krysta and peeked over the table, his face a terrified shade of white. The blonde girl stared up at him with pleading eyes, begging for him to proove himself a man, do something, save her. He did. He grabbed her harshly by the arm and ducked into the office. It was only when he cried out in panic did Krysta feel the cold edge of a pocket knife against her throat.
"I've never been a hostage before!" squeaked an excited voice in her head. "Yay! We're important!"
"Shut up, you idiot, this is serious! This is bad!" "Bad? Like forgot our homework bad? Or Fluffybutt on Ma's furniture bad?" "Accidently racist bad!" "No!"
Back outside Krystas head panic had set in as the danger of the situation caught up with her. She swallowed hard, shut her eyes and whimpered in fright. The sounds of violence poured in through the door for what could well of been hours. She heard the sound of tables overturning, glass smashing, thundering rat-tat-tats and the soft thump-thump-thump that soon followed as another crook was gunned down.
Finally, a figure appeared in the door way and came to a stop. The woman had a hard face of blue skin, greying hair and a long overcoat. She lifted her hands in surrender.
"Alright Sandy, calm yer tits, I'm just here to talk." She spoke in a calm voice, hinted with a Texan accent.
"You-- you killed them! You killed them!" He waved the knife at the intruder, she stepped forwards. The knife returned to the innocents throat. Krysta supressed another whimper as she stared at the blue-skinned stranger.
"Yyyyeah, sorry about that. New kid on the crew, trigger-happy mother fucker. His arse is fuckin' fired. But hey, you know what you were gettin' yourself into Sandy, either gonna be us or some other scumbag."
"All for what!? Get out! All of you, out! Get out of here or I'll cut her friggin' head off!" Marcos - Marks - voice cracked as he backed away, dragging the girl with him, the cold of the metal bit against her neck and relased a drop or two of hot blood. She held her breath. The stranger stepped closer again, cowboy boots crunching over broken glass.
"Do it," she said. Krysta felt Marco tense against her back, along his arm. "Do it and you're not walking out of here. Or ever again." Her voice remained calm and deadly. For some reason, Krysta didn't doubt the truth in her threat, not for one second. Neither did Marco, from the looks of it. He trembled, then Krysta felt herself flung to the side, pushed away. Before she even hit the ground, she saw the flapping tail of a black coat swoop past her, heard Marco scream followed by a nasty few thumps and crunchs. The blonde could do nothing more than curl into a ball and stop herself from crying. She shook, hard.
Once the beating stopped, she heard the quiet French accent again, the Texan replied, then the French. When the Texan spoke again, it came after a careful hand passed over Krystas hair.
"Hey there, cherry, are you alright...? Did he hurt you...?"
Krysta opened her eyes, she looked up to the see the blue face hovering above her. She soon found herself in the womans arms, sobbing openly.
Krysta shook her head, snapping out of her daydream to the sound of the phone vibrating and buzzing around. With a relieved smile, she pressed it to her ear.
"So tell me 'bout this Brianna," came a Texan voice.