OxO (closed)

Name: Verity Johansson
Age: 23
Gender/Pronouns: Female; she/they
Appearance-
Height/Weight: 6'4", 198 lbs.
Physical Description (hair, eyes, etc.): Verity has long, layered, dirty blond hair that curls slightly at the ends and near the top of her head sticks out at odd, spiky angles. She has bright, verdant green eyes that can shift colors slightly depending on lighting and weather conditions. She has fairly dark skin from her time in the sun, sort of a caramel macchiato color. She has a build on the slimmer side, but she's corded with ropy muscles from heavy lifting and training; she has no chest, but doesn't care, since she can burst watermelons between her thighs and can deadlift 450 lbs.
Style/Aesthetic: Western Gunslinger meets Army Infantryman: lots of pockets, lots of guns, but minimal coverage of arms except for a leather duster; wears a ballistic vest over top a short sleeved black t-shirt, kahki cargo pants that she's modified so that it has even more pockets, a black utility belt which she adorns with cartridges and magazines of .44 Magnum rounds, 12 gauge buckshot, shotgun slugs, 45 ACP and .222 Rem. She has a revolver on each hip, a shotgun and a small rifle in their own holsters across her back, and a SIG Sauer P320 on each thigh. On her ankle she has a sheath with a 7 inch hunting knife in it, and holding the holsters on her back is a bondolier wich holds 12 frag grenades. On the back of her utility belt is a small med pack containing sterile bandages, a tourniquet, scissors and waterproof band-aids.
Background: (I'll explain during the course of the roleplay; suffice to say she was drafted as a teen)
Personality: Very playful, but very blunt. She loves to tell bad jokes and horrible puns, and is very brutally honest to people.
Talents: Guns, hand-to-hand combat, strategic thinking
Hobbies: Gun care, cooking, comedy to raise morale
Likes: Rock n' roll, heavy metal, eating
Dislikes: Annoying brats (i.e. children), rude co-workers, extreme temperatures
Mental/Physical Conditions: Synesthesia, mild PTSD (well, she thinks its mild lol)

(Lol strong woman takes no shit from noone and loves to crack dumb jokes to try and raise morale, how can anyone hate her XD [I say as we're about to start an enemies to lovers slow burn ;-;])

(Okay!)

Verity was sprinting down the street, racing aginst time to beat her own personal record of 13 seconds to get from Reed Drive to Skyline Road - about a quarter of a mile worth of streets, buildings and broken roads in between her and her destination. She had all of her gear on her - her guns, her ammo, her grenades - trying to simulate what it's like in a real battle.

She wasn't paying much attention to anyone or anything besides the ground beneath her feet, so it cam as a total shock to her when she slammed directly into a warm body.

Verity's mood and face immediately sour.

"Oh shut it, bitch. It's not like I wanted to run into you, at least not without a damn fender between me and you and four rubber points of contact on the ground." she snaps, slipping to her feet easily.

"That's your job, remember?" Verity growls back.

"And I'll go where I damn well please." she adds, eyes narrowed dangerously. She looked like she was itching to draw one of her pistols and pop Erza between the eyes with a couple 45 ACP rounds.

Verity rolls her eyes.

"And. I. Do. Not. Give. A. Singular. Flying. Fuck." she says, mocking Erza.

Verity snorts. "I am a goddamn soldier. I protect both 'clans' from being fucked right up the ass by the ones taking over the fucking country. And would you look at that? It's fucking working. Besides, they can try to catch me. I have some 12 gauge buckshot waiting to greet them, and a 45 ACP round or two for you if you don't shut the fuck up." she says venomously.

"Oh, I bet you'd love having something that long shoved up there, wouldn't you?" she sighs, pissed.

"No, I don't want to sully myself with your damn shit." she growls. "Or my guns."

Verity growls to herself, continuing on her way down to her destination.

When she reaches it, she pulls out one of her revolvers and fires it at a pile of trash, once, before holstering it. It didn't give her anything beyond the joy of imagining that it was Erza's face.

"God I hate that damn whore. . ." she snarls to herself.

She starts making her way back towards her side of town, making sure to take as long as humanly possible to annoy the shit out of Erza.

(Is that the reaction to Verity's gunshot or actual fighting now lol)

(Alright lol sorry just checking)

Verity perks up about halfway through Erza's territory, hearing gunfire close to the borders in the west.

She runs full-tilt towards the fighting to find her own people outnumbered.

She smirks, pulling out her revolvers, scoring headshot after headshot with barely even a glance at the target.

Once she'd all but eliminated the enemy, she proudly proclaims: "And that's why you don't fuck with us."

She starts looting the enemies and finding the bodies of her comrades to bury.

Verity picks up a body first - Charles. She'd liked Charles. He was a nice boy.

But now, he's just a dead boy. That's what she had to tell herself to keep herself from breaking down.

Tristan. Chris. Bones. Joe. Asher. She knew all of them, knew most of them had a pet or a little sibling or a kid or a wife. She'd go up to them, delivering their makeshift tags, in the case of the human family.

She'd take in and shelter any animals herself. Feed them. Clean them.

Occasionally she'd find an empty house, save for a bloodstained doll from a recently dead tiny relative and she couldn't hold back her tears. She always cried quietly, seeing lost and abandoned toys.

She goes about the grueling work of digging the graves herself and fashioning wooden grave markers.

It took her hours.

She stumbles into the poor side of town, ordering a bottle of vodka from one of the still open bars, drinking herself to sleep that night.

Verity wakes up the next morning.

She had a splitting headache, but got up from the stool anyways. She thanked the bartender, payed for her drink, and left, slipping past all the quiet and sometimes abandoned houses.

She reaches her home with little trouble and goes to the bathroom, stripping off all her gear and clothes and stepping into the shower.

WIth a rusty screech, the water starts to flow - there was only cold water nowadays - and fills the room with the metallic scent of lead and copper.

She washes the blood from her dead comrades off, as well as the dust. Nobody had soap anymore, but she still did her best with what she had to get clean and at least smell a little better.

SHe steps out, dripping wet, and grabs a threadbare towel, drying herself off and slipping into some clean-ish clothes.

"God, I just want this whole war to be over. . ." she sighs to herself.