Character Name: Michaela Sharpe
Alternate Identities: Mike
Player Name: Willow
|Eye Color:||Brown||Height:||5' 0"|
Michaela is only five feet tall and weights around a hundred pounds. She only gets her hair cut when it bothers her and makes no attempt to style it, usually keeping it in a sloppy ponytail. Even with a grease smear across her face its easy to see the beautiful girl underneath. Her hair is dark brown as are her eyes and her body is compact and well muscled. She has been working out over the last few months, learning to street fight from one of the bangers that has the hots for her.
Mike hates 'girlie' clothes with a passion and tries to wear what she thinks is just the opposite, namely combat fatigues and boots. The problem is, no matter how she dresses, she always looks sexy as hell and she doesn't understand why the cabrons on the street are always hitting on her. Usual just before she 'hits' on them, with a 2x4.
Mike grew up in an East LA barrio, the oldest of three sisters being raised by their widower father, an auto mechanic. A small girl with a fiery temper, she has spent years in and around cars working with her father. Her ability with cars is probably the primary reason she managed to reach puberty. Michaela isn’t exactly the most tactful girl on the block as more than one gang banger has discovered. Over the years she has regularly gotten on the wrong side of one street thug or another and until recently has managed to play her enemies off against each other. It was when her twin younger sisters began to develop in to a stunning pair of beauties that Mike discovered she didn’t need to fear the carbons on the street.
Easter Sunrise Service was a tradition in her family and even Mike respected that but that particular Sunday turned out to be the worst of her life. Though refusing to dress up, Mike accompanied her sisters and father to the nearby Catholic Church and dutifully sat in her pew listening to the words of the sermon. The organ masked the sounds outside but died away to the chatter of assault rifles.
Afterwards the police reported over a hundred bullets riddled the church and the people sitting quietly inside. Michaela’s father took two in the chest and died instantly. Staring at his body, Mike at first didn’t comprehend what was wrong but a bullet tore through the skin of her chest where is slid along the curve of her ribs and buried itself in the pew in front of her.
Reacting to the pain, Mike threw her self on her sisters and drove them to the carpeted floor between the pews. A second bullet struck her in the small of the back plowing a half inch wide furrow in her right side just above her hip bone. Her sisters screamed, finding themselves covered in blood and something in Mike reacted. Suddenly they were all three in the living room of their small apartment. Just before she passed out she felt the two girls crawl out from under her and she vaguely wondered if either had been hit.
She awoke in a stark white room with the late afternoon sun slanting through a window that gave her a breathtaking view of a waterfall cascading down a rocky slab of cliff. Sitting up she experiences a small twinge in her ribs and her exploring hands found a bandage wrapped around her chest and another just above her hip. Then she remembered the church. Throwing the blankets back she swiveled and started to slide out of the bed. She didn’t hear him enter the room.
“Easy,” said a deep male voice.
She jumped, and rolled to the opposite side of the bed landing on her feet with the bed between her and the doctor. He didn’t look like a doctor though. Dressed in grey slacks, a forest green polo shirt and moccasins, he watched her through jade green eyes, a slight smile touching his lips. For a moment she forgot everything as the . . . presence of the man hit her. She felt her heart react in fear and yet she knew instantly he was not a threat.
“Who are you?” she demanded, forcing a bravado into her voice she did not feel. She used the moment before his response to take him in and suddenly her fear turned to a surge of something she’s only heard about, lust. The man was incredibly sexy and she fought down the rising feeling.
“You can call me Archer,” he said, his voice not loud but perfectly audible. “I am sorry to upset you so.”
Flustered she snarled at him “I am not upset!”
His crooked smile unnerved her and she felt weak in the knees. She didn’t even see him move and the next thing she knew she was cradled in his arms. Inhaling she smelled wild things she’d never known in the city and without realizing it, buried her nose in his chest. She shivered feeling his hard body against hers and felt the easy strength in his arms as he held her.
Looking down at her with those green eyes he said “Are you in pain?”
She said nothing for a moment, collecting her self and trying to calm her racing heart.
“Put me down!” she snapped and he gently sat her on the edge of the bed. Suddenly she was painfully aware she was wearing one of those hospital gowns that was open at the back. She flushed, trying to draw on her anger to hide her reactions.
“Are you the doctor?!” she demanded, glaring at him.
Again that smile unnerved her.
“In a way, I guess.” He replied.
“What the fuck does that mean,” she growled.
“Well, it means that yes, I am the one that tended your wounds but I am not a doctor.”
“Where are my clothes?” she pulled her gaze away from his face and glanced around the room.
This wasn’t a hospital, she realized, the stark white only an illusion of the sunlight on cream colored walls. The bed was some type of reddish wood and smelled wonderful. It was covered in the softest sheets she’d ever felt with a thick comforter of white with a spring flower pattern that didn’t appear to repeat. The floor was carpeted in a rich grass green that seemed to give off a grass aroma that reminded her of a mown lawn. In front of the center window of three sat a desk in the same red wood with a computer playing a screen saver of tree. One corner, just touched by the sun, was an arm chair with a small round red wood end table and lamp. In the wall opposite the windows was an open door to a bathroom and a red wood piece of furniture that reminded her of her father’s tool cabinets only a lot prettier.
“Where am I?” she whispered.
“Hopefully, your new home.” He said and she snapped her glare back to him, meeting his eyes.
“Who the fuck ARE you?” she demanded, suspicion growing. “Did you take off my clothes?”
Actually the thought made her sliver in a surprisingly good way. Had he seen her naked?
He nodded slightly.
“No other adult was home when I brought you in.” He said. “Sorry.”
She flushed and thought she heard very little apology in his voice for having stripped her naked. Her eyes grew wide.
“They are sleeping in the rooms to either side of this one.” He told her. “Both were in a panic and I gave them a light sedative in the form of some herbal tea. Neither was injured and I provided a change of clothes for them. They both had a shower then lay down for a nap.”
“Did you strip them too?” The sarcasm dripped off her voice but it didn’t seem to faze the man who gave her that half smile again.
“No, they were quite able to do things themselves. You, however, were bleeding like a stuck pig.”
His phrasing almost made her smile. So he was capable of a little joke.
“Neither of your wounds were life threatening and you should be good as new in a week or so.” He told her.
“Why am I here and not in the hospital?” She felt a little uncomfortable all of a sudden. “Are you some rich guy that kidnaps teenage girls? How’d you find us? Where are the cops? What about my dad?”
He held a hand up to silence her.
“First, I’d rather you not get into hospital records. Second, yes, I am some rich guy but I very rarely kidnap teenage girls. Third, I saw the whole thing at the church and followed you to your home. Forth, the cops are in Los Angeles where they belong and finally . . . “
His eyes took on a gentle look that told her all she needed to know about her father. He was dead. Biting her lower lip to hold back the grief she fell over onto her side, her head on the pillows. He pulled the comforter up over her shoulders and rested a hand there for a moment.
“I am so sorry,” he said and something in his voice told her he really meant it. He wasn’t just paying lip-service to sympathy.
“Why? What happened?”
He stepped over to the desk and pull out the chair, turned it then sat facing her, the sun surrounding him.
“I believe they came to the church looking for someone.” He said.
“It is an organization called Genocide,” he said, his voice sounding angry for the first time. “They kill a certain type of . . . “ He looked into her eyes. “People.”
A tight furrow appeared between her brows. “People?”
She shivered at the word. Not that long ago there had appeared a street gang made up entirely of ‘mutants’ and some had scared the hell out of her. They were far worse than any other gang bangers, thinking their weird powers gave them the right to take whatever they wanted. Within a few days they had cut a new territory out the turf of four other gangs. She had heard that at least twenty real humans had died before they settled things. She shivered again.
“I hope they found them and killed them,” she said.
A sudden tension filled the room and she looked up at him. His face had become like stone and those green eyes seemed to blaze with an inner fire. For an instant she felt like drawing the comforter over her head to hide from him.
“They killed four people, but they missed the mutant they were hunting.” He said, his voice cold. “That one I managed to save.”
“You?” she scowled again. “Why would you save a mutant? What did they ever do for you?”
“This one?” the crooked smile returned. “Not a thing.”
“Then why save him?”
“Him?” he raised an eyebrow.
Suddenly her blood ran cold.
“me?” she said in a small voice.
He nodded twice. “Welcome to the Wild Hunt.”
|Mike is still exploring her powers of teleportation. Already she has figured out some rather deadly uses for her powers but hasn't had the nerve to offer them up to Archer.|
Michaela is the product of the barrio and as such has grown up tough. She never took school seriously, preferring to hang out with her father and fix cars. By the time she was ten, she could rebuild a carburetor, do a brake job or even rebuild an engine as well as dive like a manic, something that hasn’t changed in the last five years.
It doesn’t take much to piss her off and more than one guy has been forced to duck a flying wrench after a comment. She seems to hate the fact that she is a girl and has never learned how to be a girl having grown up with only a father. She has a vocabulary that would make a sailor blush and it is all the more effective coming out of this tiny little girl in the sexy camos. She is quick with a put down for any guy that dares to make a pass at her and if he persists, she’s libel to whack him with a 2x4.
The truth is, Mike is scared to death of her life. Poor, Latina, barely articulate in English, she saw only misery in her future. Then Archer came and a few things began to change. For one, her crush on him has awaked an interest in improving her appears. For another, suddenly, she is beginning to believe she might have a future. As a mutant. Her mind is still trying to come to grips with that but the other kids at the academy are all mutants and appear comfortable with the fact. Maybe it won’t be so bad. Meanwhile, she DOES have two classes with Archer . . .
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