Scarlett "Scar" Swarr by Gigs
TEAM: The Syndicate
KIT CLASS: Olympian
Hall Of Fame!
Survival - 11 wins!
League Wins: 9
League Losses: 3
Out Of League Wins: 2
Out of League Losses: 3
Total Wins: 11
Total Losses: 6
Windscream - Win 14-5
Zekryn - Win 13-5
The Dark Ripper - Win 14-9
The Robot Fighter - Win 16-6
The Storm Cloud - Loss 11-12
VIBES - Win 12-10
Vareta Jones - Win 10-8
The Archivist - Loss 6-13
Zone - Win 12-8
Holt - Win 11-7
Whisper - Loss 9-11
Drakeyl - Win 9-7
The Rewriters - Win 8-7
Theodric Worth - Loss 5-9
Overdose - Loss 5-7
Inju: Romantic Tentacle - Win 13-11
Lord Canelaser, Eater of Widows - Loss 11-12
It's the same ol' song, sung to the same ol' tune,
The same good story, told from the same Good Book,
Sibling rivalry taken to it's logical conclusion,
Why did Cain kill his brother? Because he was Abel,
Why does "Scar" want to kill her sister? Because she is Bas.
Her past is unknown.
But that's okay, most people's pasts are unknown, and that's alright. Because there's usually nothing worth noting in most people's lives anyway. A pity with Scar though, since if you look at her "present", it seems she's one of those few with an interesting past.
You still want to know her story?
For a pittance, I'll feed you a rumor.
For a price, I'll string you a lie.
For free, I'll tell you the truth.
Rumor says she's the illegitimate daughter of the Tigress, a rather ruthless head of a rather ruthless criminal syndicate. Lies and deceit suggests she has ties to the Swarr family.
And that's about it, there's nothing else to tell about Scar's past really. The gratis truth is, what's important now is that Scar is a no good criminal thug. If Don Corleone had a wedding for his daughter, Scar would be there to wish him a masculine grandson, albeit with more eloquence than ol' Luca.
She's the muscle of the Marauders. Which isn't to say she doesn't have brains to go with the brawn. One does not become a frequent field commander without some... ahem, "animal cunning". But ultimately, the most insidious hunt still ends with a spine snappingly sinking of teeth and claws and "beating the fucking brains out of your shithead fucking skull you stupid cunt".
You still want to know her? Know this:
Her name is Scar.
Her element is Criminal.
Her roar is the Siren of the Law.
Personality: 17th June, sunny skies, I'm wearing the yellow sun dress which I don't usually wear. I think it looks good on me, but it's a little girly for my image, but I figured, what the heck. It's a yellow sun dress day.
Went shopping, since the meeting place for the next heist is near a mall, but didn't have time to really buy anything. Oh well, que sera sera.
I caught an episode of "Everybody Loves Raymond", which I don't usually watch, since I personally hate Raymond. The episode had the cast ragging on Robert, Raymond's brother, because he smoked a cigarette. And I was thinking, "What is this? Full House?" I mean, it's okay smoking, everybody smokes, but they acted like he was hepped up on goof balls. What next? He's going to get addicted to coffee pills like Jessie from "Saved by the Bell"? Help! Help! I'm so AWAKE!
Although Ray Ramano did get a couple funny digs at his "brother", like "Smokey the Bear", and "Towering Inferno". You know? I think it's not so much Ray Ramano that I hate. I think he has no charisma and is unfunny, but the one I HATE is his wife, Debra. I know she's suppose to appeal to me because I'm a chick, but the whole white trash women are inherently superior to white trash men thing just isn't my thing. Claire Huxtable she is not.
Overall, an uneventful day. The boss says I'm to do the usual, lead the crew, commit crime for fun and profit.
Edit: Dear Diary, today's GREAT afterall! I just caught the news, you know that shampoo thing my sister's a spokesperson for? The FDA's banning it, apparently they found it has a high concentration of some chemical that causes hair loss. HA!
P.S. Oops, almost forgot. Dear Diary, I hate my sister.
| Superior The pinnacle of human strength. |
Can bench press 1000 pounds.
|Superior This fighter can dodge, weave and move |
with the grace of an Olympic gymnast.
|Superior Hardy. |
Takes punishment like a heavyweight fighter or wrester.
|Superior Highly educated and ingenious. |
A smart cookie.
Life is like a box of chocolates. The stupid people go through it, complaining that they always get the raisin. The greedy and unscrupulous only get the nuts half the time. It's the smart ones like Scar, who very calmly and collectedly observed, experienced and then logically concluded that the nuts are in the big chocolates; who get what they want most of the time. Oh sure, occasionally, a raisin will get mixed up in the big chocolates, but going for the small and "cute" ones will inevitably net you a sour, squishy shrunken grape for your troubles.
She might not look it, but as a little kit, Scar was unusually usually quiet and somber. Perhaps out of the necessity to survive, given her circumstances at the time, and now. A level head keeps one's thoughts from delving down toward the woes of life, and from one's head being in the clouds. And surprisingly, what you find when you have a Scar who is in "the zone" (or, "the Fonz" as she would call it), is an absolute savage genius.
The universe is governed by laws, such as the laws of war. Throughout history, the same strategy and tactics have always worked time and again.
Thus, when Scar is in the Fonz, she's able to tap into that basic instinct that's within and intrinsically linked with the great with-out, to basic instinctively kick cerebral ass and chew bubblegum, and she's all outta bubblegum.
Scar had a boyfriend once. She broke his heart. He was fucking Bas when Scar walked in the room. She punched right through his back and his heart splattered out in bitty chunks, but Bas had somehow moved out of the way even from that "position" and made a hasty taunting escape.
When Scar finally noticed who was bloodying the floor, she realized he was cheating on her. That made her a bit peeved. She went out the house, picked up his car, and threw it through the front door. She tore a gawking girl scout across the street limb from limb, smashed up a few trees and post boxes, and lacking any more satisfying targets to vent her frustrations on; she got violent.
Ever wondered why you never met anyone from Wyoming?
"Humans are the only animal who kill for sport" I saw that on the documentary channel the other day. It was during a commercial for Steve Irwin's Croc Files.
Obviously, whoever wrote the script, or indeed, anyone who believed that crock, has never been around cats much. Cats are as a whole, smug, self-serving, mass murdering sadists. Ever seen a kitten play in the outdoors? They'll pounce and kill any and everything they can manage in sight, mostly insects though, since that's the only thing they can handle at that stage.
Then we have adults, who let's face it, love to torture anything they can get their claws on, then they either leave 'em bloody and dying or they kill 'em and leave the corpse on your lap. And that's if they really like you. Usually the sincerest form of affection you can get from a cat is that it'll try to draw blood while you're petting it on your lap.
Scar's a pretty catty type herself, as one might suspect. She gives in to her tendencies from time to time. Especially when she's over-confident, contented and generally playful.
Her muscles relaxin', her speed's maxin'
Her tude's slackin', her claws slashin'
Her smile's a-grinnin', her pirouettes avoidin'
Her fangs bearin', you're a bleedin', dead mate.
Here you got a couple Sentinels, the Duo, a real odd couple type. There's the feisty hot shot, Motor-Man, who's in his 80s but still kickin' it. And then you have the level headed newcomer, Chess-ty Chick. Because of course, women are ALWAYS less emotional and more pragmatic than their male counterparts. ALWAYS.
He's a guy in a motorised suit, real old school. He's not having an extended mid-life crisis, because he never grew up. Mentality-wise I mean. Enhanced strength, nigh invulnerability, even flight. You name it, he's your standard Superman ripoff, only minus the heat ray and x-ray visions (or so he says for the latter).
She's supposed to be some master strategist, and has a bunch of chess piece themed robots under her command. Get it? She's got a chess motif thing going, so she's "chess-ty", as in "busty", because supergirls are all supposed to have big boobs. Which she doesn't. But it's funny because it's punny. Rumour has it that she's looking into a new name.
Now, that's them. Here's me and my crew. Or rather, just me. My crew? Well, believe it or not, my crew outnumbered the odd couple 2.5 to 1, and they all had "super powers", but I don't know... somehow, they pulled it off. They beat us.
Well, they beat THEM.
Me? I'm with our boss, the Co-ordinator for these "united Marauders". And we're sittin' pretty. My crew might have got beat, got caught. But they did their job, and I'm sittin' pretty with the phat lewt.
We lost the battle, but *I* won the war. Just turn around, get into the car, and drive off into the sunset is what I have to do.
"You did good Scar, you did good", is what the farmer would say to me in this sitch.
And you know what? You know what I'd say in reply?
WHO THE FUCK DO YOU THINK I AM?!
Some backstabbing, knife throwing bitch!?
You fuck with my crew, you fuck with me.
The Duo got my crew, but I got the loot, the prize.
And you know what? This world, this world is littered with prizes, and though the Duo may think they claimed victory. The point I must emphasize is, THEY'RE GONNA BE STIFFS, FUCKING WITH ME! So be prepared for the beating of a lifetime, be prepared to be sensational news. An angry new player, is stalking you nearer. And where do the Duo feature? Just listen to teacher. You think it sounds sordid, but my crew'll be rewarded, when at last I am given my prey. My grit and convictions are bared, BE PREPARED!