Felicia Hardy

[Felicia Hardy]

[PTabbedContent][PTab=GENERAL INFORMATION] CHARACTER INFO: NAME: Felicia Hardy ALIAS: Alexina Brigham, Valaria Munroe, Ashley Moon, Black Cat AGE: 26 OCCUPATION: World-Class Thief, "Gold-Digger", Professional Home-Wrecker MEMBER GROUP: Villain, Mutant, Civilian POWERS AND ABILITIES: Involuntary Luck Manipulation: Felicia is naturally lucky, enough that, with a good strategy and a stoic face, could win her some mean money in poker. She isn't guaranteed to win or hit anything, but it does seem to happen more often with her than most people. Additionally, those that she perceives as a threat (whether or not they actually are), can be targeted by her jinx effect, thus giving them bad luck. Their guns may jam, the 50-year-old flagpole they may be swinging from may crack in half from rust. She has no control over the specifics of what may happen, just that things tend to happen around her. Increased Physicality: Felicia is about three times as strong as a record-breaking strong-man, making her a more than capable opponent for most humans, but low ranking in the mutant and superhuman class. She's much faster and more agile than the average human, and can sprint at max speeds of roughly 40 miles per hour for short bursts, and is faster than most human combatants by far. Suit: Her suit further enhances her. With her goggles on, she can see in infrared, ultraviolet, and nightvision with some telescopic and microscopic abilities. Her hearing is enhanced to the level of a dog while she has the goggles on, through the piece that wraps around her ear. The suit also enhances her durability, making her able to withstand mid and small rounds fire. High enough caliber bullets can still inflict a great deal of pain and achieve minor penetration. Lastly, she has monofilament fibers running through the fingers of her gloves. When flexed, the filaments become rigid and can cut through virtually any surface on earth. This also allows her to wall-climb. PLAYBY: Nora Arnezeder OOC INFO: PLAYER NAME: El AGE: 23 GENDER: Lady with a large dash of dude. I suck at being a proper woman. XP TIMEZONE: EST. OTHER CHARACTERS: Namor. Steve. Vidar in the future. [/PTab][PTab=PERSONNEL ASSESSMENT] It would be fair to say that I was raised in the lap of relative luxury. My father, Walter, bought a home in Forest Hills Gardens, Queen, an upper-class, inner-city suburb with an almost gated community feel. It wasn't his only place in New York, but mom, Lydia, didn't know that at the time, and was happy to cozy on up to him for a while. She was his partner back in the day; a city planner, able to score any blueprints she wanted. Dad knew how to pick 'em, and mom didn't mind, 'cause she got a steady flow of diamonds and a loving husband. Things hit a rough patch soon after I was born. Mom got careless pulling some blueprints and the place she pulled got hit a couple of nights later. She got investigated at work, and though she and dad cooked up the perfect story, she wasn't having none of it. It all got a little too close to home for her, and she bailed. Custody battle followed soon after, and since mom wasn't willing to admit what she'd been up to for the last five years where crime was concerned, dad lawyered up. Having more cash, he got a better lawyer, and with it he got me. I still saw mom on Wednesdays, the Weekends, and for most Holidays, except alternating Christmases. It wasn't too unusual of a childhood, to be honest. Mommy and daddy weren't together, ( though "mommy" kept his last name) but both of them loved me all the same. I grew up enjoying twice as many presents and an awkward, unspoken something or other between my folks on the few instances they saw one another. They were keeping dad's profession on the wraps, and I didn't think much of it. So what that dad was regularly out of town on the weekends, and always got back later than me on Wednesday nights? It all seemed normal. It was only when I went to school that I began to realize that it wasn't. Everyone else's parents went to work on a usual time. Dad didn't. In fact, he didn't go to work most days, and when he did, it always seemed to be out of town. One of the kids asked me if he worked from home--apparently their dad did. I didn't remember seeing him ever working at home, either. But I didn't think much of it until career day in the fourth grade. Some people had their parents over to talk about their profession, but my dad didn't show up, even though I'd talked to him about it four or five times. When I got home I asked why he didn't bother coming. He swore me to secrecy and then was surprisingly honest: what he did wasn't legal. It wasn't even close to legal. He was a jewel thief of international caliber, and took from those who had so much they barely even noticed half the time. It certainly explained his thing about Robin Hood and all those criminal heist movies we used to watch. And those two things probably softened me up: I didn't think anything about it, except that my dad probably had the sweetest job of any of the parents that showed. After that, I did what any kid would do. I asked if he would take me with him. He was a smart enough man, and a good enough parent to refuse, no matter how many times I asked him. Eventually, though, it just got too much for him to bear, so he met me half way. He wouldn't take me on the job, but he'd teach me a few "minor" things to tide me over until I lost interest. Mainly how to pick a lock. Unfortunately for him, all that did was whet my appetite, and make me more eager than ever to follow in his footsteps. By middle school I already knew how to jimmy your more basic locks. And I moved a whole hell of a lot more softly than my more awkwardly proportioned classmates. In fact, I'd blossomed into four-fifths of the heartbreaker I am today. The kind of attention I could get from the boys (and some girls) really did a number of my ego. I realized several years later that I could use my looks and charisma to my advantage, and that really helped me out. But in middle school I mostly enjoyed the kind of attention I got, and the presents some boys were willing to give. Dad moved onto gun safety in eighth grade. He said wit was important that every person know how to use one and treat it with the respect that it deserved. He told me that he rarely opted for their use, and that martial arts was typically a safer option in most circumstances. After all, plugging a security guard or cop could land you serious jail time compared to simple theft. But he also said that there might be a situation that a quick wit, fast feet and hand-to-hand couldn't save you. Hence the gun. My powers chose one of the worst possible times to develop. While I was holding the gun, ready to fire for the first time, my powers went off. The gun jammed, and when I went to unjam it, the magazine holder got severely damaged in the process. At the time, neither my dad nor I thought much of it, but my dad commented that the gun must've been faulty because they weren't supposed to damage that easily. Things continued like that for a while. My powers were too subtle for me to realize that they even existed back then. I just noticed that strange things tended to happen around me. Some days I'd have the kind of luck to make most lottery winners green with envy. other days everything that could go wrong would go wrong, like I was a walking, talking example of Murphy's law. Eventually, my powers stabilized, and it was around then that I noticed bad things had a way of happening to people I didn't like. I didn't think much of it then, except that maybe I had some kind of karmic luck going my way. Training with dad continued. By the time I graduated high school, I could pick most advanced locks, scramble moderate security systems, spoof camera feed, walk without making a sound, and fight pretty well. Dad had been certain to use my weeknights for self defense martial arts, namely Aikido. I also knew at that time how to act, partly through what dad taught me, but mostly from my own efforts. High school had really allowed me to play the field were prospective suitors were concerned, and I could get most anything I wanted out of my boyfriend of the week. Drama class just helped me hone my skills further. And what little down time I had between everything was spent doing minor heists. Every thief's gotta start somewhere, I just started with shoplifting. I went on to college and pursued a degree in electronic engineering with a minor in computer programming. Not exactly the degrees you think of when you look at a girl like me, but let me tell you, they've really helped my career. Where before I could only do moderate security systems and basic spoofing, I learned how to hack, reprogram, repurpose, and electronically bypass a lot of systems. If I wanted, I could've made a lot of hard cash doing things on the up-and-up. Electronic engineers make a lot of cash, especially when you're a woman and a firm needs to diversify. But it was always a means to an end for me. Throughout college I began to actually assist my father with heists. Mom became suspicious sooner or later. The excuse that I was busy with schoolwork didn't fly when she heard planes in the background. By then, though, we both knew it was already too late. She was disappointed, and asked me to follow through on my college, but it wasn't really my bag, not even back then, before everything went to hell in a handbasket. I almost wish I decided to follow her advice back then. Before long we got to the part where I needed to start going into business for myself. At first me and dad collaborated, I'd do research on the building and the people, and he'd be the footman. After a few months, we switched, and then I was the one doing both while he saw to his own jobs. Two months shy of my graduation, things went pear-shaped. Dad was always the kind to be sought out. Buyers ahead of time were necessary for really hot merchandise, unless you had some really good fences. He took a job, and things went bad. One of only a few times in his career when they did. And then he went missing. At first I didn't think anything by it. It wasn't unusual for his job to keep him for a couple of days. Then he was gone for five days, and I knew there was no way in hell it was just work stuff anymore. I finished up my final projects that night, and I hit the street. Pounding pavement when you're an unknown force is a hard thing. Most of the people I asked were more interested in me and my story, and why such a pretty thing was walking around in such bad neighborhoods. Needless to say, I showed them why they didn't want to mess with me, and my enhanced strength made it all too clear. Most people backed off after that, and one was even willing to help me out when I had his hand under my heel. He said he'd seen a man of dad's description being hauled out of a van a few blocks over. It was my only lead, and I didn't think twice before following through on it. That was when I got in way over my head. Dad wasn't just working for any ol' shitbag with a superiority complex, oh no. He had been working for the shitbag with a superiority complex: Wilson Fisk. Of course, he didn't know it at the time because he sent a handler instead, but it all came back to him, and Fisk wasn't too happy that he didn't get his money. So he was taking it out on my dad and trying to get what cash he could from his bank account as collateral. Fisk was even there personally that night. I knew who he was, but I didn't care. Despite every ounce of self-preservation telling me to haul ass on out of there, I went in. I wasn't going to let my dad be subjected to that, no way, no how. I took out what men were around the edges, but I eventually got busted when one jackass turned around at exactly the wrong moment. Within a few seconds I was ambushed and tied to a chair right next to my dad. Fisk was pleased as punch. He found the situation very amusing, and was quick to catch the family resemblance in our faces. After a few moments of thinking, and a lot of threats, he finally settled on what he was going to do, and cut me a deal. My dad would live... if I worked for him. He'd take a huge cut of whatever I made, of course. About two-thirds of it, but I got to see my dad safe for as long as I did. He said it was a fair trade. I accepted it without even a second thought. Seeing my dad tied up, bloody and exhausted wasn't exactly helping my common sense. All that mattered was seeing him somewhere safe. Fisk became the next three and a half years of my life. He was always sure to try and keep dad close at hand, or trailed, tracked, or bugged whenever he got too far, just to keep me in line. It worked. Before I cut to all the bad shit, let me tell you about the perks of the job. One, even with Fisk's cut, I was making a killing. He had some of the best fences in town, and they always liked to give anyone representing the Kingpin a generous sum. Two, the respect. Between my skill and reputation, and the fact that the criminal underworld knew I was Fisk's "girl", I didn't get touched. Not unless someone was stupid and eager to turn into Swiss-cheese. Three, the toys. Fisk believed in honing my talent in every way possible, and that meant investing in high-tech security systems just so I could crack them, and buying me gadgets to help out. Four, and this one's the most fucked up: the desensitization. When you've seen, heard, and even participated in as much shit as I have, you become immunized to the horrors that humanity is capable of. Now, the bad stuff. It didn't take Fisk too long to notice that things had a way of happening around me. And it didn't take him as long as that to notice that I was stronger and quicker than most people were. While most of his interest in me was purely for the thieving end, he realized that I could be an asset where enforcement was concerned. And occasionally, I had to help... enforce. I didn't get asked to do anything truly gruesome, but even with Fisk, the ginger stuff isn't pretty. And the stuff I had to hear through thin walls sometimes was even worse. The things Fisk and his boys were capable of was enough to get my stomach churning. And people wonder why I have such problems with men sometimes. Eventually, it just got to be too much. The thieving wasn't so bad, except for Fisk's tremendous cuts. But hearing, seeing, and sometimes participating in the enforcing just wasn't my bag. I'd gotten mostly numb to seeing it, but participating in that kind of cruelty made my skin crawl. Why didn't Fisk just plug some of them, rather than drawing out the process? So I devised a scheme with my dad. I got both of us burner phones when I was sure I wasn't being followed. I instructed him to go to the airport, not to even bother packing, and take the first international flight out of the country. It didn't matter where, just as long as he got going, and didn't even bother calling me until he landed. He reluctantly agreed and went, while I went back to work for Fisk, as to give my dad more time to get away. I did the last job I was supposed to do: to lift a prototype suit from an R&D place. Wilson was thinking about repurposing the design for his own devices, but I had other plans. After boosting it, I immediately got in touch with some of the contacts I'd made over the years, and asked them to work their magic on my behalf. And then I split. No more talking to Fisk, no more reporting in. I laid low in an apartment I'd put under a fake name, and stayed there for a day, working on looking less like me. I eventually got a call from dad telling me he was in Hungary, and everything seemed okay. But it didn't stay that was for long. Fisk was really unhappy about what I pulled, and called in a few favors at the airport. More favors than I even knew he had. The next time I called my dad, I got silence. The third time I called, there was again silence... and then a gunshot. I knew what happened, I knew what it meant. I laid in my apartment for nearly a week straight, thinking about what I had caused, and how it all went back to me. Guilt isn't a flattering shade on me, but it was the only color I could think of wearing until I finally got another call. They'd finished tailoring the prototype. I took a shower so I could look like an actual human being, and hit the streets. The different style of dress, wig, and contouring did the trick for the quick visit. I collected the suit and made my way back, and thought about how I would protect myself from Fisk... and get revenge. Because trust me, I'm the kinda girl who wants to get even. And thanks to my time with good ol' Willy-boy, I have more than a few ideas on how to see it done. [/PTab][PTab=IMAGE][/PTab][/PTabbedContent={width:485px;border:0px;margin-left:-2px;}]

Dani

CANON INFORMATION:
CANON: Infinity Endverse (newcon)

INFINITY ENDVERSE CANON:
NAME: Felicia Hardy
ALIAS: Black Cat. Alexina Brigham, Valaria Munroe, Ashley Moon.
AGE: 27.
OCCUPATION: International mob boss.
MEMBER GROUP: Villains, Mutants
AFFILIATIONS: The Brotherhood, the Hand.
PLAYBY: Nora Arnezeder

BIRTHPLACE: Long Island, New York, New England.
RESIDENCE: Several.
PARENTS: Walter Hardy, father, deceased. Lydia Hardy, mother.
SIBLINGS: None.
IMPORTANT RELATIVES: None.
IMPORTANT PERSON: Not at the moment.

HISTORY:
Much of Felicia's history has gone the same. Except from the very beginning, she acted as though she were cowed into obedience. From this, she took to tearing apart Fisk's empire from the inside, bided her time and eventually killed him, claiming his criminal empire as her own. Unfortunately her power play cost her her father's life.

Felicia's been running Fisk's operation for two years now, and has outlawed human trafficking.

Additionally, her position of power as a mutant has drawn some attention from the Brotherhood who approached her a year back. She is their covert ally and some of her international operations benefit the state, though ultimately she serves herself more than Genosha.

erin

[S.S.A. Aech]

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