Updated: Mar 27, 2020
Player Name: S
Player E-Mail: email@example.com
Name: Wilhelmina Faulkner
Nickname(s): Willa (preferred)
Actual Age: 28
Age of appearance: 28
Date of Birth:
Place of Birth: Savannah, GA
Marital Status: Single
Sexual Orientation: about as flagrantly homosexual as the period allows
Religion: Nominally Baptist
Chronic Diseases: an undiagnosed cough that refuses to go away
Eye Color: Blue
Hair Color/Style: dirty blond
Other: Numerous scars, a tattoo of a small black square on her wrist
Play-By Used: Caity Lotz
Willa is known for having a sort of laconic charm about her. She presents herself as someone laid-back, a Southern gentlewoman, always nice and never in too much of a hurry. As long as people are all right with her, she’s all right with them, and while they’ll be let off with some light teasing, that’s the most they’ll get. She’s nice to her friends, she’s especially nice to women, and other than the rakish demeanor, hard living, and occasional passive aggression, there’d be absolutely no reason to believe she’s anything but a kind and personable sort.
The problem comes when someone thinks they can push the petite blonde with the slightly off accent around. Willa has a temper on her, one that flicks on the moment someone pushes her too far, or lays hands on her, or even encounters her in the wrong kind of mood, suddenly the bandit comes out and she will absolutely lay out anyone who approaches the wrong way. When she’s on the trail of something or someone dangerous, she’s like a feral bloodhound, unwilling to let anything go and pushing herself to keep going even when she’s in the worst of harm’s way.
This also dovetails with her impulse control, which is minimal at best. Willa loves her vices, whether it’s drinking almost her weight in liquor, playing cards or dice until the very early hours of the morning, getting into fights, or tumbling into the arms of whoever would have her. It seems at times like she’s almost trying to bury part of herself under all the excess. She’s known the inside of a jail cell more than she’d like to, though thankfully not for any violent offenses, just getting into fights and public bouts of drunkenness.
In spite of all these things, or perhaps because of them, she is a frighteningly competent hunter, usually either managing to get the drop on her prey while their guard is down, hitting them from a distance with a variety of weapons, or simply outlasting and outfighting them until she collapses from her injuries, barely conscious.
Species: Human hunter
Affiliation: Loner, though she’s been known to throw in with whoever’s around who can stand her.
Strengths: Can take an amazing amount of punishment, good with pretty much any weapon or fighting style, charismatic to a fault, high tolerance for intoxicants, will not stop at anything if someone is in trouble or hurting others.
Weaknesses: Self-destructive, poor impulse control, a little too weak when it comes to a pretty face, all that energy and ferocity only works when it’s pointed in the right direction.
As her father always said, there were two ways to do things, right and proper. Proper meant the way everyone wanted things to be done. Social lessons, going to the balls, entertaining guests, being nice to the help, that was all proper. But it wasn’t right. Right to Arnold Faulkner meant the way things were really done. When his first daughter was old enough, he taught her to fight and shoot. When Willa, his youngest, was born and unfortunately killed her mother, they eventually and grudgingly both taught her, too. From an early age, the Faulkners learned to hunt, to fight wilder and dirtier than any man that might press his advantage, and to know how to survive in between the more civilized areas of Georgia.
The result was striking, two young women vastly sought after in the social scene of Savannah, but for whom men usually backed away slowly. It was difficult when a gentleman from a neighboring house came over expecting a nice day out with Willa, who was an elfin little thing, and ended up being asked to help her field-dress a deer. Willa and her sister Anne were considered a kind of grand prize, even if they weren’t to be sought after but to be met on their own terms.
But unfortunately, the war eventually came to Georgia. Willa wasn’t particularly informed either way, but as her father was a landowner, she wasn’t completely ignorant that they were complicit in things. Her father owned two of what he called “servants,” and sure enough, while Willa was out in the woods one day with her sister, she came back to find the family home in flames. The two of them gathered the weapons they could, each grabbed a horse and saddle, and set off in search of revenge. The two of them used their skills to become bandits, at first just to get money and resources to eventually track down the soldiers, but they found they had a knack for it, and pretty soon revenge was forgotten just to build up a rep as a fearsome duo who were practically unstoppable. Willa liked the reputation, liked the money even more, and especially liked the mix of fear and admiration that came from it. But Anne still remembered the reason they were doing this, and after one particularly tense argument, she grabbed their savings, both the horses, and then while Willa lay sleeping one off, alerted the law to the fact that one of the Faulkner Sisters was in the local den of sin.
Willa’s still not sure how she survived. The local militia detachment thought she was asleep and decided to send people in while they surrounded the place and shot at it from the outside. What they got instead was a severely hungover and angry Willa, who promptly dispatched several of the intruders and bolted through the hail of gunfire, escaping through the well in the brothel’s basement that was fed by a nearby stream. She was delirious and bleeding from several wounds, but after she collapsed, she woke up with her wounds bandaged in a small clearing next to an odd tent made of sticks and skins. While she paid it no mind, it was a weird enough occurrence that it stuck in her mind, and she occasionally had nightmares of someone leaning over her, or of an indistinct figure showing her a palm full of bullets.
With the law and military combing the countryside, Willa didn’t feel like pushing her luck again. She moved further north, first taking up with a rather brutal gang of killers under an odd foreigner, and then with whatever gangs would have her, working as a hired gun for whatever gang needed the extra firepower and muscle. But she tired of that, and she remembered Anne’s betrayal, and so finally, she decided enough was enough. She started dragging in the nastier associates of hers for the bounty, and found out this was far more exhilarating. Willa would take up positions as a bodyguard, as a shotgun seat on a stagecoach, and hunting all the bounties she could. People still gave her a wide berth, but the moment she turned on the charm and showed she wasn’t of any harm to them, they started to get the picture.
Which was where her second piece of bad luck kicked in. While she was helping with a passenger stage, they camped for the night, only for one of their number to go find a tree to use the bathroom. When he came back, he promptly tore into the stage driver, let out a bloodcurdling howl, and then attacked the other passengers. Willa charged the thing, putting several bullets in it and finally closing with her knife, but the thing took two or three chunks out of her before she was able to finish it off. She collapsed again, but raised herself up just enough so she could use a coat and a pair of stockings from the luggage to bind her stomach wounds and settled herself on a horse in the direction of town. Once again, she passed out on the way. Once again, she woke up.
This time, she was in a doctor’s office. According to the doctor, she’d been there for two weeks, slipping in and out of consciousness and talking in a weird language. She’d healed, even though she’d looked dead and lost a lot of blood when she’d come in. And, after she healed for another week, she had a renewed purpose.
Willa started listening for things that sounded out of the ordinary, taking more bounty jobs and tracking more of what she called “varmints.” A nest of bloodsuckers living in the basement of an abandoned house. A were that savaged the local farm life. Towns that were healthy suddenly coming down with an outbreak of cholera when there wasn’t anything nearby. She hunted, and she got better, came back with less scars every time. Eventually, she was introduced to other hunters, occasionally joining up to take care of creatures that one of them couldn’t alone. Willa gained a rep both for being charming and easygoing to work with, and also for the massive issues that plagued her when she wasn’t working, as well as her absolute brutality on the job.
Willa continued in that vein, a legend of the territories, a horrifying but astounding figure in the West. But she got bored with werewolf hunts and penny-ante witch fights. It was time to seek out new gains. When she heard that Denver was starting to open up, a possible hotbed of activity, she saddled her horse and headed further west. Besides, there were probably some old friends and old enemies she should pay a visit.
Other: She talks in her sleep. It isn’t English. No one’s sure what it is just yet.
Bounty hunter, trapper, monster hunter
Address: Rooms above one of the businesses on the main street
Lived There Since: Two weeks ago
Lives With: If anyone would actually live with this human disaster, go ahead and make them.
Gray Shire that she calls a variety of insulting things rather than naming
Matches: Drinking, fighting, sleeping in, low-scale mayhem, gambling, general contests of skill and luck, being out in the wilderness
Dislikes: Law, order, most civilized manners,
Hobbies: Hunting, gambling, camping, anything involving either the outdoors or somewhere rougher people hang out
Can usually be found: La Belle, anywhere with a card table, bars, sleeping it off in the local jail, the wilderness.
Favorite Color: Dark green
Favorite Food: Rabbit
Favorite Drink: Water
Favorite Alcoholic Drink: Whiskey, rocks, water back
Favorite Read: Tales of Mystery and the Imagination when she does read
Some Facts (Optional)
[Smoking:] Yes, and not just tobacco. They have a wide selection of interesting herbs in the territories
[Drinks Alcohol:] Better than most.
[Religion:] Baptist, but religion’s kind of just an occasional mention for her
[Worst Habit:] You name a vice, chances are it’s been practiced by Willa Faulkner
[Most Common Misconception about him/her:] That she’s some town drunk who can’t pull herself together
[Biggest Fear:] She’ll lose control completely, that something will turn her, that maybe all the times she’s somehow avoided death mean she’s something worse than human
[Weapons] High-caliber repeater rifle, two Colt Walker handguns, a sleeve derringer, a hunting knife, multiple throwing knives
Random Facts (Optional)
[Most Uttered Phase/Word?] “In my defense…”
[Tends to Always?] seem to have a flask or a cigarette case on her person, almost like they appear by magic
[Is Ticklish?] Would you really want to try and find out?
[Oddest Thing?] An arrest on her record from the town of Deadwood for “impersonating the Lady Godiva on the back of a bull whilst irresponsibly discharging a firearm”
[Most likely to find him/her?] In a saloon, having randomly broken into a colleague’s house and poured herself a drink when she wants to talk to them, in La Belle, getting into a fight, hunting or tracking in the wilderness.
[Knows he's/she's really sorry if?] One apology, sincere, completely sober, without equivocation.