Elizabeth Sterling

Name: Elizabeth Grace Sterling
Nicknames: Liz, Lizzy, Scully
Gender: Female
Age/DOB: 19/August 25th, 1994
Occupation: Hunter
Member Group: Hunter
Playby: Kacey Rohl




Likes: Old rock music, feeling safe, blankets, hunting, helping others
Dislikes: Running away, being called kid, sexists, demons, people pointing out her scar

Dreams: To become a better hunter and seek revenge
Strengths/Special Abilities: Fast runner, observant, faith, can take a punch
Weaknesses: 
Anything that reminds her of her father, people in trouble, insomniac, not being old enough to do much of anything (read fake i.d’s, etc.)
Personality (At least 2 paragraphs): 

Liz is a loner and dedicates almost all of her time to her work. She has a strong sense of justice, which drives her to solve a case by any means necessary. She’s prone to biting off more than she can chew when it comes to pursuing ‘criminals.’Despite her difficulties, Liz very kind. She was raised with “Southern Hospitality” and calls authority figures “Sir" and “Ma’am.” She keeps to herself and it takes awhile for her to warm up to someone. But if you hurt anyone, be prepared for a vengeful ball of fire. Liz won’t stop until you pay, even more so if it's a person she cares about. She’s less vindictive with people she knows, but she won’t fully trust you again.

Liz is courageous and very selfless, willing to give up her own life to make sure that others were safe. Liz is experiencing difficulties in accepting her mother's death and her survivor's guilt. She would have done anything to trade places with her, and she blames herself for not doing something, anything. On the flip side, Liz doesn’t fear death. Such thinking makes her reckless, jumping into danger feet first. Once she latches onto something she never lets go. Maybe that’s another reason as to what made her a great problem solver, but that’s also what’s broken her. If someone dies she won’t stop blaming herself and will get revenge at any cost. Every death, every person she doesn't save is her fault. Everything is on her. She's responsible for everyone.

She puts on a front of toughness, and she’s scared that she’ll form an attachment and then something will happen to sever that. Her track record of relationships has proved this. It’s one of the reasons she kept running away from foster homes. She didn’t want to give the person the chance to abandon her. To be frank she has trust issues, and doesn't give it out easily, especially to males. She was raised Catholic and believes in God, always keeping her gold cross on. It serves as both a source of comfort and strength.





Parents: 
Joe Sterling | Commander | Unknown
Lily Sterling | Nurse/Hunter | Deceased
Siblings: None
Important others: None




History (at least 2-3 good paragraphs):

BIRTH

To protect and serve was always in your blood. Your father was a police officer, your mother, a nurse. In some ways you idolized him. He was the protector of the world, the hero that came to the rescue. The good guy that always won. Growing up, you wanted to be just like him, much to your mother’s chagrin. She’d seen what bullets and explosions could do to a person. But there was no stopping you. You went to church every Sunday and your life was pretty much normal. You were 7 the first time your father came home drunk. You were hiding under the covers like that might magically block out the sound. They are fighting. Again. You hold your breath, waiting for the inevitable smack as hand meets flesh. It comes. Your mother’s in pain and there’s nothing you can do. You curl up tighter and squeeze your eyes shut. Everything will be better in the morning. It’s not. He turns to you soon after.

You are 9, 10 in a few months according to the calendar. It was still dark out. You hear the yelling of your mother as she tries to reason with him, the thud of her body hitting the floor. You know of the gun in the nightstand drawer. Your mother got in after the first few fights. Your father is coming for you next. You run to the drawer and pull out the gun, then return. You raised the gun you found in the nightstand drawer. You fired. The bullet struck your father’s side. He stumbled backwards. Before you could fire again he was gone. The gun shakes in your hands as you lower it, then you drop it.

A few minutes later, a man comes into the room and you are lead away, a rough voice is speaking. “It’s ok, sweetheart, you’re safe.” He tells you to close your eyes. You do. You bury your head against his chest as you stumble, but you open your eyes long enough to see your mother’s still form with blood pooling out. The Sheriff carries you from the house, rescues you from the gruesome reality. Your mother turns out to be alright. There’s still a scar under her collar bone from the knife. You and your mother claimed self defense. It was true. They believed you. You don’t see your father again. You know what you want to do for the rest of your life. If someone asks you why you chose to be a detective, your answer is simple. You want to protect people.

You are 11, sitting cross legged in the library aisle. Detective novels are piled around you, and you have your nose stuck in a Nancy Drew. Maybe if you read enough mysteries, gather enough knowledge, you’ll be able to find your father. You understand the concept of revenge. It’s what you hope. You walk up to the counter. “I-I-I’d like to check these out.” You hear snickering from behind you. Your stuttering always causes them to snicker. You turn on your heels, balancing the pile in your arms as you walk out. You don’t look at them. Don’t let them see you sweat. It’s something you read once. You wait until you’re on the sidewalk going home before you let the tears drip down your cheeks.

DEATH

You are 16, having been bounced around from foster home to foster home. You keep running away. Finally you find safety with a family in West Virginia, and they start to help you heal. You like the X-Files, identifying with Dana Scully. You ask others to call you that. Scully. It makes you feel happy. It is your first taste of the paranormal. Your mother had died a few weeks after that night, the perils of the job you later learn, and that was it for your dysfunctional, real family. However, when going through her things before you left, you discovered a cardboard box, something that almost made you want to take back the words “I want to believe.” Your mother was a hunter. Research, photos, notes, her whole secret life in a box. All those late shifts at the hospitals--helping hunters. All those medical conferences--Hunts. At first you refused to believe and did some digging of her own. It only lead to more questions. Why didn’t her mother defend herself? Did her father know? You couldn’t ask him. Eventually you had to accept the facts. The things in the shadows were real.

You are the new kid in school. You shy away from male teachers, and males in general. There is a fight in the hallway and you sprint toward it. A younger boy is being bullied by an older one, a jock. You step between them, taking the bully by surprise as you slam him against the lockers, fire in your eyes. He mutters ‘crazy bitch’ under his breath as he breaks free and walks away, rubbing his shoulder. The younger boy looks up at you, awestruck. You leave without another word. Word gets around fast, and you find yourself in the principal's chair. You are to be sent home. You know you’re going to get worse this time around, and you try to speak but your foster father is already there, with a heavy hand on your shoulder. The car ride is silent, he is fuming, disappointed. The next day was your first session with ‘professional help.’

You are 16, almost 17 and your father has come to collect you. Your foster parents give you to him without a second thought, pleased to have this burden removed and you are reunited with your ‘real’ family. You cannot run away, he will only catch you. You are still under his care legally, so you can only wait. He is your only source of shelter and food, and you spend every day resenting that fact. Your father hasn’t changed. He stays out late with women, something he did even when your mother was still alive. In the morning he’s hungover, the only peace you get until he snaps out of it. You don't confront him about your mother. It would only lead to questions you don't have answers to.

You are 19 and you live on the bottom floor, and it’s probably the only reason you’re still alive. Monsters are real, and they still haven’t caught the biggest one. After years, you’ve decided to take this into your own hands. You dial the phone, calling 9-1-1. The women answers. You can only manage the words ‘father and hurt me’ before he pulls the phone from your grasp, allowing it to slam against the kitchen cabinet by it’s cord. He doesn’t notice the phone anymore, all his attention is focused on you. He is set him off again, but apparently it was the breaking point. He takes the Harpy knife he has for ‘protection.’ You run, but there isn’t anywhere you can. Your fingers fumble with the chain lock, and suddenly he’s behind you. You fight back with everything you have, but the cold steel presses against your throat before blood arches from your neck, creating a spray pattern on the door. You remember falling to the floor, choking on your own blood, struggling to breathe. Your father is gone. The women had still been on the line, and sent for the police and paramedics.

You remember hands around your throat, being lifted up as if entering Heaven. A mask is placed over your face, giving you oxygen. The only thought in your mind is why. White. You see white, lights flashing overhead as people in white hover above you like moths around a porch light. They are shouting. The white turns to black.

REBIRTH

You are awake two months later, coming out the drug induced coma like you’ve awoken from a nightmare. In some ways it was. You sit up screaming, despite the pain in your throat. Fear causes bile to rise as you look around. Your father is still out there. He could come back at any time. You swing your legs over the side of the bed and gingerly step down. Your legs wobble. The tile feels cold under your bare feet. A nurse discovers you and calls for the doctor. Afterwords you read the news report about the almost homicide. The world had gone to hell while you were sleeping and your father is still out there, determined to finish the job. You check out as soon as you’re able, grabbing your clothes and then you hit the ground running.




Name: Cat
RP experience: 5 years
Other Characters: N/A
RP Sample: (we require 250 words or more, so please give us a good sample)
Liz stared listlessly at the cars that sat in the parking lot outside. The people who drove them would soon be off to real jobs, spending with their family. Being normal. Liz’s gut twisted at the thought as she set down her hamburger. It was comfort food, something she ordered every time she came to a joint like this. Liz had forgotten it’s name. It was a hole in the wall diner off a highway she didn’t care to remember. She tried to listen to the other patrons in the hopes of catching something out of the ordinary, but their conversations were lost in the shouts of orders and dishes clanking. Liz turned her attention back to the newspaper spread out on the table. She’d been looking for anything involving her father, but for the most part she was at a dead end. She moved her plate off the left side of the paper, scraping off the ketchup blob that covered one letter. It’s what she’d been reduced to. Scouring the paper, sitting alone in a diner that probably hadn’t changed since the 40’s.

Liz returned to her food, scanning the tiny black text in between bites. The dinging of the bell above the door announced a new customer and Liz glanced up. Something sparked in her mind, marking the man as familiar, but she brushed it aside. He was just another stranger, seeking safety in this pocket of nostalgia and greasy food. The crinkling of paper seemed too loud in her ears as she turned another page, intent on her quest. People already looked down at her for her age, questioning why she wasn’t in college. Because she was running from her past. That’s why. But she never said that. The judges were better off not knowing what was really out there.