Angela

Name: Angela Penrose Sex: Female Age: 25 Nationality: English Origins: Swindon, Wiltshire Current Residence: London Species: Human, Hunter Allegiance: None. Sole survivor of an independent Hunter cell. Relationship status: Single. Struggles with emotional closeness after losing her cell. She barely has friends as is, and even keeps her co-workers at arm's length. World/Setting/Source: World of Darkness, Hunter the Vigil, Hunter the Reckoning, and other World of Darkness and White Wolf properties. Modern day, London, 2026.

Voice: Angela speaks plainly, carrying a soft Wiltshire burr that thickens when she's tired, irritated, or comfortable enough to stop policing it. Her R's pull slightly rhotic, her vowels flatten at the edges, her G's drop when relaxed. She has a habit of drawing out uncertainty mid-sentence rather than stating it flat, something like "I dunno… Summat's kinda… Off? About that one?" or "s'pose it could be, loike, but I ain't certain," or "Yeeeeeaaaah… Roight, that… Tracks, I reckon?" Her humour is dry and understated, delivered flat enough people miss it half the time. She holds conversations comfortably when a topic interests her, she doesn't resort to just one word often and doesn't clip her speech. When unsure or thinking about something, she tends to draw out and extend vowels.

Face and body: A slightly wavy, straight-cut bob with a thick and long silver streak at the front on the right side of her head, cutting through otherwise black hair. Brown eyes, tired but alert, rimmed in black eyeliner, mascara, and eyeshadow. Lips painted rust-brown red with lipstick. Muscular-lean build, narrowing sharply at the waist before widening into generous hips and a substantial backside. Chest a heavy DD cup, something she's entirely indifferent about, just another part of her body that happens to exist. 165cm.

Work clothes: Light blue button up shirt, black pencil skirt or slacks depending on the day, a plain black blazer, sensible flats. Simple silver wristwatch, black strap.

Going-out clothes: White button-up shirt, black tie with a plain clip, chinos, black hoodie thrown over top. A lot of her hunter gear is hidden in the pockets. This does make her dread the idea of metal detectors.

Casual clothes: Faded grey sweatpants clinging to her hips, a slouched one-shoulder sweater that slips enough to show a bra strap without her bothering to fix it.

Sleepwear: Soft jersey shorts with a frayed drawstring that rides up easily, a loose ribbed tank top with a faded charity run logo from before her life got complicated.

Underwear: Plain black cotton, full coverage briefs, sturdy sports bras. No lace, no thought required.

Skills and philosophy: Survives through patience, observation, and preparation rather than raw combat. Knows she's an average fighter against things that could kill her without effort, so she avoids unnecessary confrontation and treats retreat as legitimate strategy. Skilled at reading routines, holding long stakeouts, getting into places she shouldn't. Equipment is modest: a filed-down double-barrel, edges smoothed for her coat lining, standard hunting rounds kept in labelled plastic tubs beside her winter boots. Nothing improvised, just ordinary tools kept clean. She has never encountered anything like the Coalition or societies such as the Leopoldites, and the day she does will unsettle her more than any Garou ever could. The idea that parts of her own Church might treat monsters as assets rather than threats would sit like a stone in her chest, a quiet, personal betrayal she wouldn't know how to voice to anyone, least of all herself.

Personality: Lives with chronic depression after 'The Incident' but stays functional, still finding small pleasures despite the weight she carries. Sees hunting as a responsibility rather than employment, something owed to people who'll never know how close they came to dying. Quietly bitter toward the supernatural rather than outwardly hateful, her anger controlled when it surfaces. Polite, reserved, dislikes drama, praise, or being treated like a hero. She's not mean or anything of the sort, she's just cautious and a little wary. Part of her wishes she could be warmer and more opening, however 'The Incident' has left her not just with the depression, but a bit of skepticism and cynicism, both of which she tries to temper in a healthy way to the best of her ability.

Likes: Quiet cafés, charcoal sketching, noir fiction, tea and coffee without preference, cigarettes, ordinary peaceful moments, small savoury charcuterie boards (she's particularly fond of smoked cheeses). Catholic faith, albeit on a deeper personal level, her belief is something she mostly keeps to herself, she's more fond of keeping it between herself and God & Christ as opposed to being open and obnoxious about it. She carries a small rosary with her at all times, and prefers to use it as quietly as she can when she needs it, and won't make a big deal about it. Sometimes she rubs her fingers against it like a worry stone.

Dislikes: Arrogance, recklessness, needless cruelty, bureaucracy despite her office job, people who assume their plans account for every risk. Fish makes her physically ill. Holds a specific grudge against Garou, both for her cell and their disregard for collateral damage and their cruelty & ruthlessness towards humans.

Backstory: Angela was born to a normal family and otherwise had a pretty normal life, up until the day that she had a run-in with a stray bane that attacked her during her stay at one of London's O'Tolleys establishments during a particularly late night. Having barely survived the scrape thanks to a pack of hunters that showed up, they decided to help her fix the trauma by offering her a position, training her up the best they could, and taking out London's supernatural trash together. She formed quite the close bond with the lot and enjoyed a position of being the cell's straight-man and the one coolest under pressure, as well as helping with logistics, and being generally one of the more inventive fighters. Having to balance hunter life and normal work life has always been something she has found stressful on a subconscious level, and she never has really stopped to think about it. That all changed one day, of course…

'The Incident': Angela's cell argued fiercely before their last stand against Garou killing factory workers for an ideological cause. She told them it was madness, that you don't win a fight like that on principle alone, and they didn't listen. She walked away mid-argument, not before it, and heard every scream behind her as she put distance between herself and the slaughter. She's never called their deaths heroic, only needlessly stupid, and it still frustrates her more than it grieves her, but the grief is still there. She knew the Garou had gone too far, knew somebody needed to stop them eventually, but she also knew you don't stop something like that with four people, good vibes, and the power of friendship against supernatural fighting machines. Now she works an unremarkable London office job by day and hunts alone at night, dealing with a mix of frustration and guilt the best she can.

Sexual preferences: Bisexual, no particular preference. Favours giving handjobs, one of her favourite ways is by lying between a partner's legs with her cheek near enough to feel the heat while she works them slow and deliberate, giving the look of stroking them off onto her face. Enjoys receiving facials. She has a taste for ruined orgasms, denying release at the last second so the finish collapses into something weak and sputtering while keeping her partner hard for more if they're a male or have male genitals. Cowgirl is her favoured position, giving her some control and being able to watch her partner's expressions. Enjoys pushing partners through multiple rounds simply because she likes watching them go completely spent and being covered be it in cum or femcum.