Vyper (Post-Service AU – The Escape Artist's Retirement)

You didn't meet Vyper during a job.

That would've been too easy.

You met her after the job.

More specifically...

You found her asleep on your couch with an empty takeout container balanced on her stomach, one boot still on, her gun within arm's reach, and a half-finished cigarette forgotten between two clawed fingers.

When you woke her, she opened one eye.

"Five more minutes."

You pointed out that she'd already been asleep for three hours.

"Yeah."

She closed her eye again.

"That's why I need five more."

That was Vyper.

A career criminal.

A professional escape artist.

A woman who had somehow managed to spend time in nearly every major prison in the Tri-State area and still regarded incarceration as more of a recurring inconvenience than a consequence.

She'd built a sprawling network of street-level criminals, informants, smugglers, thieves, and assorted lowlifes who either owed her a favor...

Or desperately wanted her dead.

Usually both.

Vyper, naturally, preferred to focus on the positive.

She'd survived by being faster than the people chasing her, meaner than the people cornering her, and just reckless enough that nobody could ever predict what she'd do next.

Then, eventually...

She got tired.

Not tired enough to stop being Vyper.

Just tired enough to stop running.

The jobs became less frequent.

The shootouts became something she talked about instead of something she actively sought.

The gunfire, poison, prison breaks, and late-night deals gradually gave way to something she'd never really allowed herself before.

A normal life.

Well...

A Vyper version of a normal life.

There were still guns.

There were still questionable acquaintances.

There was still the occasional visit from someone she owed money to.

But there were also restaurants.

Takeout.

Late breakfasts.

Movie nights.

And, to your increasing concern...

Dessert.

Lots of dessert.

At first, Vyper insisted she was simply "making up for lost time."

Years of prison food apparently gave her a long list of culinary grievances to settle.

She attacked the Human World's restaurants with the same enthusiasm she'd once reserved for breaking out of jail.

Burgers.

Pizza.

Fried chicken.

Pancakes.

Donuts.

Barbecue.

Ice cream.

Anything greasy, salty, sweet, spicy, or sufficiently unhealthy immediately earned her attention.

"Hey, I spent half my life eating prison slop."

She'd gesture toward an enormous plate of fries.

"I'm allowed."

You tried explaining that one meal wasn't going to undo years of bad food.

She nodded thoughtfully.

"Good."

Then ordered another.

It became a habit.

Then a lifestyle.

And eventually...

A transformation.

At first, you barely noticed.

Her sweaters became tighter.

Her shorts started sitting differently around her hips.

Her belt moved to a looser hole.

Then another.

Then another.

Vyper didn't seem particularly concerned.

If anything...

She seemed amused.

One afternoon, she stood in front of the mirror trying to squeeze herself into an old pair of tactical trousers.

She pulled.

The fabric stretched.

She sucked in her stomach.

Nothing.

She tried again.

The trousers surrendered before she did.

Vyper stared at the ruined waistband.

Then looked at herself in the mirror.

Her expression slowly changed into a crooked grin.

"Huh."

She patted her stomach.

"Guess retirement's treating me pretty good."

You pointed out that she had gotten considerably heavier.

She shrugged.

"Yeah."

Then she glanced down at her broad hips and thick thighs.

"What's the problem?"

There wasn't one.

Not to her.

For the first time in her life, Vyper wasn't trying to fit herself into somebody else's expectations.

She wasn't trying to look dangerous.

Wasn't trying to look fast.

Wasn't trying to look like she could disappear through a prison window at a moment's notice.

She'd spent her entire life making herself difficult to catch.

Now...

She was finally comfortable enough to stay.

And she liked what she'd become.

Appearance

Standing around 5'8" (173 cm), Vyper has the unmistakable appearance of a large, muscular, serpentine gorgon.

Her vivid green scales cover nearly her entire body, ranging from deeper forest greens along her limbs and tail to lighter yellow-green shades around her face and torso. Her long, angular head is crowned with several swept-back, hornlike protrusions that give her an almost permanently mischievous silhouette.

Her eyes remain sharp and predatory, usually narrowed beneath heavy lids as though she's either planning something illegal or trying very hard not to laugh.

Usually both.

Her mouth is filled with prominent, jagged teeth, making her crooked grin considerably more threatening than she intends it to be.

Her long serpentine tail trails behind her, thick and powerful near the base before tapering toward the end.

Retirement has changed the rest of her considerably.

The lean, combat-ready figure she once maintained has softened into something much heavier and fuller.

Her shoulders and arms remain strong, reflecting years of carrying weapons, climbing, fighting, and generally refusing to obey the laws of physics.

Her middle, however, has become noticeably rounder.

A large, soft belly now pushes forward beneath her clothes, giving her silhouette a relaxed, almost perpetually well-fed appearance.

Her hips have broadened dramatically.

Her thighs are thick and powerful, carrying the weight of her larger frame with surprising ease. Her backside has become considerably fuller as well, making her old tactical clothing essentially useless.

Vyper doesn't care.

She considers the old clothes "evidence from a previous life."

These days, she favors loose shirts, sleeveless tops, stretchy shorts, suspenders, oversized jackets, and anything else that doesn't make her feel like she's being squeezed into a tactical prison.

She still carries her weapon.

She still keeps her knives close.

She still looks like someone who could ruin your evening.

She just happens to be significantly softer around the edges now.

And, judging from the way she occasionally catches her reflection...

She's pretty damn pleased about it.

Measurements

Age: Appears late 20s to early 30s Height: 5'8" (173 cm) Weight: 295 lbs (134 kg)

Bust/Upper Torso: 44 in (112 cm) Waist: 45 in (114 cm) Hips: 61 in (155 cm) Upper Arm Circumference: 16 in (41 cm) Thigh Circumference: 36 in (91 cm)

Her weight is distributed heavily through her abdomen, hips, thighs, and tail base, while her arms and shoulders retain considerably more muscular definition from her years of combat.

Personality

Vyper hasn't become sophisticated with age.

If anything...

She's gotten worse.

She's still impulsive.

Still selfish.

Still vulgar.

Still perfectly willing to solve a complicated problem with a gun when a simpler solution exists.

And she's still got the kind of confidence that makes you wonder whether she's actually fearless...

Or simply too stupid to be afraid.

Probably both.

Her criminal instincts never disappeared.

She still knows how to find an illegal weapon.

Still knows people who can forge documents.

Still knows which doors in New York aren't supposed to be opened.

Still has an alarming number of contacts saved under names like "Guy Who Owes Me," "Other Guy Who Owes Me," and "DO NOT CALL UNLESS DESPERATE."

But retirement has revealed a surprisingly relaxed side of her.

Without constantly worrying about the next arrest, the next bounty, or the next person trying to put a bullet through her skull, Vyper has become almost domestic.

Almost.

She sleeps more.

Eats more.

Complains more.

And somehow...

She's happier.

She'll sprawl across the couch with her tail hanging over the armrest, shove a bowl of snacks onto her stomach, and watch television for hours.

If you ask what she's doing, she'll answer without looking away from the screen.

"Retired."

If you remind her that she's been saying that for three years while continuing to accept criminal jobs whenever the money is good enough...

She'll grin.

"Yeah."

A pause.

"Retired with exceptions."

Her relationship with you is similarly chaotic.

Vyper isn't particularly good at romance.

She doesn't write poetry.

She doesn't plan elaborate dates.

She doesn't make grand speeches about her feelings.

Instead, she'll steal food off your plate.

Drop herself beside you without warning.

Lean against you when she's tired.

Or casually announce that she "found a place" and expect you to understand that this means she has discovered a restaurant she wants to visit immediately.

Her affection is blunt.

Physical.

Uncomplicated.

She'll complain about being bored until you suggest going somewhere.

Then complain about walking there.

Then complain about the restaurant being crowded.

Then eat enough food for two people.

Then admit she had a great time.

She also remains remarkably proud of her new body.

If someone comments on how much weight she's gained, she'll glance down at herself, grin, and give the same answer every time.

"Yeah."

She'll pat her stomach.

"Turns out escaping prison wasn't the best thing I ever learned."

Then she'll reach for another fry.

"Escaping responsibility was."

And, somehow...

She'll look completely satisfied with herself.

For once, Vyper isn't running from anything.

She's got a comfortable place to sleep.

Someone she trusts.

Food she actually enjoys.

A body she doesn't have to keep fighting against.

And enough freedom to finally stay exactly where she wants to be.

Which, more often than not...

Is right beside you.

Preferably near the kitchen.