OOC
THE RUNDOWN: A reworking of Olya Smirnova, Sofia was my female hitter with a chip on her shoulder the size of a small planet. She didn't care as much for the supernatural element of things as for the kill, and there were times her methods almost bordered on sociopathic. The main facet of her history was her involvement with the mob, which was (obviously) the primary focus of Olya's as well: it hardened her before her time, and whittled away what little femininity she had to begin with. Sofia was damaged, and she knew it. The difference was that she had settled into almost liking it.
PB: Asia Argento
JOURNAL: my business
IC
basic
Name: Sofia Krasnowiec (goes by Krasnow).
Race: Human. Not psychic.
Age/Birthday: 29/November 3rd, 1979.
Nationality: Mexican (her mother) and Polish (among other things, by her father)
Occupation: Living off savings. Occasional conman.
Location: Currently, the Roadhouse.
personality
Personality: Summarizing Sofia's personality is rather like trying to squeeze too much into a very tiny space. She is many things at once, and never one thing at a time. Sofia has a general aura of being a gun, cocked and loaded, waiting on the table; when angry, it's closer to a ticking time bomb. It took her a long time to adjust from the lives she lead back east, and as such her personality varies at any given time—from the mindless gang member to the voiceless hitman, and finally to a person with identity and choices that she had no idea what to do with. She's still figuring out just what those choices are, and at 30, the identity is its own gray area. She can be cheeky and coy, playful and teasing, serious and severe. At times her ferocity and cool demeanor in the field are terrifying; at others (very privately), she can be found shaking in her bedroom in confused self-loathing. That character in a movie who shoots the hostage-taker in the face when he's got a gun pressed to someone's head? Yeah. That's her. For the most part she is cool and sarcastic, mocking and a little condescending (she's older than half the hunters she knows, after all), and about as laid back as it's possible to be while still giving off the air of some kind of prowler. She has a lot of conviction and a strict moral code, though what those morals are is, to say the least, debatable.
Reputation:
Likes:
Dislikes:
history
Sofia Ann Krasnowiec was born to Peter and Laura Krasnowiec on one of those ridiculously cold New York November mornings. Peter, his family had said, had married down to the Mexican store clerk—but then again, his family's empire consisted of a moderately successful Polish grocery shop, so his descent had not been all that far down. She was the second in line after her brother Erik (three years her senior), and for a few years they lived happily enough; enough that, when Peter was shot and killed in a mugging,
they were able to pick up and move on without much difficulty.
Laura remarried when Sofia was 3, to a store owner named Benny Marguiles. Benny was a good man, stout and forthright, real salt-of-the-earth type; what was more, he doted on Laura, and promised a good life for her, which he made good on. It was her children that were the problem. Benny never abused them or neglected them; it was more a matter of glossing over them. As they were not his children, he could not muster up the affection normally due to children from their father, even if not their biological one. He fed them, clothed them, put a roof over their head, and then simply forgot they were there. When Laura bore him two sons of their own (Miguel, that same year, and Manuel, when Sofia was 5), it was an effort to get him to remember the Krasnowiec children were there. With his long work hours, however, the three rarely saw each other anyway.
When Erik was 13, he began work in Benny's store as a stock boy, leaving Sofia home to help her mother with the boys. Sofia had grown attached to her youngest half-brother, Manuel, enough that they were nearly inseparable in his early years. It was, quite possibly, the only display of maternal nature she would ever show; and when Manuel died at 7 from pneumonia, that side of her was carefully and permanently sealed away. The death tore the family apart. Benny spent almost all his time at the shop, and Erik left
Benny's to work where he wouldn't have to face his stepfather. Laura lost any and all vivacity she had once had, and while Miguel spent most of the time with his friends, Sofia found new companions elsewhere to take up her time.
The gang welcomed her pretty quickly. She could fight and take hits, and was unafraid to do so, even at 13. Though she came home with bruises and cuts more often than not, it was better for her to be away from the house and her mother's occasional fits of grief; plus she was bringing in money, and that couldn't be all bad. She was steadily drawn away from home by the security of the gang,
regardless what they did or made or do. By 16 she had killed, and by 17 she was already growing cold to it, something that both terrified and fascinated her. She grew accustomed to carrying around a rosary, as some sign of repentance, though she'd forgotten her Hail Mary's many years ago.
Things went south when she was 17. Two of the boys in her gang were runners for Antony Maretti, one of the mob's made men in the area. Their whole gang, by affiliation, was therefore involved with Maretti: so when they were arrested in a drug run gone bad and nearly killed the cops taking them in, it came as little surprise to Sofia when one of Maretti's lawyers appeared in her conference
room at the police station. He offered her the same deal he'd offered the rest of them: juvie for however long the government could keep them, or working their debt off for Mr. Maretti. Honesty was a thing corrupted in her at that point; she chose the latter option.
She worked for Maretti for 7 years, starting off as a basic runner and, after proving her loyalty and efficiency, moving up to a driver. A year and a half into it she was promoted again to a bodyguard-for-hire, after saving the lives of one of Maretti's men in a deal gone bad. Her skill with lethal weaponry, combined with her skinny frame and deceptive youthfulness, proved her to be an extremely valuable asset. Her success rate was incredibly high, and she never flinched; within two years, Maretti had promoted her to his own detail, shifted her from bodyguard to hitman as required. Of all places that she could have ended up, it worked out the most in her favor. Sofia never had to think except how best to keep Maretti safe; she didn't have to focus on money for the family she'd left behind, or where she was going to end up tomorrow. If she died, then she died. The importance was the job, and she was damn good at it. She had even nearly closed herself off to the fact that she was a murderer.
It only got to her once, and that once was enough. Maretti, like he had done once or twice before for serious jobs, recruited her as his personal bodyguard to go to a deal. He'd lately been doing some under-the-table work with a deal-making demon (low-level, not yellow-eyed), and had decided he wanted a little more out of the arrangement than he was getting. It was a Very Bad Decision on his part. The demon, though not high in the ranks, was no fool: he sensed something was off, and as soon as Maretti began to turn the tables, turned them violently right back. Maretti ended up in pieces on the floor, his other bodyguard suspended from the banister of the staircase, and Sofia hurled across the room into a mirror, where she lay presumably dead. The demon left the restaurant a surge of flames in his wake. Had a civilian in the nearby shop not called 911 when he had, she would have died in the blaze.
It took 5 months in a coma for her to heal. The fractures in her back and neck and arms were set and mended, and the burns on her abdomen and arm tended to. She still carries the burns, stretching across her stomach and ribs and shoulder, curving down her back and onto her legs, never mind the numerous cuts and scars from years of fighting and being shot at. Maretti's successor left a vague sum of money to the hospital for her care, assuming she would be back on the front lines when she woke up; but after 5 months of waiting, he had given up any idealistic notion that she would be healed. It made paying off the doctors and medical examiners to inform the mob that she was dead quite easy. Sofia deposited a fair amount of the funds she had saved from her hits to the hospital, took the rest, and fled. No one was going to pursue a dead woman.
She had to start over completely, which was a trial in and of itself. All she knew how to do was kill and follow orders; a humbling job stocking in a grocery store was not high on her list of things to do. But it provided a crappy apartment and a few meals a day, and that was enough until she was fully healed. The neighborhood she moved into, in D.C., was certainly rough enough that she
at least had things to practice on. Within a few months, she was even fighting again.
With no one to fight for, her mind began to wander. She'd seen a lot of things working for Maretti, but never something that could tear a man in two and walk out without a scratch. So she started looking. It wasn't exactly something you found in a library book, and required weeks, months of digging. She neary lost herself to it, becoming immersed in a world she had never thought, never
conceived existed. Demons, ghosts, vampires, poltergeists. They were things out of B-list movies, not wandering the streets of New York. But as she researched, she began to look closer, and find them in more than just New York. A haunting here, a spirit there. She sought no revenge for Maretti or herself; only answers. But it was very difficult to obtain answers from things hell-bent on killing civilians—so she killed them first. It came second nature to her, after all. Her name began to have its own little reputation attached to it as she acquired weapons and information to take care of the baddies in her area. People began commissioning her, until her face became almost known for this sort of thing. And that was something a dead woman just couldn't have. She picked up and left.
The past few years have been spent learning her new trade, finding other hunters, honing her skills. Now she has access to the network, the Roadhouse (where she frequently resides when not on the job), and you'd never know her relative inexperience for how she acts.
physical
Height: 5'5" or thereabouts.
Weight: 125 of lean muscle, baby.
Hair: Dark brown to black, cut short around her chin. Usually via knife.
Eyes: Dark hazel-brown.
