Outfit (Including Accessories or Jewelry): Black suit with a straight blue tie, black bowler hat (think of a stereotypical mafia member), plain black pants with pockets, and an old pair of black firefighter gloves.
Other Appearance Info:
Two burn wounds, one near the upper left shoulder area and one on the lower right back. A new burn wound on their left forearm.
Backstory:
“I used to visit the station a lot as a kid, you know…
There was this firefighter there, I think his name was Derrick or something. All I remember about him was that he was nice. I was really curious about their supplies, still am of course, and he would show them to me. I wanted to see it in action obviously, but he wouldn’t turn it on or anything , and our area didn’t really have any fires in it. It was shame, but I had an idea.”
“My father smoked, he had a lot of half-used lighters across the house, which were… really. . . pretty. I couldn’t flick it properly, I’d end up getting a small burn on my finger if I tried to, but . . .
It’s hard to explain an invention like that, you know? You push the top part with your fingers back, and you hold down the button, then the flame comes sprouting out, revealing its wings… it’s an absolute marvel…”
Someone’s hands audibly clap over what sounded like a microphone, allowing through only what sounds vaguely similar to a man’s voice, although coarse enough someone on the other end could hardly tell it was a human.
The microphone was let go. The other person responds
“Right, one second”
“I was planning this for quite some time. I lived right next to that forest, where the bush in question was at the entrance of, and I decided that I would sneak out and …”
“I’m sure you see where this is going.”
"The sparks. The fire majestically rising, and using the world around it as its fuel. The tips of it gnawing off the bark as it gets engulfed and added to the flame, and watching it decimate everything in its path…
. . .
“He died that day, you know. The one I keep talking about? It’s a shame, he didn’t have a family or anything but…”
“That’s just what it does. At least he died a proper death. Same could be said about those in the area.”
“That’s who I got the gloves from, you know. The ones I’m wearing.”
The microphone gets audibly covered. The corase voice speaks, before the softer one continued after a short break
“Near my shoulder and on my lower back.”
The man spoke “And where did you get th…”
The microphone was loudly cupped, before the other voice continued, seemingly uncaring
The microphone was let go midway through the sentence.
“…strange woman in a coat. Gave it to me right after my house got completely ingulfed. I’m not sure if it was a sick joke, or if she knew… I’d assume both.”
The man audibly moved to cover the microphone, then suddenly stopped, then spoke “Is that all?”
“Yes.”
“Interviews over.”
. . .
. . .
. . .
“Dear Eirene.”
“You have received an official government pardon for the murder of Derrick Brimson, and the destruction of Vila Forest and nearby properties. This has been granted due to the taking down the leader of The Aces, effectively neutralizing the gang.”
“Vigilante justice will not be taken lightly in the future, and neither will acts of arson. Consider this your first and last warning. Do not show this to anyone. Do not claim that you did any of these acts. Do not claim that the you were pardoned for any crime. Witness protection services will be offered.”
“…”
Slow, methodical footsteps come from behind Eirene, turning around, she only sees her.
“Who the hell are you!?”
The woman looked at her, smiled, and walked off.