Kayla Winchester

[Studio CEO]

KAYLA WINCHESTER

slapped my face and he shook me like a rag doll
Don't that sound like a real man?
I'm gonna show him what little girls are made of
Gunpowder and lead


Every night I say a Prayer
<<< ...in the hope there is a Heaven>>>
~~ w h o a r e y o u ~~

Full name; Kayla Murdough Winchester
Nicknames; Kay, KayKay, Firecracker, Mamma Bear
Age; 33
Gender; Female
Sexual orientation; Heterosexual
Allegiance & Species;Good. Leader of Camp Muinin Dochas. Vessel of God
Face claim; Amy Acker

Every day I'm more confused
<<< ...as the Saints turn into Sinners>>>
~~ d i g g i n g d e e p e r ~~

Height; 5'3
Weight; 110
Tattoos/Piercings/special marks; Ears pierced once, various small scars here and there, one large scar along her inner right arm, and a protection tattoo on her left shoulder blade
Likes;

• The outdoors | She grew up in a rural, agricultural area. She's at home in the wilds and loves it there.
  
• Animals| Always been a sucker for a stray, loves horses, does hunt and fish like any self respecting country girl but she respects wildlife as well
  
• Good Bourbon| She's from Kentucky. Home of Bourbon.
  
• Music| All kinds, preferences to country of course, likes listening and playing and singing.
  
• Cooking| It's a family tradition.
  

Dislikes;

• Abusive people| especially men, was in an abusive relationship
  
• Violence/Arguing| Raised voices and violence flip a switch inside her. She tries to keep a cool and calculating head about her but is quick to put a stop to it one way or another.
  
• Drunks| they're either violent, weepy, or grabby she deals with them too much in the places she works
  
• Uppity people| Snobbish people that think they are better than everyone else. It's so rude
  
• Expensive wine| Just tastes like vinegar to her
  

Hopes; That things will get better, that somehow, someway. That Dean isn't dead like she thinks. and that she can keep everyone in her camp alive and safe
Fears; Her camp and the survivors falling, Something happening to her child, that she will become one of the monsters that they fight.
Habits; Biting her bottom lip when nervous, compulsively checking/cleaning her gun, paranoidly checking the perimeter of the camp. crying in her sleep, nightmares.
Special skills/Powers/Abilities; Growing up on a farm she learned a lot of life skills that would help her later in life. She was hunting with her Granpa and Dad and brother from the time she could raise a bow and a rifle and is an excellent hunter, a crack shot with bow and arrow as well as guns. She can kill it, skin it, clean it, and knows how to preserve it if need be as well as cook it. Fishing is an old friend as well. She's like a woodland creature in the wilds, fast, and silent and can climb a tree like a squirrel. She knows how to live off the land and find medicinal herbs and other basic things for healing and eating as well as using to get by. She knows how to distill moonshine as well.

She can muck a stall, groom a horse, tend to chickens, rope a calf, and hog-tie. She can plant a garden, make it grow and has a green thumb, able to grow just about anything from seed, seedling, or cuttings. Hanging out with her brother and the other men folk she learned rudimentary mechanic skills but nothing beyond the basics. Just enough to know when something isn't working right or hotwire a vehicle if she loses her keys thanks to the old farm truck that they used that had no key.

But her Momma and Grams made sure she learned the domestic arts as well. Cooking, sewing, mending, homeopathic medicine, knitting. Music was also a huge part of her life. Her whole family was musical. It was a way to pass those long country nights. She learned to play piano, guitar, banjo, and fiddle and she sings well too.

She never was much for languages but she did learn a bit of the 'old language; as her Granpa called it. Gaelic to most people. She's not totally fluent. It was spoken a lot around the homestead but she never learned to read or write in it.

Other life skills were part of the every day life, such as swimming in the summer, climbing, camping, dancing, horseback riding, and more. Church taught her values and morals as well and versed her in the Good Book rather well (from a southern baptist point of view that is).

She has the special knife of her Grandfathers. The cold iron blade in the stag's horn hilt gleams with Enochian symbols that are etched into it, the blade blessed by an old order of monks. The blade has the power to exorcise a demon from it's human host instantly. It doesn't kill the demon though, just forces it out of the body. It also works well on ghosts because it is cold iron and the blessed quality is effective against anything evil that cannot tolerate holy objects.

Her blood has special properties as well, infused with the purity and power of her lineage. It's more of a curse than a blessing, drawing evil to her like a magnet. From wicked magic users that could use the blood in rituals to creatures like vampires that are drawn tot he scent of it, to restless spirits that seek her out for whatever reason it does little to aid her.

She has healing abilities thanks to her time of being the vessel of God. With Heaven closed and God AWOL her ability to heal is limited and only used in dire circumstances.

As a residual effect from sharing space with a God for so long she is more resistant to disease and more resilient than a normal human. She is as fast as she ever was but her strength is better than a woman her size should have. It's not monster-like or godly but stronger than she should be.

She has a extensive knowledge of things supernatural, knowing how to make Devil's traps and banishing sigils as well as thorough knowledge about various creatures. She's by no means an expert but she is a true Hunter.



Style preference;
At all of 5'3 and barely weighing 105 soaking wet, Kayla is a tiny little woman. The smooth skin of her face and the little dimples in her cheek provide the pallet for her most distinguishing features; her big, brown, puppy dog eyes and her huge, radiant smile when it shows. She's known to blush fairly often and in doing so ducking her head, letting her long, loose waves of warm brown hair fall forward to shield her visage. Her manner of clothing is fairly typical for her tastes; a simple button up shirts with a white tank top underneath, a pair of well worn blue jeans with the knees beginning to thin, a brown leather belt that cinches her small waist and holds the sheath of her knife, and a pair of dusty, old, worked, brown cowboy boots. She is quiet as she moves and graceful, not wanting to attract attention to herself.

She's fond of girly clothes as well. Dresses that one might wear to church that are modest and feminine as well as more elegant, stylish dresses. Not that there's much use for dresses these days.

She keeps her hair pulled back in a ponytail or otherwise out of her eyes. Everything is kept pretty simple, her concerns on bigger things.

All the Heroes and Legends I knew as a child
<<< ...have fallen to idols of clay>>>
~~ w h e r e d o y o u c o m e f r o m ~~

Hometown;Winchester, KY (ironic, no?)
Mother;Kathleen Murdough Housewife/Mother
Father; Patrick Murdough Farmer/Hunter
Siblings; Connor Murdough (older brother)
Others; Lots of cousins, Uncles and Aunts, Shane and Kayla Murdough (grandparents), Sean Murdough (cousin), Dean Winchester - Husband, John Connor Winchester - son, Sam Winchester - Brother-in-law, Adam Milligan - Brother-in-law, Kristen Milligan - Sister-in-law, Neices & Nephews - Lily and Chris Milligan, Anny, Robby, and Brad Winchester, Bobby Singer - (adopted Uncle/Father Figure)
Current location; Camp Muinin Dochas
History; From the time she could walk Kayla was helping on the family farm in Winchester, Kentucky, a rather rural community. It had always been in her family, passed from father to son as the generations grew. She was the baby of the family, the little girl but she was always all tomboy. She'd help her mother feed the animals and gather the eggs, pulling weeds in her chubby little toddler hands. And, even from a very young age she was stuck to her brother like glue.

As she grew older she learned to do other things, driving the tractor or the old farm truck around to the pastures, pitchin hay, mucking stalls, hard work but she always loved it. It was simply her way of life, all she knew. She was no stranger to riding horses, camping in the rough (no RVs here!) , hunting, field dressing the kill, roping cattle, sheering sheep, swimming in the creek, all those prosaic farm life activities that they took for granted.

As with most others in the little community she attended church regularly, Sunday morning and night as well as Wednesday night. All the pot luck dinners and lock-ins were normal and looked forward to. She even sang in the choir though she was shy when asked to sing a solo. She had a lovely voice but something about being up in front of all those people and seeing them looking back at her made her stage shy.

She was a bright student, always on the honor roll and took part in the usual activities that were common at her school, 4-H, FFA, and others. Every year she showed goats in the county fair and participated in the barrel racing and calf roping. She was just a tiny little slip of a thing but she had heart and determination, not to mention a sunny personality that endeared her to those that knew her. She was the quintessential girl next door with a strong tomboy streak.

At thirteen her grandfather gave her a special present; his old knife. It was a special knife, he said, had saved his life more than once. He'd found it in WWII when he and his unit were over in Europe fight Nazi's. He told her the story of how they'd come across the nearly destroyed church (in reality it was more of a monastery) and most of the building had been reduced to rubble. But the blade glinted in the light of the moon, half buried in the rubble near the altar. It was a beautiful piece; stag's horn handle with intricate designs carved into the horn and polished, the blade made of iron and sharp.He said he'd never had to sharpen it much over the years though, good craftsmanship he claimed.

From that day on she took to wearing it everywhere on her belt in a sheath. It became a staple of her wardrobe and that wasn't so unusual given where she lived. Everyone carried knives and had gun racks in the back windows of their pickups. She took it everywhere with her except for church. The brown leather belt didn't really go with her dresses, her mother had told her gently.

At sixteen she got her first job, working as a cashier at the Piggly Wiggly. She was a natural, friendly and chatty and made friends with everyone that came through, learning and using their names. Often the little old ladies that were regular customers would bring her a slice of homemade pie or some fresh banana bread they'd made to have with her lunch.

Graduation came and went and she did not go off to college despite having the grades for it. It just cost too much and her folks needed her help on the farm now that her brother was gone away to college. She continued working both at the Piggly Wiggly and on the farm, no stranger to hard work.

At twenty-one she went to work at the local watering hole, Cooter Browns, more honky tonk than pub.It was great fun, the music, the crowds. She was good at handling those touchy feely customers and deflecting their advances and propositions smoothly without causing drama. She was attentive and able to sweet talk men out of fights that would break up the bar and would cause the evening (and the tips) to go south. Those drunks that tried to leave with their car keys in their hands were smoothly taken care of, either a cab called or sometimes she even drove them home herself to make sure they got there safe. It was the kind of town where everybody knew everybody. At times the band would pull her up on stage to play with them or sing. She was pretty good with a guitar or a banjo or a even the fiddle. It was easier to perform up there with the crowd in darkness and the lights in her eyes but there was still some shyness about it.

But her life began to change irrevocably the night -he- walked in the bar. She first noticed those beautiful baby blue eyes as he sat at the bar, watching her move around the room. He never made an untoward advance nor tried to play any grab ass but rather, spoke to her with the utmost respect and kissed no more than her hand when he asked her to dance. He was the perfect gentleman. That night he waited till the bar closed and took her to breakfast. They became inseparable soon after him always coming to the bar to see her, taking her out to eat after the shift, treating her like a lady.

At the ripe age of twenty-five she fell in love. But as all honeymoons come to an end so did theirs. At first it was small things, being jealous or making the mean comment here or there about her clothes or her hair or her cooking or housekeeping. He started accusing her of flirting in the bar, coming in and drinking more heavily. Nothing violent, except that one time when he was very drunk. She wrote it off as an accident, telling herself it had to be, that he was drunk and had been clumsy, moving when she was and backhanding her across the cheek.

But, it was just the start. Over the years that they were engaged things got worse. She learned to cover the bruises and make excuses. She knew it was wrong and knew she didn't deserve it but.. she loved him. She couldn't leave him.

One fateful night when he took he to the movies things came to a head. He'd been acting strange all day but it was a sweet strangeness, flirting with her, grabbing her bottom or slapping it playfully as she passed by, stealing kisses and touches. Outside the theater he turned to her, and smiled, his eyes utter black. No blues, no whites, just a slick, oily black.

His hand come back and with a smile on his beautiful lips he punched her in the face, not a slap like usual, but a punch. People were standing around, they saw what was happening but no one moved to help, like they were frozen. He kept punching and she struggled, trying to get away but with the size difference she wasn't able to. As he straddled her and wrapped his hands around her throat, cutting off her air she fumbled around, feeling the knife on her belt. Without thinking, she struck out in that primitive fight or flight instinct and rammed the knife into his gut and upward, the tip of the knife piercing the bottom of his heart even as the blade split his insides.

Before the dark oblivion of unconsciousness took her she saw him throw his head back, his mouth seeming to open wider than it should have and a long, swirling plume of what appeared to be black smoke shot out of him and raced skyward. When his head dropped back down her last thought before she passed out was that his eyes were blue again. Dead and blue.

When she came to she was in a hospital room, on a bed and she was looking up at the Deputy. But when she tried to sit up she noticed that her hand that held the IV was handcuffed to the bed. A State Trooper was there too, they were saying that she was being charged with manslaughter. She tried to protest to tell them to ask the witnesses, that she was defending herself but was told that those people that were outside all said they couldn't remember what happened. One moment the couple was there the next he was dead.

She was arraigned once she was healed enough to be released from the hospital, the grand jury finding enough cause to send the case to trial. her father bonded her out and took her home that night but as soon as she arrived he and her brother took her out to the barn. Inside was the old beat up farm truck that hadn't seen a road in years, nothing but fields and farm tracks passing under it's wheels.

They'd fixed it up, put new tires on it, and gassed it up. Inside was a bag with her clothes in it and another smaller one with all the money they could pull together in it. A temporary tag was in the back window, her father had gotten it from his high school buddy that ran the used car lot downtown, a few more were in the bag with money, the expiration date blank so that she could switch them out. The truck was registered to no one or nothing.

"You run babygirl." he'd told her "You run and don't you look back. I won't let them send you to the chair in that kangaroo court."With many tears and hugs and kisses she bid her family goodbye and hit the road, heading south.

This was the start of her journey into discovery. Along the way she learned many things about the supernatural and eventually found her Guardian Angel, Gabriel, as well as the Winchester gang of Team Free Will. She fell in love with Gabriel and he with her and they were going to be married, despite Lucifer trying to change things.

But it was not meant to be. She had a bigger destiny and the chances of bringing about the Anti-Christ was too much of a chance if she was to have a child with Gabriel. She found out that she was the Vessel of God, a descendant of the line of the Virgin Mary, having the blood of the pure within in and one of the only beings ever to be able to contain the power of the Holy Host. She was God's hands and voice on Earth.

And for that reason she was called away and disappeared for months. When she returned she had no memories of who she was or her past, not even her own name as she crashed to the earth, leaving a crater in the ground and obliterating the evil that was attacking Bobby Singer's house and those within. Her appearance was different completely, appearing as the woman Andrea Moss had.

Over time she gained back new memories and learned bit by bit who she was and of her past. She also had memories of Andrea's floating around in there which lead her to kiss Dean in an attempt to recall some of those memories one day and the jolt that went through her (and him), changed her life.

Over time and through many hardships and trials they fell in love. One fateful trip to the Florida Keys sealed the deal and they eloped on the beach.

When the end came he didn't know she was actually pregnant, something she had hoped for and wished for but never thought possible. She had wanted to tell him but there was never a chance. And the the battle came. It was chaos and destruction as the Leviathan descended on Bobby's house and the fighting was brutal. The group was divided, each fighting their own assorted evils on opposite sides of the house. In the end a rocket was launched into the house and a massive explosion took place.

It was so intense and destructive that those on either side of the house believed the other to be dead. There was just no way that anyone could have survived that. Injured and bleeding and destroyed from believing that her husband, the love of her life was dead she and the other survivors straggled out of the area, fleeing the Leviathans to live to fight another day. They struck out to the east fighting their way through Croat infested areas and through demons and monsters of all kinds.

They lost some along the way and gained some as well but eventually they made it to the Murdough farm in Kentucky. There she found that her brother, father, and grandfather were missing, her mother and grandmother dead, and her cousin Sean barely alive. They took what they could, supplies, animals, vehicles, gas, food, anything they could load up and take and with Sean headed out to the more remote areas of the state.

Camp Muinin Dochas was formed in the lowlands of the Appalachian Mountains where Tennessee and Kentucky met. It was there that they bunkered down and hid out, surviving and struggling. It was there that her son, John Connor, was born.

Over the years more people came to be part of the camp and some where lost defending it and scouting for it and on supply runs. They looked to her as a leader. She had changed, the tenderness she'd once had all but destroyed by the turn of events. She was harder, stronger, able to make more crucial and critical decisions that she would never want to make. But these people depended on her and she couldn't let them down...couldn't let them die. She rules the camp with an iron fist but a fair one as well.

Fiercely protective of her son she has turned to those closest to her to help raise him, making sure he had a support network in the event that something happened to her. His rate of growth was staggering, the wolf blood in him from his father making him age faster, be tougher, harder to hurt. That, at least, was a bonus. Her son was too much like his father. stubborn and strong willed and fiercely protective of his mother as well.

Here they struggle to survive, to keep life growing on earth until the day they can find a way to destroy or banish the Leviathan.

And I feel this empty place inside
<<< ...so afraid that I've lost my Faith>>>
~~ w h e r e a r e y o u g o i n g ~~

Your name;Agent K
Your timezone;EST.
Role Playing experience; Since 1993
Contact; PM
Role Play sample;It's just a roadblock. It's just a roadblock. The thought ran through her mind as she waited in line, her palms wet on the steering wheel in fear, gripping it tightly. She'd managed to make it all the way to just about New Orleans with no incidents. It had been too easy, like someone up there was clearing the path for her. She should have known it wouldn't be that easy.

She put on a big, bright smile as she rolled up in line in the old, beat up pickup. Most of the bruises were faded and some covered decently by the make-up she wore but anyone could still tell she had taken some pretty good hits.

The patrolman shined his light into the cab of the truck and adjusted his hat a little as he looked in at her. "Looks like you had a bit of a rough time of it ma'am." he says, suspicious of her bruises as he flashes the beam of light around the cab and spies the dufflebag of clothes on the other seat.

Inside she was terrified but you couldn't tell it looking at her. She just lifted a shoulder in a small shrug and her smile turned a bit sheepish. "Yeah well...thems the breaks." she says. "Was barrel racing down in Gulf Port at the county fair. Happened to pull an honery ole filly that decided she was done for the night and she bucked me off and right into a barrel." she says and twirls a strand of hair around a fingertip.

The officer looked at her and grinned. "Not a bright horse was it?" he says as he leans his arm against the window of the truck. "Bucking something as fine as you off in midride."

She waggles a finger and looks a bit offended "Now now officer. I didn't come here for none of that. I'm just takin some time off to go see my granny in the Garden District, not looking for heartache." she gently reprimands him. The officer reaches up to fidget with his hat, looking a bit chastised but still amiable. "Sorry 'bout that ma'am. I didn't mean no offense." he says.

She patted his arm lightly and smiled "None taken." She watched as the officer took a notepad out of his breast pocket and wrote something on it, tearing it off and handing it to her. "I won't be keepin ya ma'am. I can tell you haven't been drinking." He nods to the paper. "But if you want a guided tour of New Orleans while you're in town I'd be happy to show you around." he says and smiles, tipping his hat to her as he steps back and waves her through.

She threw him her big ole sweet smile and finger waved as she drove off, not breathing that huge sigh of relief till she lost sight of the roadblock in her rear view mirror.
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