MITCHELL, Andrea

[Andrea Mitchell]

[app] Andrea Renee Mitchell [/app]

[app]Full Name:[/app] Andrea Renee Mitchell
[app]Preferred Nickname/Alias:[/app] Andrea, Andi, Red
[app]Gender:[/app] Female
[app]Age:[/app] 41
[app]Sexual Orientation:[/app] Straight
[app]Member Group:[/app] Hunters
[app]Canon or Original:[/app] Original

Bombshell is a word that come to mind when people first see this buxom redhead. Cougar, also. Andrea's is a beauty that harkens back to days gone by where pin-up girls graced the exteriors of B-52s bombers and dancing to swings bands was the new rage. Waifish she is not, this lady has an hourglass of a figure with full bosom, cinched waist, and voluptuous hips.

Her lily white skin is soft and silken, hiding her age by at least ten years due to careful and devoted maintenance. Vibrant red hair that is usually kept at or just below shoulder length makes this woman stand out even more. Striking blue eyes and full lips that are kept tinted further add to the glam factor she uses just as much as armor as one might use a bullet proof vest. Her appearance is her armor and her weapon, often leading people (and things) into under estimating her.

[app]Face Claim:[/app] Christina Hendrix

[app]Likes:[/app]

• Fine wine and champagne
  
• Chocolate dipped strawberries, preferably Godiva
  
• Handsome men
  
• Sex
  
• Silk and satin
  
• Luxury in all it's forms
  
• Skinny dipping
  
• Dancing
  
• Traveling
  
• Fine clothes

[app]Dislikes:[/app]

• Getting dirty (unless it's by having fun)
  
• Frogs
  
• Snakes
  
• Bugs
  
• Being under estimated
  
• Breaking a nail (it REALLY pisses her off)
  
• Being scared (which is why she rarely lets it show)
  
• Rap music
  
• Bologna
  
• Goodbyes

[app]Strengths:[/app]

• Seduction
  
• Misleading looks
  
• Whip smart intelligence
  
• Handy with a gun
  
• Supernatural knowledge

[app]Weaknesses:[/app]

• Children - She'll go into Momma bear mode
  
• Curiosity - If something piques her interest she will follow through doggedly.
  
• Human - In a world of supernatural beasties and monsters she's just a run of the mill fragile human.
  
• Her (deceased) husband - She still loves him with all her heart.
  
• Chocolate

[app]Fears:[/app]

• Victoria stops selling her Secrets
  
• Being alone in the afterlife

[app]Secrets:[/app]

• Always wanted children but never tried again once her husband died. She wanted his children and no one else could ever live up to her ideal of him.
  
• Isn't as shallow as she lets people believe

[app]Habits and Quirks:[/app]

• Smokes - nasty habit
  
• Flirts - It's just second nature to her and she doesn't really even think about it. Most of the time it's just harmless and she enjoys the reaction out of the other person more than trying to get anything out of them.

[app]Overall Personality:[/app]

Charm. Sophistication. Seduction. She seems to just live and breath with that 'Jessica Rabbit' type sensuality. It isn't an act, it's just who she is. When a person deals with death as much as she has all her life you learn to value and enjoy the life that you do have because it could be cut short at any moment.

As stereotypical as it is she is a redhead with a fiery temper once it's been cut loose. Most things she can take in stride and smile her way through like the proper Southern lady she is but when that temper is flared she's a little hellcat with claws. Interesting side note: if she has to do something that breaks a nail or damages her manicure she tends to lose all patience and often loses her temper. It's just one of those weird Southern belle things. A pet peeve of hers.

She has pretty clear cut definitions for people as well. If you are a friend, you are a friend for life. But if you ever fall into that enemy category you are stuck there in the purgatory of her wrath for what might seem like forever. She can hold a grudge like nobody's business.

[app]Family:[/app]

• Husband: Ryan Mitchell - Deceased hunter
  
• Mother: Monique Bellerose - Deceased
  
• Father: Francis Bellerose - Deceased

[app]Overall History:[/app]

The Big Easy. New Orleans has always been a place that was rife with mysticism, legend, and rich culture. It is also a place where funerals are like parties, celebrating the life of the deceased while mourning their passing. The Bellerose Funeral Home was one of the most well known mortuaries in the city. It wasn't that they were the biggest or the richest but they had a personal touch, a subtle discreetness, and a flair for honoring the family's wishes to the most exacting specifications. It didn't hurt that they also had one of the best crematoriums in the area.

Andrea's father was also the coroner and worked closely with the local Law enforcement. She grew up an irascible child in the presence of death as a part of life. she was not phased by a dead body nor the processes that were required for prepping said bodies. And though she seemed to have a resolve of steel, she was never a tomboy. The fair skinned, ginger haired child was always a princess, wearing her frilly dresses and lace socks with her patent leather shoes. Ribbons, dressing up in her mother's clothes and shoes and playing with her make up and perfume was a favorite past time as was tea parties with beignets from Cafe du Monde and instead of tea a fine, frothy cafe au lait.

As a teenager there was a noticeable shift in perspective as boys now became an interest of hers. Was she the epitome of a good girl? Of course not. But she was discreet enough about her liaisons that it did not become fact known about town but gossip and speculation began not long after her curve began to blossom and far before she ever dipped her toes into the sensual pool.

Her early twenties were a flurry of romances and mistakes with a bad marriage thrown in for good measure that ended in divorce. But it was her mid twenties that she found the love of her life. She worked at the family funeral home, putting her business degree from Tulane to use in the office as well as helping with the other tasks as she earned her mortician's certification. There was a murder that her father was called out for but he was in the Caymans with her mother on vacation and she was the person on call, a deputy coroner under her father. It was at the crime scene that she met US Marshall Neal Gaines, at least that is the pseudonym he was using at the time.

Through a string of more and more bizarre murders that came their way in that case she grew more and more attracted to the handsome young man. Until the night she found his stash of fake IDs and badges. Woe is the man that incurs the anger of a redhead. Things were thrown and smashed and screaming ensued as she let him have it for lying to her and before the argument was even over they were tearing each others clothes off.

The next morning she realized she was in love with this man, Ryan Mitchell and that the cranky, surly man was a hunter of the supernatural. She didn't believe him at first of course, even after having fallen in love with him. Until they faced the creature doing the killings and it nearly took her too. He saved her and together they secreted the body to the crematorium and disposed of the body. There was a goodbye, hunters prone to being rolling stones and gathering no moss. But he did give her ways to contact him.

A few years passed with occasional trips through New Orleans and heated weekends spent enjoying one another with abandon. In her 29th year she had to contact him for another reason entirely. Both her mother and her father were dead, killed by some unknown thing and it was now stalking her. Bodies had been desecrated in the local cemeteries, pieces missing. Turned out that the voodoo zombies in the area were a bit more real than she ever imagined and one of the hoodoo priestesses thought she was a rival for a local man's attention.

Ryan saved her life and stayed with her as she put her family's estate to rest, taking over ownership of the funeral home and the house in the Garden District. He stayed longer and the two realized that as corny as it sounded life without each other was not worth living. They tied the knot and settled into the mansion-like home in New Orleans. There were enough jobs int he southeastern area that he could work close to home and she kept the business going while also making it available to hunters to discretely use the crematorium.

Over the years she learned about hunting and all that it entailed; summoning rituals, chants, Devil's Traps, what worked and did not work, the tools of the trade. He taught her to shoot and tried to teach her hand to hand but after a few broken fingernails and losing her temper over that and throwing things at him again he figured her temper would serve her better than anything. It became a well loved joke of theirs.

She met other hunters over time, paying attention when Ryan spoke with them, when she accompanied them on hunts, etc.. without ever seeming to pay attention. She had learned at an early age that people, men in particular, tended to under estimate a pretty face that seemed more concerned with her hair or nails or getting a dirt smudge out of her silk dress. It was one of her great advantages and great irritations.

Over the years she mourned many friends that passed in the line of duty. Private, respectable Hunter's Pyres, properly salted and consecrated were provided for fallen friends. Life went on, things were fought, people were save, some were not. She tried to give him children, to make a family of their own but it wasn't meant to be. That was always a secret pain of her own, a failure on her part, being unable to do the one thing that women have been doing since the dawn of time.

You could say it made her overcompensate a bit and like the song says "never let him forget that he's a man." for her husband. When the seals began to break, when Lucifer was making his bid to return to the earth her husband tried to stop it and died as a result. There was no one to help her bury him, only herself. She gave him a proper send off and kept the ashes, placing them in an urn she kept on the mantle of her sitting room. When he died it felt a part of her died as well.

There were other lovers over the years but none that touched her heart. She wasn't cold to any of them but none of them were more than a pleasant distraction or a friendly shag. Some were friends, some were strangers. Sex was a comforting act. It affirmed that we were still alive. It was the comfort of another human being and their warmth and soul. It was damn near a religious experience for her. There was no shame in the act in her eyes. But she still left with that empty place inside her that could never be complete with her Ryan.

Through the years she has maintained the funeral home, hired new help for it and mainly acts as consultant for other hunters. Rarely does she actively get involved in a hunt. She has her husband's journal and all his contacts still as well as his old cell phone just in case someone might need assistance. With the funeral home looked after she is free to indulge in travel and does so frequently be it for business or pleasure but New Orleans is always her home.

[app]Member Title:[/app] Cougar baby, meow

[app]Roleplaying Sample:[/app]

Drifting through the leather-bound planner that served as Ryan's contact list she dragged her well manicured fingernail down the page slowly, her eyes taking in the various names and aliases that had numbers off beside them. Many had a line of red ink drawn neatly through the middle of the letters, a sign that that Hunter was no longer living. So many names. So many lost in the constant fight against the darkness. Some took their job to much further extremes than others. She herself was a more open-minded sort. She had grown up in the cradle of the Gulf where mystery and voodoo was as common place as ghost stories and night blooming jasmine. The rich cultural heritage clung to the area and it's people the way the Spanish moss clung to the majestic and ancient oaks. And like those oaks the people of the Big Easy had stood the test of time, weathering all storms, natural and political. They were a quirky, resilient people.

Her finger stopped over one name and smiled to herself as she traced the blood red tip over the red line that ran through it. Under it were two more names that were attached to the one above. Ryan was always so meticulous in his record keeping. Winchester, John, it read along with his cellphone numbers and an ICE number as well, In Case of Emergency. The bold red line of ink through the name made her wistful. He'd been a hard man, that was for sure but every now and again she would catch that twinkle in his eyes, the merriment that lurked just under the surface and wanted a chance, an excuse to be unleashed. Of course that rarely happened until the alcohol came out and the boys were put to bed.

They had stayed with them once in the big house there in the Garden District. John and Ryan had been hunting Loa, voodoo spirits that people used to communicate with the Gods. A certain Hoodoo Priest had unleashed a nasty one to do his bidding and take out his enemies. While the men were out hunting she spent those sultry summer days with the two boys John had brought with him, his sons Dean and Sam. The elder she could tell would be a little heartbreaker when he was older. Even at such a young age he had perfected that devilish and knowing grin that simply made her chuckle with delight. The younger a soulful child that was quiet. She had taken them to the Audubon Zoo, a ride on the streetcar, and even a small tour down the notorious Rue Bourbon, careful to steer them past the more unsavory of establishments that were along the way to Jackson Square to the Cafe du Monde for their famous beignets and cafe au lait. They were charming boys. Damaged boys. But the life they lead was not an easy one.

She wondered then as she did now if that was not the reason that she had never been graced with children of her own. Flicking the ashes of her cigarette into the small crystal ashtray she looked up from the book and out over the railing of her balcony to the trees in the yard and the passing traffic. Hers was a lonely existence but one she could endure. She had found ways to deal with the solitude of having her other half ripped from her arms too soon. Part of it was to continue where he left off, to help others in need when she could, assist those that might need her, and to destroy evil when it raised it's ugly head. But she'd also found that enjoying the brief moments of life affirming comfort found in a lovers arms a balm to her soul. She never found love again, not the love she once shared with her husband, but she had found comfort, tenderness, excitement. Glancing into the bedroom at the bare chested man that lay sprawled across her satin sheets she smiled and flicked the cigarette over the edge of the balcony as she closed the planner. Wrapping her silk robe around her tighter against the sweet chill of the breeze as it danced through the moss and leaves she padded silently back into the bedroom, crawling up the bed, her hands skimming along warm flesh and hard muscle as her lips kissed a path up her lover's spine. Enough thoughts about the past for one evening. It was time to enjoy the present and the stubbled face that turned to brush against her now bared shoulder brought a smile to her face. Yes, this would do just fine.

---

[app]Player Name:[/app] Kay
[app]Player Age:[/app] an year older in a few days and closer to 40 than I want to be
[app]Years Roleplaying:[/app] over 20
[app]Where You Found Us:[/app] The Angelverse
[app]Other Characters:[/app] Sidney
[app]Favorite Supernatural Episode:[/app] Swan Song
[app]Favorite Supernatural Character:[/app] Still Bobby, though Garth is pretty funny too. As is Gabriel

[Briar]