"If you keep fucking around, I swear on my mother they will never find your body."'
Wendy used to be an artist, she made jewelry she made from metals and stones she found in the hills, and she peddled them to tourists and traders stopping through Primm. She supported herself just as her mother, her grandmother and all of her family before her did. She had a nice husband, a young son and a life that she was very pleased with, even happy with. She was a different woman back then, young, idealistic, sweet...and a if you ask her, a fool.
The whole of the Stipe clan lived in a family settlement, where everyone learned how to hold their own while scavenging for food, or supplies, you couldn't go mining without running into something scary, and Wendy was a pretty good shot-but there was word coming up that Caesar was looking to take over parts of their rural hill country for a fort, and Wendy, like the rest of her family, laughed it off, after all...nobody came this far south on purpose, unless they wanted to go see some broken down old rollercoaster.
It wasn't long before she and hers ran afoul of a contubernia of Legionnaires that folks had been talking about, they killed the old, and the men, but kept the women and children, some became slaves, and others new young recruits to be corrupted into monsters just like themselves. Wendy found herself minding the blacksmith's bellows, hard work shoveling the coal, scrap wood and brahmin dung into the fires day in and day out, she was to be seen and not heard, and to do anything else than what was expected of her, though little, was enough to gain unpleasant results.
At first she was overtly willful, she missed her family and her home, and she wasn't one to bow or beg- it was not in her nature. Subtlety was the key. But she did learn, not perhaps how the Legion wanted her to learn, but she did, accidents happened, the furnace was too hot, weapons become too brittle, things stayed in too long and exploded...
...Wendy had become a woman who no longer worried about the outcome of her own survival, but rather, one that wanted to make sure that if she was going to die, she was going to take as many jackals to hell with her when she went, either directly or indirectly. She probably would have been caught too, if she hadn't managed to escape after the Legion and the NCR had a skirmish that allowed many of the slaves free. Though Wendy used that serendipitous chance to do all she wanted to and more.
They found Wendy standing over the body of a decanus, NCR gun in hand, and the rest they say...is history.
For a decade she's proven her usefulness to the New California Republic, she rose up the ranks defending the Hoover Dam, showing promise in reconnaissance, she was always clever, when she had been young she traveled the foothills without fear and with silence, and she only honed her skills as a deceptive slave, with training, she became a force to be reckoned with. She gained her clout among the 1st Recon, gaining her double chevrons in Bitter Springs, without so much as batting an eyelash.
Of course no good deed goes unpunished, and while she rose in rank, she also got herself a partner, though she's not particularly fond of Corporal Hancock, three years has made him more tolerable to deal with than most, he's good at what he does and he has her back, and she has his. Which is all Wendy really can ask for. Though she wishes that at some point he'd act his age or station, but she's never been a woman known for her optimism.
Continuing Adventures Edit
At some point someone told Wendy you had to be cruel to be kind, and she took it to heart. She fancies herself like the world she lives in, unforgiving to those who do not know how to tread lightly, but ever willing to show mercy upon those with some sense. Everything else she regards with indifference for the most part, for really if she was being called to clean up something, there is usually no such thing as innocence where she has been summoned. Civilians or no.
To say the woman is prickly would be a disgrace to cacti everywhere, because she's far more cutting than even the harshest thing that came out of the Mojave. Colder as well. In fact there are many that say the temperature drops a few degrees when the Ice Queen of 1st Recon comes around, but even in the sweltering heat, no one really wants her around- she is humorless and devoid of mirth, blunt and toneless to the point that not even sarcasm can be picked up in her words. And she rarely choses to use her words when a slug of lead will do.
She does the dirty work for the NCR with a stoic grace that could be considered beautiful if not for the fact that she seems almost predatory, she's dangerous, but only because she seems utterly unpredictable with her overly composed gunslinging. She does not get angry, she shows so sign of pettiness or want for vengeance. For her duty is all that remains. Though she is loyal to the NCR, she is not always obedient, Wendy thinks of her own volition, and often interprets commands to keep people wondering whether or not she might someday turn her barrel on them. Then again, secretly, she enjoys her reputation.
Wendy however, is far more bluster than she lets on. Certainly she's a frightening creature to come across, with her dour face and her more than often dour mood to match it. But she takes jokes at her expense in stride, after all, they are nothing, just words used by small people in the attempt to weaken her, to humanize her, something that no one yet as managed.
Which might be why her partner Corporal Hancock is still breathing, but she's not above using fear tactics to keep him or anyone else in line. She is protective of her partner, while he's a lackadaisical thing and an annoyance, he gets the job done, which is really all she can ask of him. He's worth more alive than dead, and she'd rather the devil she knows than the one she doesn't...so his safety confirmed, woe be to whoever goes after that sorry bastard, because if anyone is going to kill him, it will be her. But on her own terms.
Wendy is not what you'd immediately think of when you think of a woman in the NCR, at first glance she has the beauty and composure that would be more fitting for a elegant casino songstress than a sniper. She moves like a femme fatale from a pre-War holotape, but a second glance while it might get you killed, it's apparent her grace seems to be more fitting for a jungle cat than a woman, and her beauty is tarnished with an expression of constant cold disdain for the world around her. She's tall at 5'10", and is deceptively muscle bound for her trade, she might very well be the type of dame the scholars meant when talks of mythology came around on the topic of Valkyries.