Bernia-Claude Prosper!

Glory, may your endless mercy endure for eternity.

Another wretched soul, Bernia-Claude Havilah Prosper, sits beneath a skeletal, starless night once more.
Just call her Flint. She doesn't deserve the good graces of her given name.

Flint's ma handed him a Victoria VII sixgun when he was in his teens, see. All the while babbling somethin' or other 'bout how pa was sick and, one day, Flint's gonna play doctor with 'im to get 'er and ma out of the hell they live in.
That shiny sixgun was gonna make little Flint a better man than pa ever was. That's what mama said. A protector, a guard dog, a gal with a gun and a safe future with just her n' her old ma; no more screaming matches or tossin' bottles or bein' too chicken 'cause pa's fists are clenched and the veins look like they're gonna pop off his hands like fucking cap guns.
Sure, ma was drunk off her ass and in hysterics, but it felt like the first time Flint was actually seen by her ma, get it? Anything was better than being a nuisance, ain't it?

So, Flint took the shot when her parents were in the middle of a pretty bad argument; her first kill at sixteen. Felt like the world stopped to gawk at pa's rotten ass corpse, y'know.
Ma was huggin' her. Suffocatin' her with those thick curls of hers, really. Yakking on and on 'bout better lives and the dough they'd have and how Flint was a hero. Hah. Felt almost liberating if you ignore the fear and shock.

Now, look at Flint. Can't even remember either of their faces or his childhood home. Fucking hell. He's a stars-damned mess.
Couldn't get his act together and study 'cause he was high off the power that came with pa's death. The bullet changed everything in less than a second, really.
Heh. Flint can't hold a fucking job either, clearly. He was forced to do odd jobs as a gun-for-hire until he landed in the wretched graces of Lonnie Lincoln recently, that useless bitch, who — Stars, forgive him — had explained their contract by appealing to Flint's desires so much, the gun-slinger found it ridiculous to say no.

…Especially not with a kid at home who deserved the childhood Flint never got, see. She could finally put a safe and comfortable future in Keemia's grubby lil' mitts after all of their sufferin', and all old Flint had to do was to do what she did best? Hey, stranger, sign her up, why don'tcha? Better than being homeless!
Fuckin' dumbass ol' Flint fucking herself over again. Got the whole story all twisted again.
She's tried so many damn times to just— end the contract, but that shark of a man won't let her, yappin' 'bout potential and mutations; some freaky ass Weapon X-sounding shit Flint wants no part in, hear? Now, she's neck deep in this whole mess with no end in sight.

Glory be to the stars. This was destined the moment her ma went 'n handed her that sixgun, yeah? Hah. Hahahah. What a sick fuckin' joke.
Fuck. FUCK. Damn it all.
Oh… Flint's really gonna die and rot like this, ain't she?

Attributes

Abilities

• Sand manipulation
  A commission to Lucille Deckard by Lonnie Lincoln. Flint's body can turn into sand at will. It gets stronger when there's more sand around and weaker with water (and heat), as you'd expect. Greatly dislikes acknowledging the fact she can do this because it freaks her out.
• Superhuman strength, durability, and endurance
• Flight(?)
  Well, if there's a serious wind blowing and Flint's in sand form, she can fly... kind of. More like gliding, really.
• Mastery of sharpshooting
• Mastery of hand-to-hand combat

Equipment

• Victoria VII Model Revolver
  A trusty revolver still in superb condition after all these years. Flint's unsure if this is a lucky gun, considering she mostly uses it for... work.
• Other spare guns and weapons

Notes

• Tall. ~6'1 (185.42 cm).
• Stands proud and tall all of the time. Chest puffed, triangular and sharp shapes, what-have-you.
• You can omit the cowboy hat, if you want.
• Freckles and scars litter her body.
• Might have some bandages with cartoon characters on them because Keemia likes to help make her feel better. You can include those, if you wish.
• Has a very... cowboy fashion sense. Really digs the cowboy look.
• Might be smoking a cigarette.

Trivia

• Favorite food is cookies-n-cream ice cream. Reminds her of pleasant memories at the fair. Sometimes heats up the ice cream a bit in the microwave if it's "too cold."
• Not into country all that much. More of a classic rock and 'old, soft, romantic vinyl record music' guy, if anything, but doesn't enjoy listening to music unless she's at home because she finds it too disruptive.
• Can't drive. Relies almost exclusively on trains and other public transport. Maybe for the better.
• Accidentally softly growls at people sometimes. Has zero clue she does this and no one will tell her.
• According to Keemia, Flint is "the most grown-up grown-up to ever grown-up."
• Tech-illiterate. She uses her laptop to do her job and her phone(s) to call people, not much more than that. Ask her to open file directory and she'll fold. Suspiciously, she can blog just fine.
• Usually a very serious woman while working. Not around Keemia though. She's a goofball.
• Throws sand at people who piss her off while off-duty. Refuses to stop because she finds it funny.
• Kind of woman to pray before committing violent crimes or doing drugs.
• Takes care of Keemia's plushies whenever she can while the kid's not around. Usually, she idly chats with them while doing chores. Yes, she remembers all of their names and how they're supposed to be washed.
• Not a mom friend. More like a... gruff divorced dad friend.
• Amazing at flirting and other romantic/sexual encounters, but doesn't know this and thinks she's making a fool of herself 99% of the time. Somehow both suave and shy.
• Matches outfits with Keemia sometimes. The two of them dress up as cowboys most of the time because cowboys remind Keemia of her mom and Keemia loves her mom.