Description: Abby "Sully" Sullivan is a woman in her late twenties. She's tall, about 5'9", and kind of plain looking. Nondescript hazel eyes, hair that isn't quite brown or blonde, though there are some highlights in it that have been growing out. She's slim and athletic, keeping in shape for her job as a stunt driver and (sometimes) stunt double.
Sully hated the swamp. It did horrible things to her complexion - things the makeup artists had to sigh and fuss over on the days when Sully's face might actually end up on the dailies in the course of filming. It got top billing. How could a movie called Swamp Gators! (exclamation point included) be filmed anywhere else? Still, she hated it, and so she went out in it as little as possible.
Sully had a rare day of no stunt work coming, so she stayed up late playing video games to burn slowly through her excess energy until she could sleep. She didn't hear Titan whining, with her headphones on. Eyes fixed on the screen, finger twitching on her mouse as she spun through a wasteland of urban ruin, shooting zombies. She jumped when his cold nose hit her arm. "Gah!"
Another clip emptied into a pursuer, another bump of his nose, and she just heard him whining over the groans being pumped into her ears. Sully whipped the headphones off and glared at her dog. He whined. "Titan, no. You just went out, stupid dog!" The akita whined. His tail did not wag. Sully paused, headphones in her hand, and then she heard it. Thump. It sounded like something tipped against her front door. The dog whined again, quietly, his eyes on her face. The noise came again. Thu-thump. The dog's ears flattened against his skull, and he growled.
Sully glanced at her computer screen and cursed silently as she saw her health meter empty. They'd gotten her, she might as well go investigate. "All right, buddy. Hang on." She slipped her feet into the well-worn running shoes she kept under the desk and got up, heading for the front door. She was almost there when she heard the scratch, like nails dragging down the treated wood. It was up high, where a person would scratch.
The hairs on the back of her neck stood up, and she paused. Equally unnerved and cursing herself for a fool, she changed course and went to her bedroom, reaching for the machete she kept in her closet. Stupid game. She reached for the doorknob, twisted it open, and Titan shot past her, hitting...something square in the chest. Both her dog and the thing went down, the akita growling ferociously. . . .
. . .Sully put the durango in reverse and looked at TItan, biting her lip. Seeing him secured in his doggy safety harness calmed her somehow, even if there were still traces of blood on his muzzle. It had splattered fantastically. Her knuckles relaxed slightly on the steering wheel. "Easy, Abby." She murmured. "Never drive anxious." She must have looked odd, brownish blonde hair up in a ponytail, leather driving jacket over her sweats and tshirt - not to mention the machete strapped to her back. Bless that jungle safari movie. Despite it she looked focused, and determined. Hadn't she always known it would happen like this? Sully touched the beretta M9 in her waistband for reassurance, and then started driving.