Chloe Grace Moretz
Name: Carrie Kelley
Gender: Female
Place of Birth: Place of Birth
Age: 18
Aliases: Tantrum
Origin: Human
Present Location: to come
Occupation: Crime Fighter
Team: Maybe Birds of Prey?
Alignment: ?
Significant Other(s): Significant Other(s)
Powers and Abilities: Powers and Abilities:
Portrayed by: Chloe Grace Moretz

Carrie Kelley's mother is a junkie who lives in a trailer park on the outskirts of Gotham City, where she raised her daughter in all the splendor the small cash stipend she could milk out of the government could afford. It was made clear to Kelley that she was a burden from a young age - her mother's favorite nickname for her was 'abortion'. Men would come and go out of her mother's life, usually whoever as supplying her with crank at the time. Carrie's mom usually didn't have a lot of cash, so she paid in flesh. Carrie found out that the library would let her stay all day, so she often spent the entire day there, hiding in the stacks and reading. Sometimes she managed to even stay overnight, ducking the janitor and sleeping amongst the books. Her mother didn't notice and she could eat from the stash of snacks under the library desk.

In school, she got good grades, but continually had 'attitude' issues. Having never been particularly mothered or taught to respect an adult, Carrie largely didn't and felt no compunction about talking back or disobeying if it suited her interests. Not to mention that she had a mouth like a sailor who stubbed a toe, sending her to the principal's office plenty. She forged her mother's name on the notice slips and didn't even tell her about the suspensions. What would be the point?

Carrie usually biked her way to school, not much liking the schoolbus. Plus, it was easier to ditch if she wasn't surrounded by a bunch of screaming heathens. Despite poor attendance, Carrie remained a teacher favorite, even if she never made a lot of friends at school. She listened to loud, screechy music and dressed kind of oddly, preferring to make up her own style than do whatever was cool or hip. As she entered her teenage years, she started thinking about getting into computers - she liked computers, spent all her time in the trailer on her laptop with a pair of headphones on, trying to ignore her mother - or maybe writing or doing music.

Then, when she was thirteen years old, a group of boys, teenagers, members of a street gang yanked her off her bike and pulled her into a building. Bad boys, violent boys, cruel boys. They beat her and abused her and violated her in every conceivable way. They kept her for four days, then left her lying in a gutter outside of a homeless shelter. She had three broken ribs, internal bleeding, bruising that made her almost unrecognizable. Five days later, in the hospital, she had a miscarriage for which she was thankful.

Her mother never showed. Just answered the cops questions cause she had to. Showing up would be taking responsibility and she didn't want the bill.

Even after the physical damaged healed to scars, Carrie wasn't right. After social services deemed her mother unfit, she was placed into the foster system. Or rather, she would be, after two years spent in Arkham Asylum. Nothing says "recovery from trauma" like being locked up with loons, psychos and supervillains. In the eyes of those madmen, though, she saw glimpses of the boys - the men - who had taken her. And, after a while, she did something, the one thing that made all the pain and self-hatred and nightmares go away.

She beat the crap out of one. A weasel nicknamed Carp, who constantly tried to peek under her robe or sneak a grab of her in the lounge. By the time they pulled Carrie off of him, she'd been off part of his nose and spit it into his face. She got sent to solitary for that one. It was worth it. She slept like a baby.

She knew what she had to do. From then on, she calmed herself down, answered the questions she was supposed to answer, told them what they wanted to hear. She took their pills and she learned to fake a smile. And eventually she earned her way out.

She knew she needed to learn. The foster family she was in was shitty, but she didn't ask much of them and mostly helped out, so long as she got what she wanted. She went to the community center and signed up for boxing classes and tai chi and even 'adult gymnastics', anything that could help make her better, faster, stronger. She lifted weights, although it didn't much help given her size. She learned to focus more on speed and agility.

And weapons. She didn't want to kill people - angry as she was, she wasn't sure she had that in her. But even as a kid, she'd been wicked with a slingshot, knocking out windows in abandoned trailers when she was bored. And she found an old nightstick, a police one that got dropped in an alley and left behind. She dyed it red. And, when she felt the nightmares start to come back, when she felt the old memories sh iver…when she saw a man with the eyes of a predator looking her way…she knew it was time to act.

She ran away. Living on the streets, she's eking out a living and, at night, she hunts. She hunts men who hurt women. She hunts them and makes them by. She sometimes screams as she does it and she always, always stomps the living hell out of them. She found a nice set of cleats for the job. She calls herself Tantrum. It seems to fit nicely.

IC Events

None Yet (if you want to wiki-fu a module to list logs, the code can be provided). This is extra writing presently to taste the parameters of this field in relation to the hanging box and see if I write too far that the box might cover up some of this text.


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