Roisin Gallagher - Ireland

Name – Roisin "Rosy" Gallagher
Country of Origin – Ireland
Age – 29
Birthday – March 17
Job – Assistant Director of the PEC

Personality – Roisin does not appear to be a threatening person. She is usually seen smiling, if a bit distant. It isn't very easy to read her, because she keeps her emotions to herself. She is happy to take care of anyone else, but she lives on the premiss that she can take care of herself. She is a damn hard worker and cannot stand being idle for long periods of time. The results of her boredom are not pretty. She often teases the people she loves, but is bitingly sarcastic with people she doesn't. Long periods of silence make a sense of melancholy grow in her, so she usually fills silences with humming. She has also been known to do this when carrying out assassinations, to disturbing effect. She seems outwardly unaffected by the gruesomeness of the job, another somewhat disturbing aspect of her personality.

Do. Not. Piss. Her. Off. Despite how calm she usually is, she has an explosive and violent temper. And her anger lingers. She can hold grudges for years. When she Promises pain, she delivers. The surest way to incur her wrath is to hurt someone close to her. She tends to see herself as an older sister figure. Most slights against herself she can let pass. In fact, she is generally unconcerned with her own well-being, to the point that people say that she actively seeks out risky circumstances. It has caused some concern.

Reason for Recruitment - Sweet, little Roisin was once a major, if unwilling factor in the Dublin drug rings. She learned the ins and outs of the criminal world. The PEC offered a way to cut all of her ties with the drug lords and let her use her knowledge to put them away. She took it, and has been and brutally efficient member ever since.

Appearance – Roisin is a very petit woman, standing only 5' 2" tall. Her body is slender but her bust and hips are generously curved. Her skin is pale and dusted with freckles, the most prominent of which are on her face. Her eyes are a brilliant shade of emerald green and bear a somewhat piercing quality. Her hair is a fiery red and falls in tumbling curls. She keeps it pulled but when out in the field but often leaves it down when back at the base. When she doesn't need to appear professional, she prefers to wear oversized sweaters (usually green ones) and go barefoot.

History – Roisin was born into a decent family, the only girl out of four siblings. She was a very bright and lively child. She adored her family and doted on her surely little brother, despite his antisocial tendencies. As a child, she was always studying everyone around her, and loved people watching. Unfortunately, her simple life was brought to an abrupt halt when her parents were killed in a car wreck. None of her relatives were able to afford taking in all four of their children so she was separated from her siblings. She was sent to her uncle in Dublin, Ireland. She continued her schooling there and worked evenings in her uncle's pub.

Unfortunately her uncle's pub wasn't in exactly the best part of town and was most often frequented by one of the local gangs. Although she continued her hobby of people watching, she began withdrawing from those around her. She learned when to keep her head down and mouth shut, and that you had to watch what you said to anyone. After all, two can keep a secret if one of them was dead. It was a lesson she learned the hard way.

She was still only a teenager when she learned how the little pub made most of its profit. It was used as a hot spot for drug trafficking by the gangs and earned off the books income for it. She promised her uncle she wouldn't let anyone know. And she didn't. It started out just keeping it to herself, then it turned into turning away the police when they poked their nose around, then it turned into facilitating the gangs, then it turned into handling and stashing the drugs herself. She turned to drinking to deal with the guilt and pulled even farther away from people. Then one day her uncle did something wrong, and was "taken out of the picture". The pub, and all of its business, was left to Roisin along with a warning not to screw up like he did. That was when she started wearing a hip flask at all times and carrying a shillelagh. She also changed her last name in honor of the uncle that raised her, however poorly it was.

This went on for years. She watched good people get hurt and sacrificed her morals and self respect playing the good little merchant mistress for the Dublin drug lords, doing what ever it took to keep them happy. She was thoroughly sick with herself and how well she'd learned to play their game. She knew the way they worked, knew the laws of the world's underbelly like the back of her hand. She hated it. So when she was approached by men in suits that promised that they could help take down the drug industry and take her away from this life for good, she jumped at the chance.

Her street smarts and intimate knowledge of how the criminal life worked made her a natural. Thus she became one of the earliest members of the PEC. She was efficient at gathering intel and merciless during assassinations. She was known for being particularly brutal, often preferring to use her shillelagh to traditional methods, although she will use a pistol on occasion. Over time a pattern began to appear. Although she had an extremely high success rate, she also had an extremely high rate of injuries. Rumors began to grow, saying that she was going to end up killing herself during a field mission, and that she was actively seeking it.

She worked her way up through the ranks until she was Assistant Director. From this position she felt that she could look out for the other agents, including her younger brother that she'd been reunited with. It made her risk taking incidents somewhat less, despite still taking field missions. She is still somewhat of an unknown when it comes to what's going on inside her, and her hip flask is always at hand, even to this day.

RP Sample – The man didn't even have any scars. Middle-aged, well dressed, two kids, three wives. Not the face most people associated with a Bolivian drug cartel king. Not that most people knew how to spot them anyways. He was the next in line on Rosy's kill list. She'd been compiling information about him for a week and in three days she would leave for Bolivia. Oh that sucker wasn't going to die yet. This first trip was just for observation purposes. In a couple of weeks or so, she'd come back with a team and take him out permanently, but until then, she was on her own. She smirked to herself. Arthur must have been tearing out his hair about sending her back out so soon after the last one. He never did like it when she was solo, even when she was the best agent for the job.

She leaned her chair back, propping her shoeless feet up on her desk. (She had toed off her boots only five minutes after settling in to her office.) Her hip flask was pulled from her pocket and some of the brandy was liberated from its confines. It helped her relax. There had been many jokes about her love for all things alcoholic. One time they'd said that if her brother baked his scones with vodka in them, she'd eat them too. She chuckled to herself at the thought of vodkascones, if anything, he'd probably make rumscones instead. She sighed to herself and glanced back at the computer screen. Mister Gomez was waiting for her.

She patted her other hip, humming the tune to 'Rocky Road To Dublin'. Her shillelagh was waiting for him.

Out of Character:
Name – Just call me Rosy.
Age – 21
Time Zone –
Contact Info – My Preference is PM