Born to a normal family in a normal suburb orbiting Miami, Rachel was the middle child. She was the mutt growing up — the middle child — but her family sheltered her in upper-middle-class mediocrity. It's fair to say that she grew jaded. Only middling in her academic career, she took refuge in athletics. Her only role model was her older brother, who she followed into enlistment in the United States Marine Corps just out of graduation.
A lifetime of change in an instant.
The records are sealed, the social media comments deleted, on whatever terrible event happened to Lance Corporal Westcott. She still hasn't come to terms with whatever happened. Quickly expedited from her M.O.S. of Ammo Technician, she lost her place in the world from the fresh ink signed to a psychiatric discharge. Rejected by two families, she fell into obscurity; and the pieces were picked up by a certain sect of the Norse pantheon. Honey in their words, they filled the gaps in her thoughts and provided some much-needed purpose.
The road not yet traveled.
Rachel arrived in the sleepy town of Haven in the middle of a frigid January, her only possessions being loose change and whatever she could strap to her motorbike. More important than material goods, though, was the hope that the mysteries of the town provided. A place for rest: for healing. For building something, and, most importantly, hurtingchanging some people along the way.
RP Hooks / Abilities
Rachel holds to a strange concept of loyalty: tangible or mere ideal, it's the same to her. Although she feels rightly rejected by her country, it doesn't dull the obscure Patriotism that burns in her heart. Her time in the military is the sorest subject, but it's not something she denies.
There are still pieces missing from this puzzling world, as far as she's concerned. Ignorance is something that shames her, and she'll do whatever she can to get to the bottom of supernatural phenomena.
It's the only thing she's "good" at. The quickest way to her heart? A fastball.