Blaire Johansson | Civilian

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✧loyal

✧quick on her feet

✧doesn’t hold a grudge



Negatives:

✦addiction

✦abusive childhood

✦drives too fast

✦too quick to get physical in a fight



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Parents: Bill and June Johansson

Siblings: Only child

Other Family: None

Important Others: Elle Green, her ex lover and business partner. The two ran a successful drug ring in London.

Nic, her friend from California who was deployed in Iraq and unfortunately lost her life. She is featured in one of Blaire’s tattoos; her name is emblazoned on a dog tag which is held by one of the swallows on Blaire’s collarbones.

Camilla, a girl she had a no-strings attached relationship with when she lived in Chicago for a spell. The two always had a laugh together, but neither were interested in pursuing a long-term gig, especially with Blaire's track record for disappearing off to a foreign land.

History: Blaire grew up in a small Australian town east of Adelaide. Both of her parents were drunks; her father violent and her mother equally so- a match made in heaven, she’ll say with a bitter scoff and an evasive gaze. Her mother was careless with her pregnancy sobriety, and it’s a miracle Blaire was born without any developmental problems. Likewise, her father was disinterested from the first time he heard his child cry, fresh out of the womb. Blaire never had a good relationship with her parents, it’s safe to say, and she justly believes they’re the primary reason she's 'fucked up beyond help', in her own words.


Thanks to the total lack of parental discipline, Blaire rebelled from an early age- or rather, she ran away from home on innumerable occasions to escape the drunken fighting of her parents. With their house being detached and on the outskirts of town, there were no immediate neighbours to hear the yelling, or indeed the cries of a frightened young Blaire. The first time she ran away she was just three years old, and only made it as far as the local grocery store. The owners took her home obligingly, believing her parents to be model citizens because her mum miraculously managed to show up at church every week and her dad was one of the town’s on-site labourers. Not to mention that both had grown incredibly adept at hiding being raging drunks from the whole town for a good five years at this point.


Ultimately, Blaire grew up in a warzone. Not a day went by where she didn’t have a screaming match with her mother about her incompetence, or else have to dodge a glass bottle of whatever cheap beer her dad would dare to hurl across the room at her as she refused to do as either said. She became a law unto herself: she started with smoking at thirteen, but this soon progressed into experimentation with drugs, then the natural progression to dealing. She got her first girlfriend, too, at the age of 15. Her name was Abbie Taylor, and she was the only other lesbian in the whole school. Their personalities clashed, however, because Abbie was staunchly anti-drugs, and Blaire ended it after her so-called girlfriend gave her name to the headmaster following the discovery of weed on school property. Blaire received a two week suspension, which suited her just fine, but upon return she got into a fight with her now ex-girlfriend and broke her nose. Cue another suspension, this time a week. School was always difficult for her, regardless of extra curricular spars. Blaire's dyslexia meant she struggled with all classes except P.E., and her teachers weren't the inspirational type who were determined to help her realise her 'true potential.' Thus, she dropped out as soon as the state allowed, at the age of 16.


Finally, when she’d earned enough money from deals (and the job she had at the grocery store- her parent’s secret got out when Blaire showed up to school with a black eye and bruising on her arms that she wouldn't explain, so ever since the owners had always looked out for her. A guilty conscience, perhaps, for returning her home whenever she strayed), and finally became a legal adult at 18, she bought herself a one way ticket to Los Angeles to chase the fabled American dream.


Thankfully, though emerging in an entirely new country with a different culture and set of laws, Blaire’s naturally confident and charming spirit had not been crushed by her abusive childhood. She soon made friends in the new city, and found a job flipping burgers in one of Los Angeles’ many fast food chains. She hated it, of course, and it wasn’t exactly in her grand plan, but it was a means to an end. Of course, Blaire hadn’t left her drug habit in Adelaide and she soon made connections throughout LA. She eventually traded the grill for a gang, and took to the streets to push cocaine and heroin. Which, of course, she bought for herself; she was practically her own best customer. It’s how she started her eight year strong battle with addiction. Youthful naivety and greed meant she wasn’t always honest with her superiors, either. She took to stealing inconsequential (as she justifies it) amounts of money by upping her street price just a fraction. It all added up, and she found herself quite well-off in a matter of months. Upon reflection, after her now eight years in the business, she still can’t quite believe she got away with it. She considers herself lucky that she lived to tell the tale.


For the nine months she lived in California, Blaire rented a bedroom from a girl called Nicola, who was a soldier for the U.S. army. Due to living in such close quarters, the two became great friends- it turned out Nic was something of a reformed junkie herself, which meant that Blaire didn’t have to lie about how she could afford certain luxuries as a teenager. It was Nic who taught her to surf, too, which became one of Blaire’s few drug-free passions. Sure, she’ll smoke a joint after, but it’s the way god intended. When Nic was deployed in Iraq, Blaire was almost 20 and had earned plenty enough money in drugs to either buy the apartment or leave the country. She chose the latter, and this time headed to a whole new continent: Europe.


Scandinavia was her first port of call. Blaire spent three months exploring the cold wilderness of Norway, Sweden, and Finland, then traipsing the antiquated streets of Denmark. She naturally gravitated towards Amsterdam, where she stayed for the majority of the eleven months she spent backpacking and hitchhiking around Europe. Take a wild guess why- she sure didn’t go for the artistic heritage or elaborate canal system. One hint would be that she was actually arrested for possession over the limit of personal use, and landed with a hefty fine. She narrowly dodged a prison sentence, too.


Blaire even stayed long enough in Amsterdam for some kind of relationship; a German girl called Lana. They met in one of the city’s many cafes, in the Red Light District, and bonded almost immediately over their mutual love of travel. It was a doomed but no less passionate romance. It’s true that Lana was quite in love with Blaire, but true to character Blaire followed the longing of her wandering soul and left the Netherlands despite her girlfriend’s protests. To say their seven month relationship ended on bad terms is an understatement; Lana is one of two past girlfriends that Blaire would run a mile from if she ever saw again. The second was yet to occur at this time.


After briefly absorbing the Parisian glamour of France’s capital on and finding that it lacked excitement, Blaire thought she’d experience the legendary nightlife of Ibiza while she was still young. She’d heard about the iconic Brit clubbing destination from an English girl she’d met in a bar (and gone home with, wink wink). The irresistible lure of cheap drugs, endless booze, and meaningless sex had her sold. Understandably, considering Blaire’s ever growing addiction problems, she doesn’t much remember her two weeks in Ibiza Town. All she knows is that she woke up with the Tasmanian devil cartoon character tattooed on her ass, blew damn near all her money, and had just enough left for flight to the mainland.


Valencia certainly wasn’t ideal, but it was all she could afford. Like Ibiza, however, it too had a lively clubbing scene, so after fixing up her résumé to include a few little white lies, Blaire scored a job as a bartender in Agenda, a club popular with students. The fact that English was her first language also helped, as did he listing vague Australian bars as references- the manager didn’t care for the inevitably large phone bill should they have spoken with her past ‘employers’.


Like every other city she’d visited so far, Blaire hadn’t escaped drugs. Not that she wanted to, of course; instead, she actively sought them out, and was soon selling pills to Erasmus students over the bar. With her inexplicably shrewd business acumen, Blaire was raking in the euros. By some miracle, she even evaded punishment for drinking on the job.


That was, until, one fateful shift following the day she found out Nic, her Californian friend, had been killed in action in Iraq. Blaire was overwhelmed by grief and guilt; she’d never attempted to contact Nic while she was on tour, and had rarely thought about her since they parted ways. It was a mutual friend of theirs, a fellow surfer, who had tracked Blaire down and broke the tragic news. She stupidly mixed a recent heroin high with a ridiculous amount of tequila, mid-shift. The ensuing side effects of this dangerous combination caused Blaire to black out.. She opened up her chin as she smashed into the spirits shelf on her way down. There’s still a sizable scar on her jaw, as well as one where a particularly sharp piece of glass got lodged in her palm. Showered by shards of glass and sticky liquor, if Blaire hadn’t already been unconscious when she fell she certainly would have been knocked out by the shower of bottles. An ambulance was called and she was carted off to hospital, where she spent a few days in recovery. She was promptly fired after the results of her both blood alcohol test and toxicology screen came back, but she didn’t care. At this point, over five months, she’d earned enough money to leave Valencia. For whatever reason, the club didn’t make Blaire pay the damages- so she had even more money to blow in her next destination.


Where better to go then somewhere she’d never been before? Keen to add to the tattoo she’d started with Lana in Amsterdam, wherein the two of them tattooed the names of all the continents they’d visited so far, Blaire headed to Asia. For some reason, she never stayed in one country for longer than a month during her yearlong travels around the world’s largest continent. It did, however, mean she saw infinitely more of Asia than she had ever dreamed she would. She was never the sharpest tool in the shed and had cared little about her education, so learning a new language was beyond her and she relied heavily on the few English speakers she encountered. Blaire hopped from country to country, lost but loving it: she walked the gardens of Tokyo’s imperial palace, climbed Mount Fuji, breathed in the smoggy air of Beijing and Hong Kong, marvelled at the Taj Mahal and the plethora of temples in Kathmandu, snorkelled in the Maldives, and swam the crystal waters of Thailand’s Ko Samui. And that’s just to name a few. Alright, so her work in Valencia had been more than a nice little earner. In truth, she spent her money on little else but travel- even including drugs. She used when she could, but she was so detached from her usual methods of picking up that her year in Asia was the cleanest she’d ever been.


A month before her 22nd birthday, Blaire began to crave big city life. Sure, island hopping around the Malay Archipelago had its perks, but what Blaire really wanted was to get lost amidst cloud puncturing skyscrapers and breathe in the toxic fumes of air pollution. More than anything, she wanted drugs. Not a day had gone by where she didn’t miss the steady high she’d grown so accustomed to over her years of unhindered drug abuse.


London. That was where she wanted to go. She booked a cheap flight from Bangkok after a memorable night with some of the city’s famous lady boys. 15 hours and one crossover in Hong Kong later, Blaire found herself in the middle of England’s capital city, homeless and near broke yet again.


Though penniless, Blaire never had any trouble making friends. She found the British people to be very accommodating, and they had banter, she’d give them that. They entertained her cheeky sense of humour with equal amounts of sass.


It was here, in central London, that Blaire met a woman who would change her life. Sat, smoking, on the steps outside the National Gallery in Trafalgar Square at mid-afternoon, she saw a well-dressed woman leaning against the fountain’s edge with the latest model of iPhone pressed against her ear. The woman’s clothes betrayed her wealth; monochrome and unmistakably designer, yet she had somehow maintained the edgy air of a bohemian thanks to her outgrown pastel pink hair. Irresistibly attracted, Blaire couldn’t live with herself if she didn’t at least say hello. Confident as always, she approached with a cocky opening line as soon as the woman ended her phone call.


The woman’s name was Elle Green, a well-spoken ex-socialite who, it transpired, ran a budding drugs gang. Just Blaire’s type, then. The two got chatting, and soon took their conversation to a nearby bar. This, much to Blaire’s delight, inevitably resulted in them going back to Elle’s modestly stylish Chelsea Bridge apartment for a night of drunken sex that turned into many more- some even sober.


As a previously anti-commitment individual, Blaire surprised herself by how much she enjoyed and craved Elle’s company. They fell in love as quickly as they did deeply, and soon spent almost every waking hour together. As she did in almost every country she visited, Blaire became involved with the drugs facet of Elle’s life, too, and together, they transformed Elle’s humble group of pushers into the biggest and wealthiest in London. Blaire still bears the gang’s logo, a jade dragon, forever inked onto her left wrist.


Even after a year at Elle’s side, growing steadily more content with the woman she still regards as the love of her life, Blaire could not ignore her inner wanderer. Though the two frequently had lavish holidays in all manner of destinations: Las Vegas, Kauai, Dubai, Cape Town, and Rio de Janeiro to name a few, Blaire still wanted more. She still had Antarctica to add to her arm. She wanted to live the nomadic life she had dreamed about as a child, only now she had someone she wanted to share it with. Marriage was even in question, and Blaire was waiting to pop the question should Elle agree to travel. Increasingly restless, Blaire begged her girl to leave their business behind.


Their relationship turned progressively sour; their love had always been tumultuous, but arguments often ended in the bedroom. Blaire was desperate to see the world with her lover, but Elle was more devoted to her business than to her girlfriend. After a raging argument resulting in the near destruction of their £14 million penthouse apartment in the heart of the affluent Kensington borough (which just goes to show how well their drug pushing was going- it even had a swimming pool with a retractable roof), Elle stormed out and didn’t return that night. In tears of both fury and heartbreak, a distraught Blaire stole all the money she dared, both credit and cash, and fled to New York.


It’s safe to say that Blaire hit rock bottom in The Big Apple. Never in her life had she used so much. Abused, more like. Heroin, coke, speed, ketamine: whatever she could get her hands on, she took. Luckily for her, in danger of overdose, she was arrested for possession with intent to distribute for the sheer volume of drugs on her reckless person. It was just a week after her arrival in the city, so she hadn’t even made a dent in the extortionate amount of money she and stolen from Elle. She sentenced to just under a year in prison. It could have been nine.


Involuntarily sober after her year in prison, Blaire fled the country immediately after her release. She knew it was inevitable that she would serve time, but she was pissed off nevertheless. A few nights in a jail cell were nothing to her, but now a whole year of her life had been spent in miserable minimum security with other female offenders. You can bet she had her fun in there too, as sex was the only vice she could sate, but being locked up only aggravated her wanderlust to unbearable limits. Keen to distance herself from the experience and dive straight back in to the deep end, Blaire flew to Colombia: the then drugs capital of the world (it’s now Afghanistan, which produces 90% of the world’s heroin- it’s on her wish list, of course). The fact that South America was yet to be inked onto her arm played a part in her destination, too.














Alias: Bee

How did you find us?: Google

Experience: 10 years, no Proboards experience

Other Characters:

RP Sample: Bloodied and exhausted, Blaire pushed open the bar door and traipsed inside. Her vision was a little obscured thanks to the fresh black eye she was sporting, but she acknowledged her fellow regulars with a nod and a grunt as she passed, and settled on an isolated seat at the bar.

    “Tough day?” asked the barman with a smile, drying a tumbler with a fresh rag. Blaire snorted and massaged her forehead with the hand that wasn’t sporting grazed knuckles. “Tough? Nah, just another day in the life, mate. ‘Nother day in the life. Hit me up, will you? Make it a double, I’m still seeing stars.” With a laugh, the barman set the clean glass on the bar and filled it with amber whiskey before sliding it across the shiny mahogany surface of the bar to Blaire.

    “You’re a good man, Joseph. A fuckin’ star,” Blaire grinned blearily and raised the brimming glass to her swollen lips. She carefully tipped a little liquid into her mouth and swallowed, then released a cough as the whiskey hit the back of her throat,, “Jesus, the good stuff. You really pity me tonight, don’t you? Maybe I should get beaten up more often,” she snickered and took another sip, taking the time to cast her gaze over the room. The bar was quiet tonight, but Blaire didn’t much feel like hitting on anyone in her current state. That wasn’t to say that the fresh-from-a-fight look had no success, as Blaire remembered with a wry smile that it had certainly won over a couple hearts in the past.







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