ooc - application
Mun
Name: ar
Livejournal Username: myxginxblossoms
E-mail: athousandchurches at gmail
AIM/MSN: here in my bag (aim)
Current Characters at Luceti: N/A
Character
Name: Kay Eaton, alias K. C. Hunter
Fandom: Star Trek: Deep Space 9, specifically episode 6x13 "Far Beyond the Stars"
Gender: Female
Age: 42 (b. January 26, 1911)
Time Period: Post-episode (estimated to be November, 1953; the year is certain, the month is hazy)
Wing Color: Cardinal red
History: Here's the entirety of canon regarding Kay. Here's a wiki biography of the woman on whom she was canonically based. Here's how I've synthesized their lives; I'm happy to provide an explanation if anything looks like it deviates too significantly from those sources:
Kathryn Clara Hunter was born in Indianapolis, Indiana in 1911, the third of four children. She was a sickly child who spent much of her formative years laid up in bed with piles of books on either side of her, the only real entertainment to be had when faced with bouts of whooping cough, pneumonia, and chronic bronchitis. She preferred fantastic stories like the works of Verne and Wells, borrowed from the public library, and at twelve and thirteen years old convinced her parents to buy her issues of the then-new magazine Weird Tales. Her family didn't always have much money, but her parents always managed to find a way to indulge the thin, pale girl who spent more time staring longingly out the window than actually playing outside.
Kay's health improved significantly around age fifteen, at which point, she resolved to spend as little of her time in bed as possible; she filled her high school years with socializing, schoolwork, and half-baked tales of terror, written well after she ought to have been asleep. Upon graduation, she was accepted to a women's college in New York City and managed to convince her parents to allow her to attend. Unfortunately, her freshman year at school was 1929, and so she entered college a scant month before Black Tuesday. The onset of the Great Depression left her parents unable to continue to fund her education, forcing her to drop out of school after the completion of her first year.
With no desire to return to Indianapolis, she found work in a Manhattan bank as a secretary and kept herself financially afloat in a spartan efficiency the size of a postage stamp. In her free time, she began scribbling in earnest, writing stories out on paper, in longhand or shorthand dependent on how much time she had to her, and typing up the final drafts on a library typewriter. Her efforts paid off; by 1933, at age 22, she sold her first story to Weird Tales, the first of several stories about a spaceship pilot and smuggler called Southeast Jones. Her career began to blossom; she began corresponding with H.P. Lovecraft and wrote a variety of other stories over the next several years, including the first sword & sorcery tales to feature a female protagonist, Liriel of Lineret. [Nota bene: These pastiches of Northwest Smith and Jirel of Joiry are not canonical but fit the pattern of how the titles of classic scifi stories were translated to the world of "Far Beyond the Stars." "I, Robot" becomes "Me, Android," "I Have No Mouth and I Must Scream" becomes "I Have No Voice So I Must Shout," and thus Northwest Smith becomes Southeast Jones.] She wrote under the name K.C. Hunter, not by choice but necessity: her work was unlikely to be well-received (if it even saw publication) if readers knew it was written by a woman.
In 1936, Kay received a piece of fan mail from a Julius Eaton, praising "Mr. Hunter's" work. Eaton, four years her junior, was a fellow correspondent of Lovecraft and aspiring writer who sold his own first work that year. They kept in correspondence, eventually meeting, at which point she disabused him of the notion that she was male, and he, her assumption that he was white. They married in 1940, after which point, they cowrote nearly everything they wrote. While one story might have more Julius than Kay in it, or vice versa, they often wrote round-robin style, ending in the middle of a paragraph or sentence and letting the other pick up the thread from there; between that habit and their tendency to edit each others' work, they often couldn't say for sure who wrote which parts of a given story.
And that, for all intents and purposes, brings us to 1953. At some point prior to the episode, Kay and Julius began selling the bulk of their work to Incredible Tales of Scientific Wonder, where, at the time of the episode, they are among the magazine's regular writers, if not among its best-paid. To the contrary, they receive two cents per word to colleague and Julius' arch-nemesis Herb Rossoff's four cents. Their work is not universally well-regarded, getting called "that fantasy crap" by Rossoff during the show; rather than focusing on hard science fiction concepts, they tend to write about interesting characters in unusual situations. Throughout the episode, Kay is supportive of colleague Benny Russell's work and is one of his most ardent supporters when he tries to argue for the inclusion of a Sisko story in the latest volume of Incredible Tales.
Personality: Kay is given one line of description as introduction in the episode's script: "She's a no-nonsense attractive woman, with a cutting sense of humor." For the most part, it sums her up, but it's not a lot to go on. The best way to get a sense of Kay's personality is to examine her in two contexts: her work and her marriage.
Kay the writer is a woman in the mold of His Girl Friday's Hildy Johnson: quick-witted, vibrant, good at what she does, and willing to do what's necessary to get the job done. She's an idealist at heart made practical by the historical context in which she lives. Her pragmatism is a matter of survival: a woman looking to be published at a major science fiction magazine, however pulpy, has to be willing to make a lot of compromises. She knows from hard-won experience when to agree; when to kick up a fight; and when to agree after kicking up a fight just to make sure everyone knows that she thinks they're wrong. In her line of work, she's often doing the last one: bitterly commenting that she has to hide behind a male pseudonym and cannot appear in promotional pictures or implying to Roy Ritterhouse that his drawing of a busty woman about to be attacked by an alien is disgusting. She can't do anything about the fact that only her words are welcome, not her face, nor can she stop a pulp magazine from printing pulpy imagery, but she'll make sure her thoughts are known.
She's not one to mince words in general and doesn't hold dear any notions of talking like a lady. The day Benny Russell comes back to the Incredible Tales office after recovering (mostly) from the brutality he suffered at the hands of the police, Kay is the one who doesn't sidestep the issue or sound like she's wringing her hands over mentioning it: "We heard they beat the hell out of you." She's calm--compassionate-sounding, even--but she doesn't try to dress up an ugly truth. That'd be an insult to her intelligence and Benny's.
The tough-woman aspects of her personality combine to give the sense that she's trying her damnedest to take on a "one of the boys" role in the office, because working for Incredible Tales is both freeing and confining for her. On the one hand, she's allowed to have a smart mouth and to give her opinion whenever she wants. On the other hand, she's often the only woman in the room, and that means both listening to the likes of Ritterhouse talking about his objectifying art and occasionally catching flack herself. In the script (linked above), Herb at one point calls out, "You tell him, Kay. I know a good divorce lawyer if you need one," when she and Julius disagree about what Benny should do with his Sisko stories. Though the line doesn't make it into the final scene, it's fairly telling: Herb feels absolutely no compunctions about commenting on the state of their marriage in a fairly invasive way, one that comes off as almost flirtatious in text. In any case, it's tasteless, and there's no rebuke from any of the characters. (The line does show up in the novelization of the episode, and it's similarly dismissed, even by the narrative, in part because the novelization itself is absolutely terrible about sexism in general.) If the episode focused on Kay's character, or if it was long enough to give the supporting characters subplots, I have no doubts that Kay's would focus on the sexism she has to put up with as part of her career.
Thus, the easiest way for Kay to deal with the sexism that comes inherently along with her work is to make herself as small a target as possible, by fitting into the "one of the boys" mindset as best she can. She picks her battles and in general chooses the ones that don't hit her as an individual; while she comments on Ritterhouse's art in a very general "you're a pig" kind of way, she doesn't respond to Herb's much more personal interjection at all. She generally wears well-tailored suits or simple dresses, often in neutral tones, the feminine equivalent to her male colleagues' wardrobes. And she distances herself somewhat from Darlene Kursky, the only other woman seen in the Incredible Tales offices, much as Julius seems to do with Benny. (Julius is rather more successful in trying to deflect acknowledgment of the colour of his skin, to the point that it's never even mentioned in the episode's novelization.)
Despite her learned practicality, her ideals do remain. They're made most clear by her marriage, which reveals that Kay is quite liberal for her time. Though her marriage is legal in New York, which never had anti-miscegenation laws, the fact that she's married to a man of Middle Eastern descent means that the legality of their union would be either questionable or outright null and void in the entirety of the American South and, in 1953, in her home state of Indiana. Even in places where her right to marry Julius (and his to marry her) would go unquestioned legally, it wouldn't necessarily be accepted socially; a 1958 Gallup poll found that just 4% of Americans surveyed approved of the idea of interracial marriage (the survey asks specifically about marriage between blacks and whites, but the conclusions can be generalized to other racial groups, IMO), and that's a number from five years later than the stated setting of this episode (and eighteen years past the year they married).
I include all this historical context in an effort to make clear that her choice to marry the man she loves, regardless of the opinions of others, is very telling of her character: such a choice reveals a great deal about her politics (progressive); her stubbornness and tenacity; and her capacity to see beyond expected judgments and first impressions. Kay also proves here that she can make some hard choices, as it is extremely likely that she estranged herself from her family to marry Julius.
It's also clear from the way she and Julius interact in the episode that Kay is an incredibly loving woman. They trade snappy dialogue a bit, but it's clearly kindly meant, and in the background of scenes, they're often found with their heads together or otherwise near. Their writing together, and the nature of how they go about it--constantly weaving the stories between the two of them--means they must spend time together pretty much constantly. And yet it's clear from little moments within the episode that they haven't grown weary of each others' company--that, to the contrary, they're very likely the sort of couple that other people love to hate: they could spend every minute of the day together and still feel as though it wasn't enough.
Strengths: Kay is a damned good writer. This is made clear by the fact that she and Julius are present when story assignments are passed out for the month. In Steven Barnes' novelization of the episode, the narrative describes this as a monthly ritual for which only the magazine's top writers are given the chance to write stories to Roy Ritterhouse's artwork. Anyone whose subsequent stories falter is not asked back. In the scene, she and Julius behave as though this is old hat--they've clearly been around for multiple rounds of this particular exercise--which speaks to the technical quality and consistency of the stuff they turn in each month. She and her husband might not be paid well for their work, but its quality is obviously respected.
She's proto-women's lib. As mentioned above in regards to Ritterhouse's taste in artwork, Kay clearly has Opinions about male chauvinist pigs, even if she predates the term. She's also a big proponent for writing better parts for women in science fiction: "Science fiction needs more strong women characters. I'm always saying that, aren't I, Jules?" On the occasions that she gets those strong women characters, she isn't stingy with praise, either, making it clear that she really likes the Major Kira character Benny's written into his story.
Kay's a fun woman to have at parties, insofar as she loves good conversation and is able to provide it. She's a quick wit, open and charming, with a tendency towards being social; one gets the sense that she'd be able to make herself equally at home at a party with people who had absolutely no interest in discussing science fiction. (Her colleague, Albert Macklin, is proof that this isn't a universally shared trait at the Incredible Tales office, though Julius and Kay both have it in spades.) She's a bright, well-rounded woman overall.
Oh, and she has all the skills necessary to be a successful secretary. She takes good notes during meetings, can take letters down while they're being spoken aloud to her, and types like a mofo. Most importantly, though, she can write in Anniversary Gregg shorthand, which might as well be secret code to anyone who can't read it. If deemed necessary, I can have her memory for shorthand go fuzzy upon entry to the game.
Weaknesses: Kay has a serious capacity for bitterness; it's seen most clearly when Pabst tells her that she should plan to come in late the day they take a promotional photo.
Kay's a stubborn woman, and it comes out, as noted above, in the form of giving her opinion on issues. Sometimes her opinion comes out a lot; when she mentions that science fiction needs more strong women characters and says "I'm always saying that, aren't I, Jules?" her husband's response is a good-humoured "Ad nauseam, dear." She can be repetitive in her complaints, and it's not something that's going to change so long as the source of the issues in question still exist.
Physically, she's not at all strong. While she's unlikely to end up hooked to an iron lung any time soon, her health is always going to be somewhat delicate, particularly in regards to her respiratory system. Don't expect her to win in a fight that isn't fought with words, nor to successfully sprint a mile. The level of exertion she prefers is more along the lines of going out dancing, with plenty of breaks for cocktails and chatting.
Samples
First Person:
I probably ought to be agitating to go home, but I'm just not ready to leave yet. Despite the wings--and this eyesore of a tattoo--this place...
Well, it's something out of Lovecraft, isn't it? Sleepy little village at the foot of the mountains, nothing special except for a whisper or two of unimaginable dread. I might end up destroyed by the Old Ones for it, but I've got to know more.
[She pauses.]
...All the same, it'd be better if Jules were here. I suppose he thinks I went and drowned myself in the East River by now, disappearing on him like that--no hint of where I've gone. I've got three different stories started here, and I know he'd know where they're supposed to go next. I could always puzzle it out for myself (I used to for years) but writing isn't as much fun alone. There's less mystery to it--even if your own brain surprises you with a detail or two, it's nothing like seeing what another person is going to put in. And there's no one to have a celebratory drink with after the whole thing's been finished and put to bed.
Wouldn't it be great if he followed me here? If anyone could, you know, Jules...we'd probably end up losing the apartment, no one around to pay rent, but we could always set up shop here. It's not like we'd run out of ideas in a place like this.
Third Person:
Kay's spent every night before bed since she arrived trying to figure out the wings situation. From the start, it's been the same thing: they move, all right, and she's even somewhat of in charge of how they do, but they've yet to take her off the ground. And what's the point of having wings if you can't fly? Being the human equivalent of an ostrich isn't good enough for her.
Her theory, at first, was that they might not be large enough to be able to wing her much of anywhere; however petite she herself might be, they're not very big in proportion to her. Sometimes they seem more like a pair of crimson sashes hanging off her her more than anything else, after all. But others have managed to come to the point of floating a foot off the ground, or so she's heard, and she'll be damned if she can't manage it, too.
It's not long before she can keep them beating when she wants them to for a reasonable while, extending them and folding them back against her shoulder blades at a whim. The triumph of keeping them from fluttering without warning is enough to satisfy her for a day or two--she's getting somewhere with these things!--and then she's back to the chore of learning to fly in earnest. Many nights, she takes advantage of the fact that she lives alone and stretches up on tiptoe like a child, as though she'll be propelled off the ground by sheer force of will.
And then finally--finally--when she isn't striving especially hard, her thoughts drifting back to New York and long-past deadlines, she realizes that she can't feel the carpeting beneath her bare feet any longer. Kay gives a whoop of mixed surprise and joy, laughing to herself: the moment she stops trying so hard, it comes as though it's second nature. She should have saved herself the headache.
It isn't much, hovering just off the floor, but a little triumph is a nice way to see oneself off to sleep, spread out alone in a too-large bed. Her wings twitch as she dreams, for once not of the people and places she's left but of the soaring sensation of flight.
Name: ar
Livejournal Username: myxginxblossoms
E-mail: athousandchurches at gmail
AIM/MSN: here in my bag (aim)
Current Characters at Luceti: N/A
Character
Name: Kay Eaton, alias K. C. Hunter
Fandom: Star Trek: Deep Space 9, specifically episode 6x13 "Far Beyond the Stars"
Gender: Female
Age: 42 (b. January 26, 1911)
Time Period: Post-episode (estimated to be November, 1953; the year is certain, the month is hazy)
Wing Color: Cardinal red
History: Here's the entirety of canon regarding Kay. Here's a wiki biography of the woman on whom she was canonically based. Here's how I've synthesized their lives; I'm happy to provide an explanation if anything looks like it deviates too significantly from those sources:
Kathryn Clara Hunter was born in Indianapolis, Indiana in 1911, the third of four children. She was a sickly child who spent much of her formative years laid up in bed with piles of books on either side of her, the only real entertainment to be had when faced with bouts of whooping cough, pneumonia, and chronic bronchitis. She preferred fantastic stories like the works of Verne and Wells, borrowed from the public library, and at twelve and thirteen years old convinced her parents to buy her issues of the then-new magazine Weird Tales. Her family didn't always have much money, but her parents always managed to find a way to indulge the thin, pale girl who spent more time staring longingly out the window than actually playing outside.
Kay's health improved significantly around age fifteen, at which point, she resolved to spend as little of her time in bed as possible; she filled her high school years with socializing, schoolwork, and half-baked tales of terror, written well after she ought to have been asleep. Upon graduation, she was accepted to a women's college in New York City and managed to convince her parents to allow her to attend. Unfortunately, her freshman year at school was 1929, and so she entered college a scant month before Black Tuesday. The onset of the Great Depression left her parents unable to continue to fund her education, forcing her to drop out of school after the completion of her first year.
With no desire to return to Indianapolis, she found work in a Manhattan bank as a secretary and kept herself financially afloat in a spartan efficiency the size of a postage stamp. In her free time, she began scribbling in earnest, writing stories out on paper, in longhand or shorthand dependent on how much time she had to her, and typing up the final drafts on a library typewriter. Her efforts paid off; by 1933, at age 22, she sold her first story to Weird Tales, the first of several stories about a spaceship pilot and smuggler called Southeast Jones. Her career began to blossom; she began corresponding with H.P. Lovecraft and wrote a variety of other stories over the next several years, including the first sword & sorcery tales to feature a female protagonist, Liriel of Lineret. [Nota bene: These pastiches of Northwest Smith and Jirel of Joiry are not canonical but fit the pattern of how the titles of classic scifi stories were translated to the world of "Far Beyond the Stars." "I, Robot" becomes "Me, Android," "I Have No Mouth and I Must Scream" becomes "I Have No Voice So I Must Shout," and thus Northwest Smith becomes Southeast Jones.] She wrote under the name K.C. Hunter, not by choice but necessity: her work was unlikely to be well-received (if it even saw publication) if readers knew it was written by a woman.
In 1936, Kay received a piece of fan mail from a Julius Eaton, praising "Mr. Hunter's" work. Eaton, four years her junior, was a fellow correspondent of Lovecraft and aspiring writer who sold his own first work that year. They kept in correspondence, eventually meeting, at which point she disabused him of the notion that she was male, and he, her assumption that he was white. They married in 1940, after which point, they cowrote nearly everything they wrote. While one story might have more Julius than Kay in it, or vice versa, they often wrote round-robin style, ending in the middle of a paragraph or sentence and letting the other pick up the thread from there; between that habit and their tendency to edit each others' work, they often couldn't say for sure who wrote which parts of a given story.
And that, for all intents and purposes, brings us to 1953. At some point prior to the episode, Kay and Julius began selling the bulk of their work to Incredible Tales of Scientific Wonder, where, at the time of the episode, they are among the magazine's regular writers, if not among its best-paid. To the contrary, they receive two cents per word to colleague and Julius' arch-nemesis Herb Rossoff's four cents. Their work is not universally well-regarded, getting called "that fantasy crap" by Rossoff during the show; rather than focusing on hard science fiction concepts, they tend to write about interesting characters in unusual situations. Throughout the episode, Kay is supportive of colleague Benny Russell's work and is one of his most ardent supporters when he tries to argue for the inclusion of a Sisko story in the latest volume of Incredible Tales.
Personality: Kay is given one line of description as introduction in the episode's script: "She's a no-nonsense attractive woman, with a cutting sense of humor." For the most part, it sums her up, but it's not a lot to go on. The best way to get a sense of Kay's personality is to examine her in two contexts: her work and her marriage.
Kay the writer is a woman in the mold of His Girl Friday's Hildy Johnson: quick-witted, vibrant, good at what she does, and willing to do what's necessary to get the job done. She's an idealist at heart made practical by the historical context in which she lives. Her pragmatism is a matter of survival: a woman looking to be published at a major science fiction magazine, however pulpy, has to be willing to make a lot of compromises. She knows from hard-won experience when to agree; when to kick up a fight; and when to agree after kicking up a fight just to make sure everyone knows that she thinks they're wrong. In her line of work, she's often doing the last one: bitterly commenting that she has to hide behind a male pseudonym and cannot appear in promotional pictures or implying to Roy Ritterhouse that his drawing of a busty woman about to be attacked by an alien is disgusting. She can't do anything about the fact that only her words are welcome, not her face, nor can she stop a pulp magazine from printing pulpy imagery, but she'll make sure her thoughts are known.
She's not one to mince words in general and doesn't hold dear any notions of talking like a lady. The day Benny Russell comes back to the Incredible Tales office after recovering (mostly) from the brutality he suffered at the hands of the police, Kay is the one who doesn't sidestep the issue or sound like she's wringing her hands over mentioning it: "We heard they beat the hell out of you." She's calm--compassionate-sounding, even--but she doesn't try to dress up an ugly truth. That'd be an insult to her intelligence and Benny's.
The tough-woman aspects of her personality combine to give the sense that she's trying her damnedest to take on a "one of the boys" role in the office, because working for Incredible Tales is both freeing and confining for her. On the one hand, she's allowed to have a smart mouth and to give her opinion whenever she wants. On the other hand, she's often the only woman in the room, and that means both listening to the likes of Ritterhouse talking about his objectifying art and occasionally catching flack herself. In the script (linked above), Herb at one point calls out, "You tell him, Kay. I know a good divorce lawyer if you need one," when she and Julius disagree about what Benny should do with his Sisko stories. Though the line doesn't make it into the final scene, it's fairly telling: Herb feels absolutely no compunctions about commenting on the state of their marriage in a fairly invasive way, one that comes off as almost flirtatious in text. In any case, it's tasteless, and there's no rebuke from any of the characters. (The line does show up in the novelization of the episode, and it's similarly dismissed, even by the narrative, in part because the novelization itself is absolutely terrible about sexism in general.) If the episode focused on Kay's character, or if it was long enough to give the supporting characters subplots, I have no doubts that Kay's would focus on the sexism she has to put up with as part of her career.
Thus, the easiest way for Kay to deal with the sexism that comes inherently along with her work is to make herself as small a target as possible, by fitting into the "one of the boys" mindset as best she can. She picks her battles and in general chooses the ones that don't hit her as an individual; while she comments on Ritterhouse's art in a very general "you're a pig" kind of way, she doesn't respond to Herb's much more personal interjection at all. She generally wears well-tailored suits or simple dresses, often in neutral tones, the feminine equivalent to her male colleagues' wardrobes. And she distances herself somewhat from Darlene Kursky, the only other woman seen in the Incredible Tales offices, much as Julius seems to do with Benny. (Julius is rather more successful in trying to deflect acknowledgment of the colour of his skin, to the point that it's never even mentioned in the episode's novelization.)
Despite her learned practicality, her ideals do remain. They're made most clear by her marriage, which reveals that Kay is quite liberal for her time. Though her marriage is legal in New York, which never had anti-miscegenation laws, the fact that she's married to a man of Middle Eastern descent means that the legality of their union would be either questionable or outright null and void in the entirety of the American South and, in 1953, in her home state of Indiana. Even in places where her right to marry Julius (and his to marry her) would go unquestioned legally, it wouldn't necessarily be accepted socially; a 1958 Gallup poll found that just 4% of Americans surveyed approved of the idea of interracial marriage (the survey asks specifically about marriage between blacks and whites, but the conclusions can be generalized to other racial groups, IMO), and that's a number from five years later than the stated setting of this episode (and eighteen years past the year they married).
I include all this historical context in an effort to make clear that her choice to marry the man she loves, regardless of the opinions of others, is very telling of her character: such a choice reveals a great deal about her politics (progressive); her stubbornness and tenacity; and her capacity to see beyond expected judgments and first impressions. Kay also proves here that she can make some hard choices, as it is extremely likely that she estranged herself from her family to marry Julius.
It's also clear from the way she and Julius interact in the episode that Kay is an incredibly loving woman. They trade snappy dialogue a bit, but it's clearly kindly meant, and in the background of scenes, they're often found with their heads together or otherwise near. Their writing together, and the nature of how they go about it--constantly weaving the stories between the two of them--means they must spend time together pretty much constantly. And yet it's clear from little moments within the episode that they haven't grown weary of each others' company--that, to the contrary, they're very likely the sort of couple that other people love to hate: they could spend every minute of the day together and still feel as though it wasn't enough.
Strengths: Kay is a damned good writer. This is made clear by the fact that she and Julius are present when story assignments are passed out for the month. In Steven Barnes' novelization of the episode, the narrative describes this as a monthly ritual for which only the magazine's top writers are given the chance to write stories to Roy Ritterhouse's artwork. Anyone whose subsequent stories falter is not asked back. In the scene, she and Julius behave as though this is old hat--they've clearly been around for multiple rounds of this particular exercise--which speaks to the technical quality and consistency of the stuff they turn in each month. She and her husband might not be paid well for their work, but its quality is obviously respected.
She's proto-women's lib. As mentioned above in regards to Ritterhouse's taste in artwork, Kay clearly has Opinions about male chauvinist pigs, even if she predates the term. She's also a big proponent for writing better parts for women in science fiction: "Science fiction needs more strong women characters. I'm always saying that, aren't I, Jules?" On the occasions that she gets those strong women characters, she isn't stingy with praise, either, making it clear that she really likes the Major Kira character Benny's written into his story.
Kay's a fun woman to have at parties, insofar as she loves good conversation and is able to provide it. She's a quick wit, open and charming, with a tendency towards being social; one gets the sense that she'd be able to make herself equally at home at a party with people who had absolutely no interest in discussing science fiction. (Her colleague, Albert Macklin, is proof that this isn't a universally shared trait at the Incredible Tales office, though Julius and Kay both have it in spades.) She's a bright, well-rounded woman overall.
Oh, and she has all the skills necessary to be a successful secretary. She takes good notes during meetings, can take letters down while they're being spoken aloud to her, and types like a mofo. Most importantly, though, she can write in Anniversary Gregg shorthand, which might as well be secret code to anyone who can't read it. If deemed necessary, I can have her memory for shorthand go fuzzy upon entry to the game.
Weaknesses: Kay has a serious capacity for bitterness; it's seen most clearly when Pabst tells her that she should plan to come in late the day they take a promotional photo.
Kay's a stubborn woman, and it comes out, as noted above, in the form of giving her opinion on issues. Sometimes her opinion comes out a lot; when she mentions that science fiction needs more strong women characters and says "I'm always saying that, aren't I, Jules?" her husband's response is a good-humoured "Ad nauseam, dear." She can be repetitive in her complaints, and it's not something that's going to change so long as the source of the issues in question still exist.
Physically, she's not at all strong. While she's unlikely to end up hooked to an iron lung any time soon, her health is always going to be somewhat delicate, particularly in regards to her respiratory system. Don't expect her to win in a fight that isn't fought with words, nor to successfully sprint a mile. The level of exertion she prefers is more along the lines of going out dancing, with plenty of breaks for cocktails and chatting.
Samples
First Person:
I probably ought to be agitating to go home, but I'm just not ready to leave yet. Despite the wings--and this eyesore of a tattoo--this place...
Well, it's something out of Lovecraft, isn't it? Sleepy little village at the foot of the mountains, nothing special except for a whisper or two of unimaginable dread. I might end up destroyed by the Old Ones for it, but I've got to know more.
[She pauses.]
...All the same, it'd be better if Jules were here. I suppose he thinks I went and drowned myself in the East River by now, disappearing on him like that--no hint of where I've gone. I've got three different stories started here, and I know he'd know where they're supposed to go next. I could always puzzle it out for myself (I used to for years) but writing isn't as much fun alone. There's less mystery to it--even if your own brain surprises you with a detail or two, it's nothing like seeing what another person is going to put in. And there's no one to have a celebratory drink with after the whole thing's been finished and put to bed.
Wouldn't it be great if he followed me here? If anyone could, you know, Jules...we'd probably end up losing the apartment, no one around to pay rent, but we could always set up shop here. It's not like we'd run out of ideas in a place like this.
Third Person:
Kay's spent every night before bed since she arrived trying to figure out the wings situation. From the start, it's been the same thing: they move, all right, and she's even somewhat of in charge of how they do, but they've yet to take her off the ground. And what's the point of having wings if you can't fly? Being the human equivalent of an ostrich isn't good enough for her.
Her theory, at first, was that they might not be large enough to be able to wing her much of anywhere; however petite she herself might be, they're not very big in proportion to her. Sometimes they seem more like a pair of crimson sashes hanging off her her more than anything else, after all. But others have managed to come to the point of floating a foot off the ground, or so she's heard, and she'll be damned if she can't manage it, too.
It's not long before she can keep them beating when she wants them to for a reasonable while, extending them and folding them back against her shoulder blades at a whim. The triumph of keeping them from fluttering without warning is enough to satisfy her for a day or two--she's getting somewhere with these things!--and then she's back to the chore of learning to fly in earnest. Many nights, she takes advantage of the fact that she lives alone and stretches up on tiptoe like a child, as though she'll be propelled off the ground by sheer force of will.
And then finally--finally--when she isn't striving especially hard, her thoughts drifting back to New York and long-past deadlines, she realizes that she can't feel the carpeting beneath her bare feet any longer. Kay gives a whoop of mixed surprise and joy, laughing to herself: the moment she stops trying so hard, it comes as though it's second nature. She should have saved herself the headache.
It isn't much, hovering just off the floor, but a little triumph is a nice way to see oneself off to sleep, spread out alone in a too-large bed. Her wings twitch as she dreams, for once not of the people and places she's left but of the soaring sensation of flight.