- Faction: Neutral
- Super Name: None
- Real Name: Amanda Catherine Blake
- Base of Operations: Blake's Car Shed
- Age: 24
- Gender: Female
- Height: 5'6" (170 cm)
- Weight: 156 lbs. (57 kg)
- Physique: Sporty
- Eye Colour: Hazel
- Hair Colour: Dark brown
- Identity: Publicly known
- Date of Birth: April 1st 1988
- Place of Birth: Melville, Montana, USA
- Known Aliases: Amy, Cathy, Cat, Ms. Blake, Amanda Howling Coyote, that damn coyote that got our chickens last night
- Group Affiliation: Currently none
- Avatar Appearance: Mercy Thompson
- Did You Know?: Amanda is a competent car mechanic
- Battle Cry: "Are you kidding me?"
Grid points (Coyote stats in parentheses):
Agility: 2 (4) - Normal (significantly above average reflexes)
Durability: 3 - Pure willpower
Energy Projection: 1 - None
Fighting Ability: 3 - Street fighting
Intelligence: 3 - Clever
Mental Power: 3 - Rudimentary experience
Speed: 2 (3) - Normal (Enhanced)
Stamina: 3 (4) - Above average (Enhanced)
Strength: 2 - Normal
„So you wanna know something about me? Lets start with a drink and the simple things. Name’s Amanda Catherine Blake. Amy for short.
But this is already where the simple things end. Trouble’s an old way companion of mine and it seldomely strays far from my side.
THIS guy is my ancestor? I mean... Really???My family history’s a bit… well… weird. Mom had a somewhat troubled past herself, ran away from home at the age of 15 and tried to make a life for herself. She rarely spoke about that period. She didn’t even keep her family name, she changed it to Blake after she did some research on our ancestors and found out that we are in fact distantly related to the famous painter and writer William Blake. Hence my second name Catherine, after his wife. You bet I would have been named William if I had became a boy.
Yeah, THAT's my Mom!As I already said Mom didn’t like to speak about her youth and all her adventures on the road. Seemed to be pretty hard but she made it and it transformed her into the woman she was when she got me with 21.
Dad’s another matter. I don’t even know the man, he’s as alien to me as any men I’ve never met. He’s also another of those points Mom didn’t speak about. If you look at me it’s pretty obvious that he was Indian… sorry, Native American. Or am I allowed to say Indian because I’m partly Indian myself? Ah, whatever. He was most probably Crow or Absarokee as they call themselves because that is the tribe that is resident in Montana, the state of my birth. Not that I have any proof but to know that helps to unsettle people with the old “I’m Native American you took away my land” guilt complex. Helps from time to time.
Melville, the place of my childhoodMom was already established in Melville when I came into her life, her wild time was pretty much over and she had a decent job as a desk secretary. Her boss even allowed her to take a one year time-out to raise me in the critical first year and rehired her afterwards. Maybe she didn’t earn that much as the secretary of a second class lawyer but it was a steady income with regulated work hours. And before you ask: No, that balding man in his mid-fifties was not my father, he did not have a single pint of Indian blood in him.
From time to time I was allowed to go to work with Mom but that was not really something I enjoyed. I could bring a few toys, even then I preferred trucks and cars over dolls, but I was clearly instructed not to bother the clients. You can guess how well THAT went.
May I introduce? Jake!When I didn’t go with Mom I stayed with Jake, Mom’s best friend. He was only a year older than her but already had his own service station where he did some repairs on the cars of the Protestant community. He was a tall, handsome man, not heavily built but rather sporty with broad shoulders and strong arms, always gentle and full of humor with a dark, soft laughter. I never saw his black hair in any other hairdress than the chaotic but lovely mess that made a few bangs hang into his eyes. He would constantly try to blow them out of his field of sight. He was a great play partner as he chased me through the service station and played hide and seek with me when there was no work to do. He loved me to bits. And he was hopelessly in love with Mom. It was my biggest wish that he would become my Dad. Whenever the other kids in the Kindergarten or in school told of their fathers I would tell of Jake. But sadly there was no chance. For Mom he was only a friend. I saw his heart break whenever she dated another man from town. I don’t think she even realized it.
I was so cute when I was a pup... err... kidThe big surprise came when I was 3 or 4. I can only imagine the shock when Mom came into my room and found a young coyote in my bed with the rest of my bed sheets between her little jaws. She screamed so loud the neighbors instantly called the cops. When they arrived there was just a mother who scolded her daughter for ripping apart the new bed sheet. You’ll certainly ask yourself now: What happened?
Before the terrified eyes of my mother the coyote which she had suspected to eat her loved girl changed back into the same child. The world was suddenly upside down. Later she told me she threw up into the trash. But she was also quick-witted enough to realize that the authorities would not let her keep me if it became public news that I could change into a canine. So she reacted quickly and as the cops showed up it became another case of overly nervous neighbors calling the police at the slightest notice. Laughing the officers got back in their car, wished my mother a good evening and drove back to the police HQ.
My childhood became troubled since then. Mom told Jake about my “special thing” but warned me not to show anybody my shape changing powers or even speak about it. Worke for the most part and when it didn’t work people just saw it as a wild child’s hyperactive imagination. I became a bit more active than before as if I had gotten an extra boost of energy but apart from that not much changed. I changed into my other shape from time to time simply because I could and tested the new possibilities it. No big deal for me, I wasn’t used to anything different.
Mom's worst nightmareMom was hit a lot harder. She did some research and found out I was something the Native Americans called “Skinwalker”, a human who was able to transform into a certain animal. In my case a coyote. Theoretically it could have been worse, I could have been a wolf or even a crocodile. A coyote was not as unproblematic as a raven but still there were worse things in Indian… oh sorry, Native American legends. Obviously my father had passed along more than dark eyes and high cheek bones. I didn’t notice it in my young age but she slowly degraded. The selfish eyes of a little girl might not have noticed it but the warm, loving, brown eyes of Jake did.
Mom had always been a very attractive woman with a bright personality. Suddenly that changed. She became silent and sullen, drank more and started talking to people that weren’t even there. She called them by their names, argued with them, screamed at them, often with a glass of bourbon in hand. Her wonderful brown hair became strawy, she neglected eating and lost a lot of weight, she slept less what resulted in huge dark rings under her hallow, haunted eyes. It was as if the unexpected contact with the supernatural in guise of her daughter had awakened something in her. I only found out later.
Mom's new friendsMom saw ghosts. William Blake was reported to have possessed the “Second Sight” consulting with angels, demons and ghosts regularly. And it runs heavily in our family since. All it needed for Mom’s gift to activate was a little nudge. In this case me. As much as Jake tried to help Mom it was to no avail. She still did her job but she became a loner trying to flee from what she saw around her, often barricading herself in her room and throwing things against the wall. Home became a less and less hospitable place so I spent more and more time outside in the wilds in my coyote form or at Jake’s place.
The other kids didn’t want to spend much time with me, partly because people didn’t think well of me as a half-blood with no known father, partly because my mother became stranger and stranger but I had fun nonetheless. As a coyote I plundered the nearest chicken coops and chased hares and Jake taught me how to repair all kinds of cars. That was actually what made me into the mechanic I am today.
It was at the age of 16 after one of my chicken-raids when I came home 16 with the smell of blood still in my nostrils. I seemed unable to shake it off, as much as I washed my mouth in the bath it remained a dominant factor. I needed a bit to realize that smell was IN the house too. My blood ran cold. Scared I followed it. Through the kitchen, through the hallway, down to Mom’s room. At this point my mouth was so dry I couldn’t even swallow anymore. Carefully, hesitating I opened the door with the tip of my fingers…
Only way outAnd found Mom dead on the floor under the red curtains that held the silvery moon outside, her head almost blown off by the old shotgun she kept under the house for the worst case. The worst case had came. This picture is burned into my mind even today. There was a letter on her night desk but I already knew what had happened. She couldn’t stand it anymore. I didn’t even touch that damned letter. The next thing I know is that I’m running in the dark in my coyote form like mad.
Getting in touch with my wild sideI lost myself in the wild for the next months, I don’t even know how many. It was good being just instinct. Drown in the simple desires and needs of the wild animal inside me. Sleeping at day and hunting at night, playing with other coyotes out there whenever I got bored. But deep inside I couldn’t forget I was still a human. Couldn’t forget and secretly didn’t want to deny. I just needed a little out time to cope with what I had seen.
The story itself is epically longer but I’ll save it for another day. One day I ran afoul of a werewolf or rather he ran afoul of me. One moment I’m eating from the carcass of a deer and the next there jumps this big black wolf out of the shadows ready to defend his prey and eat me for dessert. Imagine his surprised look as I took off into the woods not only with the considerable speed of a coyote but the cunning of man. Of course he was better trained than me and ended up cornering me in some stone cave. His surprise only grew when I changed into my human form ready to defend my hide with a big stick. He changed into his human form and we talked. His name was Marcus.
Me and the packI stayed with Marcus and his pack for nearly six months. As much as Jake had taught me about cars and engines they taught me about my new status and possibilities. They were great guys, banding together like the literal pack of wolves, fighting for each other, always at each other’s side and sharing the joy of the hunt. But in the end they were werewolves and I was a skinwalker. Even though not all the stereotypes fit and they were able to transform independently from the moon we were different. Coyote and wolf. When they began to become to pushy I left. That's what I always do if somebody gets too overly attached to me. Maybe my dad's legacy.
Happy end?I returned into the world of the humans. Far, far away from Melville so that poor Jake could never find me. I could not stand his questions and his sad eyes. With the little money Mom left me and the money I’ve earned in the last few years I was able to make the first installment for a little service station. It is not much, but it is mine, pays my food and I enjoy sticking elbow deep in old Volkswagens while my hands get dirty from the oil and soot.
I thought that would have been it. I’m Amanda Catherine Blake, coyote skinwalker and mechanic. But since my 18 birthday things have changed again. It showed that not only my father’s gift but also my mother’s curse carried over to me. It started slowly with things that I saw at the edge of my eyes but now it is full blown. Spirits. I see them. I hear them. And I can now understand why Mom preferred to shoot herself. The minority is okay, just a few guys who want to talk and get some compassion. The majority is annoying, lamenting endlessly about their lost lives, complaining and whining. And then there are the real bad ones…
Guess that’s my life now. Coyotes, cars and spirits. Either I accept it or I stick a shotgun in my mouth. I refuse to let this world win, I deserve a little bit of happiness and I am willing to fight for it. Whoever wants to take this from me:
Come on and try, I am ready!
![So cheers!]()
So cheers!"
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