Kett is very petite. Born premature, it limited her size as well as caused her disabilities; height barely over five feet. Still, her musculature is lithe and strong, able to lift heavier items than most women due to her chosen profession. Because of her compact frame, it gives the illusion she is taller than she actually is, augmented by her confident personality.
Hair is often worn in a faux-hawk, either down in back, braided in a single plait or with braided pigtails to keep her hair out of the way when she works. Dark hazel eyes throb with a blue hue and are always meticulously lined to make her look older. With no make-up and her hair down, she looks quite innocent and discreet; something she tries to avoid.
Clothing is utilitarian, leather protecting her legs and arms when she works or rides. When it’s warmer she trades leather for jeans, but never trades out her coat. Well worn steel toe Doc Martins or Harley boots are usually laced up to her knees under her pants to protect her shins from the bumps and bruises of her shop. When off work she often goes barefoot in her apartment. She never wears any kind of jewelry, except the small medal of Saint Francis always on a short chain at her throat.
To the outsider, Kett seems arrogant and elitist. Once acquainted, they discover she is hard working, focused and doesn’t take crap from anybody. She is a no-nonsense, quiet fighter. If she has an opinion, there are no qualms about sharing it bluntly. If confronted, she also has no problem throwing a punch. Definitely not a party girl, she still knows her way around the bars and enjoys a good bottled beer.
Fiercely independent despite her disabilities, she has developed acute senses and uses them to her advantage. Appreciative of her new-found success and ability to communicate with the world, she still can be found with earplugs in during her “me” time… shutting out the chaos and enjoying the sounds of silence.
She has no tolerance for those that prey on the weak. The memory of sitting alone in a bathroom stall, lip and nose bloodied, sticks with her to this very day. Unable to shake the fear that she still feels at the horrific bullying she endured, she has compensated fully to become a savvy, fierce business woman. The feel of her shop every day is always a welcome homecoming, the throb of the motorcycles as they roar to life for the first time a protective blanket that even now she defends like a precious gift. If anyone threatens that joy with the ignorant belief she is a weak and defenseless damsel, they find themselves on the receiving end of a very ferocious, formidable wrath.
“Little Monk’s” in Brooklyn, N.Y. Once her father’s before the Resonance, she returned and rebuilt the place with the help of her pop’s former friends. It specializes in motorcycle repair and also works on any car built prior to 1980; their lack of computerized mechanics making them easier to find parts for and restore. (Insignificant NPC activity)
Small apartment above her shop, modern and slick.
Black 1951 Indian Chief motorcycle that was her father’s.
A Browning Hi-Power pistol with two magazines kept in her apartment for self-defense. A growing arsenal stash of everything she can afford stockpiling in the back room of her shop.