AN: As longtime readers may know, I have a great many plans for stories that I'm not sure I'll ever get to write. That doesn't stop me from imagining elaborate backstories for my OCs, or in a few cases even writing them out so I don't forget, even if that means putting aside other works that I've already started.

It would be a shame for these works to be ignored on my computer when I may never write a proper story for them, so I've decided to share. This is not a place for me to write out other people's OCs. I repeat, I am not taking requests. However, should anyone see something they would like to use in one of their stories, by all means go for it. Just give credit where credit is due, and shoot me a PM so I can check out your work.

As this is a side project updates will be irregular, but I've got a few already written out, so who knows. Each chapter will have both an "origin story" and a biographical sketch of the character for double the fun.

Lastly, I owe this project to the positive response I received for The Short and Lamentable Career of Joan Nightingale. Chances are if you like this then you'll enjoy Joan's story as well, so go check it out and tell me what you think.

Lyudmila Kuznetsova was cold. Artic winter air seeped through the thin layers of her coat and chilled her bones. The seventeen year old girl stayed perfectly still, ignoring her quickly-numbing fingers and nose. She had been sitting since the first rays of light peeked over the frozen tundra, and today the sun was deceptively bright as it glittered like diamonds over the frozen ground.

A blanket of snow deadened the sounds of the forest, and if she listened hard enough she could almost hear the beating of her own heart. After hours of almost complete silence it began to race when she heard the underbrush rustle in the distance. Lyudmila made sure to keep each breath measured and controlled as a humongous bear with a shaggy brown coat stepped into the clearing. It made an unearthly noise that was equal parts growl and cry of pain, and it staggered forward with the gait of a drunken sailor.

Great bears were known to hibernate during the winter months, but there were reports from the village about a rabid beast killing off livestock. No one else was crazy enough to venture into the woods to test the veracity of the claims. Male specimens could reach a standing height of twenty feet, and they were only half as terrifying as a female who thought her cubs were being threatened. Their thick pelts could shrug off bullets with ease, their claws and teeth razor sharp. Great bears were equally parts respected and feared, and the thought of one running rabid was enough to strike terror into the hardest of men.

But Lyudmila was not a man, and she was cold. From her blind she raised her grandfather's crossbow and took careful aim, loosening the bolt as the bear reared up on its hind legs. Unlike the round lead bullets favored throughout the island, the arrowhead was originally designed to pierce through metal plate armor. The bear roared in pain and fury as the bolt struck its heart, pink foam frothing at its mouth. But it did not fall, for it was too sick to realize it should be dead already. Calmly, with efficiency only possible after repeating the same motion a thousand times, Lyudmila reloaded her weapon and fired again.

The beast dropped. Squinting against the harsh, icy landscape, Lyudmila stepped out of her blind, keeping well back in case it decided to try to rise again. She saw it make a last, shuddering breath before going still, finally free of the agony of its existence.

"Lucky you," she said as she approached. "Forgive me for not ending it in one shot."

With a sickening squelch she managed to pull one of her bolts free. Holding it up for examination, Lyudmila found that the tip had broken off, likely after hitting solid bone. It would have to be replaced.

"Should have gotten it the first time," she repeated grimly. Then she looked down at the dead bear. It was no good for eating, but the pelt would fetch a handsome price.

That was, of course, assuming she could move the thing back to the village.

~x~

Dark came early in winter, and by the time Lyudmila trudged home the first stars were starting to twinkle in the sky. She was tired, hungry, and most of all cold, but it had been a good day. Balancing a cord of wood on her shoulder, she pushed the door to the old farmstead open.

"Mama!" she called. "Mama, I'm home."

There was no answer, and the house was dark. The fire in the hearth was banked, and a quick peek confirmed that there was no food in the large cast-iron stewpot where the family did most of their cooking. Dismayed but not entirely surprised, Lyudmila started a fire. Soon there was a cheerful crackling noise, and Lyudmila stuck her hands as close to the flames as she could. She pretended not to see the frost creeping in on the corners of the house, nor the thick pelts that hung from the ceiling to keep the drafts away.

"Mila, you're back."

Startled, Lyudmila spun around to see her mother shuffle closer. "Mama! I thought you were in bed already. How are you feeling?"

Her mother coughed in response. The sound was wet and harsh and did not stop for a long time. Lyudmila searched the dilapidated kitchen until she found a dirty rag and brought it to her mother's lips as convulsions shook her thin shoulders.

"Spit it out, Mama," she said quietly. "Your body does not want it for a reason."

Yellow-green phlegm tinged with red quickly covered the center of the rag. The effort left her mother exhausted and short of breath, and Lyudmila guided her to an old wooden rocking chair and helped her sit. It was the only furniture left in the house, the rest sold off or chopped up for firewood long ago.

"My grandmother's chair," her mother gasped. "My gift from her on my wedding day."

"I know, Mama. Let me help you closer to the fire. Where is your medicine? I'll fetch it for you."

"No need for it now. The heat will heal these old bones," she said.

"It is your lungs that are sick," Lyudmila said, eyes narrowing. "Mama, tell me. Where is your medicine?"

Her mother pretended not to hear, preferring to gaze into the cherry-red glow of the fireplace. She had been a beautiful woman once, before misfortune and hardship aged her beyond her years. Once plump and merry, the skin on her thin face now sagged, leaving her with a perpetually melancholy expression. There was more grey than blonde left in her coarse, unwashed hair, and the faint smell of stale sweat clung to her worse than the fleas and lice.

"Where's father?" Lyudmila asked when her mother did not answer her. "What has he done? He was meant to be out looking for work today."

"You know better than anyone that there's no work to be had. Your father is ill—"

"You're ill!" Lyudmila snapped. Pushing herself away from her mother, she stomped to the small room where her parents slept. A layer of insulating straw lay on the ground, and on top of that lay her father, her mother's empty bottle of cough suppressant hanging limply from one hand.

Her sire snorted himself awake and looked up at her through bleary, unfocused eyes. "Whaddya want, you stupid cow? Can't ya see I'm tryin' t' sleep?"

Lyudmila ripped the empty bottle of paregoric from him. "This was not yours," she snarled.

"E'reything in dis house is mine," he slurred. "Gimme sommthing to eat. I'm hungrier 'n a bear just woke up from his midwinter nap."

"There is nothing to eat," Lyudmila informed him coldly. "I spent the afternoon paying off your debts and barely had enough left over to keep us from freezing tonight."

"Then yer just as useless as yer mother. Get outta my sight."

Lyudmila did as she was told, if only to keep from strangling him. The village would probably thank her for it, but for some unfathomable reason her mother still loved him, and she would never do anything to upset her mother.

Defeated, Lyudmila returned to the hearth. She tried not to see the grimy floorboards or the boarded up window. It was all she could do to make sure the family kept treading water. When her mother was well she did what she could to make sure the house was clean and their stomachs filled, but her mother was not well and the doctor did not work pro bono. At least not for them. He was an affable enough man, but any goodwill he might have extended to the Kuznetsova family vanished when Lyudmila's father broke his nose the year before.

Sighing, Lyudmila rubbed her eyes to keep the tears of frustration away. Her father was disagreeable enough sober. When drunk he was downright mean. She would regret it the morning if he remembered the tone she'd taken with him.

At least she'd managed to pay off his tab at the bar. That should keep him occupied enough for a week or so, and he'd leave Mother's medicine well enough alone.

"I'll go back to the apothecary tomorrow," Lyudmila told her dozing mother. "You need not suffer so."

"You would be better off buying bread," she wheezed quietly. "You work so hard. You'll lose your strength if you don't eat."

"I heard someone managed to kill the rabid bear," Lyudmila said with false cheerfulness. "I'll start setting traps again now that the forest is safe."

"That forest is never safe, child," her mother said, but she was already drifting to sleep and did not argue any further. Lyudmila took off her ragged coat to drape around her like a blanket before settling down on the ground at her mother's feet.

~x~

The walk through town was not a pleasant one. The Kuznetsovas had been well-known in the village ever since Lyudmila's grandfather managed to singlehandedly fend off a group of pirates armed only with his crossbow. His son, Lyudmila's father, rode on the coattails of his fame and grew up to be entirely useless. Vodka was cheaper than water on Mytel Island, and in a village where most men spent their nights at the bar or tavern Lyudmila's father still managed to make a name for himself as the town drunk.

But when he was young he had been charming and handsome and the dream of many a lady, proving once and for all the proverb that loved cursed people to fall for goats to be true. He, of course, ended up choosing Lyudmila's mother, using her considerable dowry go buy a charming old house in the country outright.

Trouble came along with Lyudmila herself. Her father wanted nothing more than a boy of his own, but the birth of his first child was a difficult one, and for whatever reason her mother was never able to conceive again. It quickly became apparent that Lyudmila had not inherited her mother's good looks or sweet disposition. She was thickly built with feet that seemed two sizes too big and her grandfather's square jawline. No matter what she did, she could not gain her father's approval.

Lyudmila's grandfather taught her how to hunt and trap, and when he drank he giggled like a school girl and told her bawdy stories no child had any right to hear. He died during Lyudmila's ninth year, when in the middle of a spectacular bender he decided he wanted to go ice fishing, not realizing in his inebriated state that there was no ice. Lyudmila missed him terribly, because even though he did not get along with his son, he at least made sure their house was heated during the winter months.

The death of her grandfather also removed the last buffer of protection against the community's hatred for her father, a distain that trickled down to the youngest member of the family. The most Lyudmila could hope for was pity, and amongst the hard people of Mytle that was difficult to find indeed.

Shoving her hands in her pockets and ducking her head to ignore the stares, Lyudmila shouldered her way into the apothecary. The druggist was a portly, middle-aged man with a shiny bald head that twinkled along with his shiny white teeth. His unnerving smile was the source of many a nightmare to the village children, and the sight of him made Lyudmila's flesh crawl.

"Good morning, Mila my dear," he said with a grin that was clearly meant to be winsome. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

She set a handful of coins down on the table. "This should cover my line of credit."

He made a great show of counting the money. "All seems to be in order. Here's your collateral."

Lyudmila stopped him as he reached for the set of tools she'd given him in order to purchase her mother's medicine. "No, wait. I need another bottle, and that's all I have."

"Do you have a prescription?" he asked.

"You know I don't."

"Then I can't give you any more paregoric. I'm sorry, I told you last time. It's more than my job if I'm caught giving out opiates without a doc's say so."

"My mother has a bad chest," Lyudmila protested. "She can't go without it."

"What happened to what I gave you four days ago?" he asked, crossing his arms.

"I dropped it." Lyudmila's lie was seamless, but the apothecary was having none of it. He slammed her tools down on the counter.

"Out. I have nothing to sell to you today."

~x~

The woods offered Lyudmila solitude. Free from the guilt of home and the stares of the village she could be herself without fear of repercussion. She could think and plan and worry how they were going to survive in peace, with nothing but the cold to stop her as she shot bolt after bolt after bolt into the targets her grandfather built for her years ago. Later she would hunt, and maybe in the morning she would have a creature or two caught in her traps. Strictly speaking, it was illegal to kill anything in the king's forest, but if she didn't her family would starve, and the poached furs would pay the price needed to bribe the apothecary for Mother's medicine.

Lyudmila didn't know how long she had been outside when the wind shifted, carrying the scent of smoke. With a worried frown she searched for its source. In the distance a noxious black cloud lifted into the air, coming from the direction of town.

Lyudmila broke out into a run. There was no love lost between her and the village, but if there was an out of control fire every hand would be needed to try and contain it. She could drop the crossbow off at the house, warn her mother, and be at the square in less than twenty minutes. Hopefully she would make it in time to make a difference.

Despite the heavy snow, she had never moved so quickly. Her long braid caught in a low-hanging branch. Lyudmila snarled a curse and ripped it free. An unseen patch of ice caused her to fall flat on her face. She landed awkwardly and felt a sharp pain in her ankle.

It was as if the forest itself was trying to keep her from leaving. Lyudmila limped onward until she finally came to the clearing behind her house. What she saw made her almost made her heart stop beating.

Her mother was outside in the cold, surrounded by a trio of men wielding swords. One had his pointed at her mother's neck as he gestured to the house. Mother shook her head as she answered, but her words were lost in the wind.

What were pirates doing on Mytle Island in the dead of winter? With shaking fingers, Lyudmila loaded a bolt into her crossbow. She had two left, the rest abandoned at her makeshift target range in her haste to help put out the fire.

They didn't seem to have seen her. Lyudmila crept back into the cover of the woods and watched as the pirates lowered their swords, obviously unthreatened by the sickly woman that stood before them. They were well within the three hundred yard range of her crossbow, but the wind made it a tricky shot, and Lyudmila wasn't willing to take any risks when there was a chance she would miss and hit her mother.

Finally the pirates allowed her mother to return to the house. At first Lyudmila thought they were going to let her go. She was so obviously destitute, and surely there were better places to raid than a disheveled farmstead with nothing to give.

But her mother soon returned and offered the pirates something for their inspection. Lyudmila's breath hitched when she saw the glint of sunlight reflect off of gold. Her wedding band. It was the only jewelry Mother still owned, but she'd lost so much weight that she could no longer wear it and there was no money to have it resized. That ring, along with her grandmother's rocking chair, were Lyudmila's mother's only treasures left in this world.

The leader of the three pirates held the glinting ring up to the light and shrugged his shoulders before pocketing it. He turned to leave, waving at his two lackeys to follow him, and for a moment it seemed like all would be well.

Then Father burst out of the house. He swayed drunkenly on his feet, howling obscenities at the pirates. The leader laughed and might have brushed the old fool off when he picked up a piece of firewood Lyudmila bought only the day before and chucked it at them.

The wood fell far short of the pirates, but it was enough to catch their attention. The leader turned as he drew his sword, intent on striking Father down.

Lyudmila acted on instinct. She loosened the bolt and was loading her second without waiting to see if her aim was true. At the same time, her mother threw herself between the pirate and the husband who never deserved her.

Blood spurted into the air as the great vessels in Lyudmila's mother's neck were cut. She was dead before she hit the ground, the pirate falling on top of her soon after with a bolt sticking out of his chest. One of the remaining pirates ran her father through while the other searched frantically for where the attack was coming from.

Lyudmila's world stopped as she loosened her second shot. The same force that was able to down a great bear caused the bolt to tear through the pirate's throat as if it were wet paper, and the quarrel buried itself into the torso of the man standing behind him. The surviving pirate tried to run as his right lung filled with blood, drowning him on dry ground. In his panic he pulled to quarrel out, only hastening his own demise.

Lyudmila did not notice. She was already running to where her mother lay. Throwing her crossbow aside, she slid onto the blood-soaked snow. Her mother's face was pale, so deathly pale, her cheeks flecked with red and the ground stained a deep carmine.

"Mama!" Lyudmila cried, cradling her mother's body close to her chest. "Mama, please come back. You can't be gone! Y-you can't be gone!"

But she was, and Lyudmila knew it. Tears streaked down her cheeks, freezing in place as the temperature plummeted. Hours later the marines found her still sitting there, close to death herself, still holding the body of one of the only people to ever love her.

~x~

It was the coldest winter in living memory, but Lyudmila did not feel it. She hadn't felt anything at all since the mass funeral for the victims of the devastating pirate attack. For once fire had not been a comfort as the flames of the pyre licked up towards the heavens, releasing the souls of the deceased to their next life.

The last duty to her mother seen to, Lyudmila wandered aimlessly with no idea where she was supposed to go. Half the village was destroyed, and though her home remained untouched it wasn't as if she could return and forget the tragedy that happened there. No one had any use for her whatsoever. No one cared about the grief of the outcast when their own was so fresh in their minds.

The world was a cruel, senseless place. Lyudmila found herself standing in front of the village's remaining bar, thinking that maybe her father had the right of it all along. He'd found his escape in the end. What was keeping her from doing the same?

Nothing, it seemed. Lyudmila promised herself on the night her grandfather died that she would never touch a drink so long as she lived. But she wasn't living now, and she wanted to forget. With heavy, thudding steps she swung the door open and took a seat. She knew the man standing behind the bar, having paid her father's tab on more than one occasion. He looked surprised to see her, but after studying her face he stopped what he was doing and pulled out a bottle of clear liquid and poured some into a tumbler.

"On the house," he said, almost kindly. Lyudmila threw the glass back and swallowed the contents in one gulp, not even knowing the name of what she was drinking. She almost choked as it burned its way down to her belly, sending a warm feeling through her whole body.

Warmth. How long had it been since she'd felt warm?

"Another," she gasped, slamming the tumbler onto the bar. The bartender did as he was told, and in the years ahead when she tried to recall the exact events that led to her spending her first and only night in jail, that would be the last thing she ever remembered.

~x~

"I can't believe you're the one."

The unfamiliar voice coaxed Lyudmila back to consciousness, and the first thing she realized was that she was intolerably thirsty. She cracked open her eyelids, trying to see who spoke. That proved to be a terrible idea as her head throbbed, and she rolled over with a groan.

"If you puke on my shoes again I'm going to leave you here for the constables to deal with."

She did feel rather queasy, but there was also a strange emptiness in her stomach, like it had already evacuated its contents and there was nothing left to retch. The sour taste of vomit lingered in her mouth, and more than ever Lyudmila wanted something to drink.

"Water," she rasped.

"Smart girl. Bound to be dehydrated after a night like that."

Lyudmila sat up, groaning once more, and tried to get her eyes to focus. A tall, skinny man in a white jacket was standing before her. They were both in a jail cell, although the man seemed unperturbed by this situation.

"So she lives," he said in a jovial tone. "I was wondering when you'd wake up. Assaulting a marine officer is a serious offence, you know."

"Wha…?"

"I expect his nose will always be a little crooked, but it's his pride that's hurt more than anything. He'll never hear the end of how he got his gob smacked by some backwater island girl hard enough he had to be sent to the hospital."

"What…what are you talking about?"

The man continued as if she hadn't spoken. "And that bar! I thought those pirates were bad, but you wrecked the place. Looks like a bull stampeded in there. You'll have to pay damages, of course."

Lyudmila had no idea what he was talking about, and let her head roll back against the rough wall of her cell. "Don't have any money. Everybody knows that."

"Myself, I blame the bartender. Grief and alcohol don't tend to mix well. You were practically catatonic when I saw you last."

"Saw me…last…?" She cracked an eyelid open as she remembered where she'd seen the strange man before. "You're the marine that found us. After the attack."

"Almost too late. Twice now, actually." The marine sat cross-legged in front of her, his smile fading into a more serious expression.

"You've got talent, kid. At first I thought it was luck that you managed to hit three pirates with two shots, but I was asking around about you in town and someone said you killed a rabid bear the other day, all by yourself. It'd be a damn shame to flush skill like that down the toilet, and if you keep going on this path, that's exactly what you'll do."

Lyudmila laughed harshly. "And what does it matter to you? Here, I am nobody, the daughter of nobody, who is destined to die as nobody with nobody to care when I am gone. This is a cold place, and it is only going to get colder now that the pirates have destroyed what little we have." She managed to gather enough saliva to spit on the ground in contempt. "I have nothing left to live for, so go away and let me die in peace."

The marine leaned backwards on his hands. "And what peace did drinking yourself into a stupor give you? Seems to me like you're only walking in your father's footsteps."

Anger, white-hot and furious, tore through Lyudmila and she made a weak attempt to lunge at him. "Don't you dare speak of that man," she snarled grabbing a fistful of his lapel. "He was a waste of human life. He deserved a hundred times worse than what he got."

"You mean don't say the truth?" the marine countered, not at all bothered by her violent outburst. "Maybe you're nobody here, but if you join the marines you'd have a change to become a somebody. You'd find comrades of your own and have a chance to use your skill for the benefit of the world."

"You mock me," Lyudmila said, tears prickling at the corners of her eyes. "I may be of low standing, but I have my pride."

"I would never mock the girl who gunned down a pirate worth twenty million berries without any training." The marine batted Lyudmila's hand away and reached inside his coat, pulling out a crumpled bounty.

"The money's yours to do with as you please," he said as her jaw dropped. "Me? I'd pay my fines and use the extra to leave this little hole in the wall for good."

Twenty million berries. That was more money than she had ever seen in her life, and it was all hers. Lyudmila took the bounty from him and slowly read the crimes printed on the bottom of the poster.

"The offer still stands," the marine officer said after a while, breaking the reverent silence. "Though it won't for long. My boys and I set off later today, just as soon as I get the kid whose nose you broke discharged from the hospital. Will you be coming with me, or not?"

Lyudmila contemplated what he was saying. It was true, there was nothing left for her here, but maybe, just maybe, the rest of the world had something left to offer her? She'd never left her village before, and was terrified of the idea of doing so now. At the same time, it would be better if she was gone. Then the shame of the Kuznetsovas would be erased forever.

"I'll go with you," she said quietly, resolve strengthening with every word she spoke. "I will join your marines and hunt down men like this, who would cut down innocent people without thought."

A wide grin spread across the marine's face and he stuck out his hand. It took a moment for her to realize what he was doing, and she clasped it with her own, sealing the promise that would change her life forever.

Lyudmila Kuznetsova Biographical Summary

Physical Description: Brown hair, long when young, cut short and messily styled after joining marines (for more natural camouflage, so she says). Eyes also brown, but due to extreme farsightedness often hidden behind horn-rimmed glasses when not fighting. 6'2", 210 pounds, solidly built. Square jawline and long, thin-bladed nose. Often described as "masculine", which bothers her more than she lets on. Likes to wear khaki pants and simple button down shirts with a small marine gull embroidered on the breast pocket. Rarely seen without her crossbow.

Personality: No stranger to hard work, Lyudmila will do whatever needs to be done when it needs done. Slow to anger, slow to speak, often internalizes emotions both good and bad, and on very rare occasions has been known to explode often with violent results. Refuses to go to any event where she knows alcohol will be served and dislikes winter islands, and due to her upbringing extremely careful with her money. Will listen to whoever needs a sympathetic ear, but will not speak of her past and early marine career. Described by others as a good mate in a pinch, but difficult to know on a personal level.

Hobbies: Took up gardening to keep from drinking and eventually started collecting miniature trees. She has a bonsai that she likes to take with her on long missions whenever possible

Affiliations: Marines, Kuznetsova family (former)

Devil Fruit/Fighting Style: Exceptional sniper, has greater range and accuracy with her crossbow than the basic rifle most marines carry, and with some modifications is able to have a faster reload time as well. Is able to hold her own in a brawl and has great physical strength for a woman. Eventually learns rudimentary Observation Haki later in her career

Strengths: Level headed in chaotic situations, Lyudmila is capable of both following orders and improvising when necessary. Able to complete complex mathematical equations in her head and under immense pressure, which in turn enables her to be one of the best sharpshooters the marines have ever seen

Weakness: As a young marine Lyudmila developed a drinking problem that almost cost her career. Even a small amount of alcohol is enough to make her become violent, and she goes to extreme lengths not to ingest any accidentally. More of a follower than a leader, she is unlikely to question orders even when the orders she receives are very questionable.

To Appear In: Women of Valor

Inspiration: I named this OC after Lyudmila Pavlichenko, a Ukrainian-born Soviet sniper with 309 kills to her name. Google tells me that Kuznetsova is the Russian equivalent of Smith. In-universe Lyudmila's family used to be blacksmiths, but on a more meta level I wanted to tell the story of someone "common" conquering incredible odds in part due to uncommon talent, a recurring theme in Women of Valor (should I ever get around to writing it). Research also tells me that "love makes people fall for goats" is a Russian proverb, equivalent to "love is blind, but the neighbor's ain't."