"ah... doesn't that hit the spot? You can't tell me this doesn't beat sitting around in some stuffy guild hall pushing papers for your boss, huh? Naah - borrowed skin and bombay gin, that's the way to do it. Mmmm... yeah... so what kind of work has that bastard got you doing, anyway?"

Life: Smiling, happy-go-lucky and very quick with your words, you were everyone's best friend - maybe a little too much. You got the reputation for being the sort of person that anyone could talk to, and so they did. Once you got to college you made up your mind to make those talents work for you. A double major in journalism and psychology gave you a way to get people to say anything, and the skills to report it, and you managed to get a political beat with a major newspaper. Interviewing the movers and shakers made for good money, and it felt wonderful to see your name in print.

How you went from reporting the news to reporting for your government was something of a funny story. One time you went to an interview, had a few drinks and wound up in bed with a Latin American diplomat who liked to talk into his pillow between snores. You managed to excuse yourself from his room the next morning and went to get the story in. But while trying to remember what had been on the record and what had been whispered in his sleep, you got the two got a little mixed: not so much that your paramour noticed, but enough that some analysts from a certain alphabet-soup organization noticed.

Before long you had a knock at your door, and two dour-faced men in black were there, wanting to talk to you. You'd done nothing wrong, they said, but they'd like you to keep doing what you were doing - for them, from time to time. They never said who they were working for, only that they were with the government. But as they were very persuasive - and you were always a patriotic kind of lady - you signed on, thinking that it might be interesting if nothing else.

It was interesting, alright. This was during the Cold War, and you got to pile the charm on some real winners. Some of them had nothing to tell but the most obvious things, but some of them had some interesting beans to spill. And whenever you got a good bean, you took it right to your handlers, who slipped some cash into your account by way of thanks. It was a good deal for all involved, though you're sure some of the guys you slyly pressed for info had hell to pay when they got home...

Unfortunately, your handlers changed. The new ones weren't as interested in getting secrets as they were in your ability to be "the other woman." You were used to blackmail foreign nationals into giving sensitive information, otherwise your handlers would go public with the affair. The fact that this would ruin you as well didn't seem to matter much to your new bosses, who compensated for your complaints by promising that this time would be the last time...

Death: ... It just so happened that one time was the last time, courtesy of a scared diplomat who decided that killing you was preferable to being under the government's thumb.

The Grim Legion took you in, but wasted your talents in a clerical position. It wasn't until you figured out how to bend the folks in the office around your finger that the Cabal found you. It's been a match made in Heaven ever since.