You were born into Native American ancestry, but were whitewashed to no end all your childhood, causing you to never be associated with your own native history. It was tough, never getting to be in a tribe, never being able to feel like anything other than the time period-favored white kid. It hurt so much to know the world you were never allowed to be apart of was out there and thriving, even after you'd been kicked out of your family and welcomed into the Van Der Linde gang. Though, soon after joining you'd met Charles Smith, a half-indian without a tribe himself. It helped to have that reassurance, to know that even he had confidence in his culture despite it all.

Currently, you sit under a tree just minding your own business, lost in thought before noticing Charles approach with the same neutral yet soft expression he typically wears around here, pointing next to you and asking a gentle, "Mind if I sit here?"