Barbara "Bunny" Goldschmidt


Martial Artist



Place of Birth:

Los Angeles, California

Date of Birth:

13 June 1990

Hair/Eye Color:

Platinum Blonde/Sky Blue


5' 10" / 127 lbs


Member of the Cheerleaders


Buffy guided her 2026 Volvo SUV into the 7-11, carefully pulling it up alongside the first gas pump and blocking off access to any other pumps. Sure the vehicle was old but she still loved the bright gold coloring and the black side panels. It might have been out of style now, but Daddy did say he'd get her a brand new one for Christmas.

Bambi Takahana grabbed Buffy by the arm and squealed in fear. "What're you, like, doing? You stopped at a -- " (cue: dramatic gulp) " -- Seven-Eleven! And it's, like, nowhere near civilization! It's in a, y'know -- 'hood!"

Buffy yanked herself free and glared down at the Japanese girl. The fact that Buffy was black just never seemed to occur to the girl. Besides, she was ruffling the threads, a brand new maroon and gold cheerleader outfit with a big 'B' and a megaphone (whatever that was) right there on the chest. Buffy looked in the backseat at her other bestest friend. "You okay with this, Bunny?"

The peroxide blonde twisted her face tight and confessed through gritted teeth. "I really, really hope they got a clean ladies room, y'know?"


Benjy Johnson gazed out the pane glass window of the 7-11. One buxom cheerleader bounded his way while two others pieced together their IQs to figure out how the gas pump worked. His eyes bounced happily with her -- 'Oh, God! It's Bunny! One of the B Squad!' -- and his libido heaved a sigh of pleased relief as she jiggilingly capered to the bathroom then struggled and pleaded with a locked door. Benjy and his old buddy Lenny admired the dancing view for a couple minutes then the clerk's conscience kicked in. He noisily dangled the key for another minute before she made the connection.

All Benjy could do was heave a sigh in raptuous joy.

By the time the other two Bs finished up with the SUV, the shop was jumping with business. The old fart was chowing down. Lenny was selling him some new pics. Some punk was checkin' out the toys and stuff. And the ultimates -- the B Squad! -- the Beverly Hills Blazes! -- were here in his 7-11. Sure, Lenny's pics were cool, but there was nothing like seeing them in that oh-so-great flesh. And as long as they were going to argue who was going to splurge on the gas and the nachos (hey, one platinum piece of Daddy's plastic was as good as the next for Benjy), he could stand there and admire the scenery.

At least until Bunny did this spinning jump thing that made her skirt flare out. It made her look like she was wearing blue lycra underwear. And then there was nothing but darkness for a while.

A hand patted at his face until he came to. It was one of the cheerleaders! Benjy wasn't sure which, but it didn't matter. One of the bubble gum goddesses was touching him.

"Hey! Like, you okay?" Bunny asked in her concerned but demanding tone.

Benjy nodded deliriously.

"Cool! We gotta go!"


The rest of the day proved unusual for the girls. Mr. Henry, their chemistry teacher, was always ready to flunk them. They knew they failed their test that day -- those tests were always so unfair, all those letters and numbers and there was nothing periodic about that table! -- but all they did was pout a little and he gave them As. The football team played that night against their arch-rivals, the South Central Satans. They never won against them but that night, the girls put a little extra spin on their cheers. And the Satans wandered off the field -- a lot of the time during a play -- to ask them out.

Late the next night, they strolled down Rodeo. All the stores might have been closed but it was always a good idea to get the lay of the land before going to Daddy for some major cash for a serious spendfest. Bunny caught herself dreaming in front of a jewelry store and, knowing full well Daddy would say no to something so practical yet so expensive, threw a small tantrum. The security guard went down so easy....


Almost a month later, the trio figured they could now get their way just by walking in, demand something, knocking out a few people, and leaving! How much more trippin' could that get!

And with that, a team of criminals was born.

Personality and MotivationsEdit

Bunny is, without a doubt, the most genuinely cheeriest of the three Cheerleaders. She is also the shallowest and the most vapid. It doesn't take much to put a smile on her face -- a puppy, a kitten, a rainbow, Daddy's credit card with a recently-imposed zero balance. But she's not as naive as people expect of someone so blonde. Fact is, sometimes she counts on it, playing it up to play her marks. She's an airhead, don't get me wrong... it's just that she's a smart airhead... well, smart for airheads... and she knows that its a good thing when people underestimate her.

Or something.


"Oh, goody!"

Powers and AbilitiesEdit

Of the three Cheerleaders, Bunny is the one who is physically toughest in terms of being able to stand up to being hurt. She does it through pure willpower, of which she has a lot, comparatively. She's not as polished when it comes to fighting as the others, but she brings her own set of skills to the table. Like the others, she's managed to create her own version of "Cheer Fu", a method of fighting that works for her. She is also the best at using her physical appearance and her personality as a distraction when it comes to guys.


Bunny likes her clothes. If it doesn't have a designer label, it doesn't belong in her closet. And if it doesn't accentuate those curves she loves to show off it doesn't go on her body. And she does have curves; she is the most... perhaps "pneumatic" is the right word... of the Cheerleaders.

Pneumatic. You know, she's a healthy girl. Great lungs.

Oh come on... do I have to spell it out for you??

Needless to say, many of her clothes have yet to see the light of day. Her action outfits are all cheerleader uniforms, meticulously coordinated with those of her teammates. It tends to be just that tad bit skimpier than those worn by the others.