cat danny 25

Drew C. Hawkins Character Summary Lawful Neutral Renegade<████████ | ████████>Paragon Morale Awful<███████|██████|██████>Not Awful "Loyalty to your own above all else." Name: Drew Cameron Hawkins Age: 35 Birthday: May 5th Ethnicity: Caucasian Birth Planet: Terra Heritage Welsh Hometown: Cardiff, Wales Gender: Female Height: 5.10 Forearms Weight: 9.43 Stone (132 Lbs) Build: Ectomorph Eyes: Green Hair: Brown Skin Tone: Pale Tarot Card / A Quick Consensus The Hierophant A down-looker of exhibitionism as well as a curious muse doubled with an all-business attitude. Having been quite literally 'been there and done that' in most given scenarios, Drew finds herself capable of handling situations in a head-on approach with premeditation when necessary. An appreciator of intrigue and an intellectual, she looks at most situations with a worse-case scenario in her head in the interest of avoiding disappointment and facilitating surprise. While arrogant and often-times downright brooding, Hawkins is an officer of eloquent taste and polite demeanor. She tends to contribute to conversations through intellectual insight or droll facetiousness, but were she to open up to someone, they may come to terms with her being far more human than she appears. With little obvious care for those she does not know, Hawkins colors herself with intrigue in the face of adversary or challenge, sometimes to the point of crass behavior or decision-making. Drew's background with Intelligence has lead her down a path that has developed skills regarding meticulous observation, attention to detail and has taught her the functions of premeditation as well as spontaneity when necessary. Often punctual and bordering 'too formal', Hawkins finds herself with habits left unbroken from her time as an officer. If nothing else, no one person can say that the principles instilled through the rigorous O.C.S process don't stick. "Admittedly? You had me at red wine." Psychology Meticulous * Loyal * Polite * Level-Headed * Punctual * Ambiverted Marital Status: Unmarried Habits: Meditating Pacing Rolling Shoulders Over-Explaining Vying Towards Optimism Hobbies: Cleaning Equipment Reading Chess Working Out Fears: Ophidiophobia - Fear of snakes. Likes: Things Going According To Plan The Mobile Infantry Premeditated Planning Respecting Superiors Respecting Subordinates Loyalty Warm Climates Dislikes: Disrespectful Troopers Childish Behavior 'Mickey Mouse Bullshit' Rainy Climates Degenerates & Boores Lack Of Humility People Who Want To Be 'The Guy' History & Misc General Skills: Cardiovascular Conditioning Small Arms Training Technical Communications Certification JTAC Certification Air-To-Land Insertion Sea-To-Land Insertion CLS Certification Criminal Record: N/A Service Record: 2292 - Enlisted & enrolled in O.C.S 2293 - Graduated O.C.S as a Second Lieutenant in Military Intelligence, posted on Sanctuary. 2295 - Transferred to the BCT-117 'Audie Murphy' under the supervision of Major-General Corsica Fardon as a mission handler for the Mobile Infantry. 2296 - Promoted to First Lieutenant & given overview of Pathfinder Team Seven-November lead by Captain Otto Dresdner as their mission coordinator. 2296 - Requested decommission in order to transfer to the Mobile Infantry as an adjutant to Captain Robert Shaw of the 112th Mobile Infantry. 2296 - Decommissioned and instated as a Warrant Officer in charge of Technical Communications & Signal Corps aboard the Audie Murphy. 2296 - Transferred to the 127th Mobile Armored Corps to serve as adjutant to Lieutenant Vance Armstrong 2297 - Shifted from Platoon Auxiliary to First Platoon as a section leader. Instated as a Sergeant. 2298 - Promoted to Staff Sergeant following the battle of Terra. 2298 - Transferred to the 112th Mobile Infantry as a replacement Staff Sergeant after the disbandment of the 127th following the Centaurian Empire's absorption into the Coalition. Anything Else: Drew is an adept pianist. Drew was a teacher for History and Moral Philosophy. Drew has two older siblings. Drew's on-paper intelligence surpasses average Infantry expectancy. Drew has an ear for classical music. Relationships Key: Trusted/Amiable / Respected / Friendly / Neutral/Known / Mixed / Particular/Exceptional Dislike / † = Deceased Elrad Davidson Mikayla Kowalski Jack O'Neill † Matthew Squires I'll add you if you ask me to.

3spc if Liz hasn't already accepted you.

Both accepted as 3spc.

Accepted as a 3spc.

This man amuses me.

Dishonorable discharge forfeits all of your accolades, if I remember correctly.

August 3rd, 2295 Operation SCORPION Outskirts of Moran, Exodius Territory, Barachian-Nine Avraham looked out the window of their VTOL as they flew over the Exodian countryside. There were four of them sat in the back of the helo'. The Barachian-Nine teams had all been pulled out and were shuffled elsewhere, most of which went back to the colonies. Yael, Van and their third member they'd been with since the creation of their team, Garry Pomeroy were tacked up with a second bug war vet; James DeSilva, a Chief Warrant Officer who was put in charge of their SOG team in order to replace Lieutenant Bronson. DeSilva was an older man, Van thumbed him for about fifty. "What the fuck do you mean they're fuckin' pullin' the advisory staff out of B-Nine!?" Pomeroy demanded as Van broke the news to him about the upcoming document signing that would be taking place in Moran. Barachian-Nine was to become one allied body under the Federation, given that the Ultranationalist coup had failed. As such, Pomeroy, Avraham and Van were to be reassigned elsewhere. Worried for his job, the prior took a drag from his cigarette. He'd been up all night deciphering communications. Hadn't slept, and was still only half dressed. DeSilva spoke up, "Garry, there ain't no use hollarin' about it. I reckon everybody in this bird's just as pissed off." He tried to sound sympathetic despite the sour look on his face. Yael knew that her partner didn't like what was happening either, but it'd seem that they had no say at all in the matter. This one came from the top. "We spend a year here," Van started, "- knee deep in gook shit and black-ops equipment, and now we're getting fuckin' pulled out!? I have a goddamn wife, man. What am I gonna' do, get laid off now too!?" "You're not gettin' laid off, you're gettin' transferred. You also look stupid as hell in that headband, son," DeSilva said as he took a toke from his cigar, nodding his chin towards the younger Pathfinder. "I'm a real fuckin' Iskandian man, Chief DeSilva!" Van replied as he flared his nostrils towards the other. He always did have kind of an inherent disrespect for authority. Maybe it was because he'd considered himself hot shit since he graduated from the academy as a junior operative for the United Citizen Federation Intelligence Agency. Now? He was on Barachian-Fuckin'-Nine wearing an OSW patch on his sleeve with a Mark Four in his lap. "We're gonna' be goddamn heroes by the end of this." "Sebastian, d'you listen to yourself speak?" Yael asked, prompting a snerk to come from Pomeroy. Everyone seemed to have lightened up. "Hey, fuck you man," Van said in replique. He had a big shit-eating grin on his face all he while. "You ain't my boss no more. I can give you shit for laughin' at me. Y'prick. No better'n the gooks, I tell ya'. Bunch of motha'fuckers, and you're a sympathizer." He decreed matter-of-factly as he chewed the end of his cigarette.

Play on the server for a little while. If you start being active again, I'll consider re-evaluating this.

Both accepted at 3spc.

August 2nd, 2295 Operation SCORPION Outskirts of Moran, Exodius Territory, Barachian-Nine DeVantos sighed, "So, this is it? This is the way the world ends?" She didn't say anything to respond, a cold silence filled the air between the two operators. Van took the rifle that was mag-locked to his back and set up the bipod in the grassy knoll he was laying in. Adjusting the scope, he peered through it. "Wind velocity?" he asked, measuring out the distance with the built-in rangefinder. "Eight em-pee-aitch, East to West. One tick over," she replied. "Rog'," Van affirmed as he turned the dial a single tick over in order to compensate. He flicked off the safety and peered down-range as several BTRs began to near the last-stand that was set up outside of the compound. He waited several minutes which felt like hours until the enemy was past their hill, allowing their flank to be used effectively. Lining up his cross-hairs on the command port of the vehicle, he fired. The impact of the anti-material rifle shook her to the very core, even if she weren't the one firing it. Van fired a second round, blinking as a pink mist filled the lens of his scope as it ejected from the back of the BTR's swivel like a bucket of paint. A third shot caused the vic' to stop dead in it's tracks, while the last shot triggered the ammunition supply which prompted the armored vehicle to combust from the inside out. Pressing the ejection switch on his rifle, his magazine unlocked from its port and fell onto the ground. Van extended a hand towards her for the next magazine. He loaded it in, though abstained from racking the bolt as he still had one in the chamber. "Officer to your eleven, behind the overturned B-T-R." Yael called out whilst peering through her binocs. "Red helmet, easy target. Not moving, four hundred meters." "Eyes on," he said, lining up the shot. He fired towards him and waited as he saw the round travel nearly a quarter mile before reaching it's target. The 'dink' of his bullet-casing was audible almost within the same fraction of a second that the round hit the man square in the chest. His back folded like a bad poker hand and prompted his upper torso to land on his legs once he peeled down to the ground, utterly obliterated. "...Hit," she called out. A shell hit beside Van from a far-off tank, causing the both of them to jolt in surprise. Several airborne units began to make their way towards the two's location. "We need to go, now!" Van shouted as he hauled Yael to her feet. The two began to make their way down the side of the mountain closest to the base. A small ship flew overhead, gunning towards the cliff face. With the sun in their eyes, it was hard to distinguish just which side it was shooting at. Them, or their pursuers...

“Avanti La Federazione” Avanti La Friendzone

Walcroft

The oldies will understand.

Apologies for the late response. My forums didn't give me a notification that we had another application. I'll bring you in as a 3spc for the time being.

August 2nd, 2295 Operation SCORPION Outskirts of Moran, Exodius Territory, Barachian-Nine Monday. I never was a fan of Mondays, she thought while glancing down towards the digital numbers resting on her watch. It was just breaking five thirty, and the sun had begun to peak up over the horizon. It was cool out. Fall started in the middle of July on Barachian-Nine, which meant that the two O.S.W Operators that sat up on the hill were probably getting pretty chilly by the time the sun came up. After-all, they had been there all night preparing. "Any minute now," Sebastian called to her. The sharpshooter for Fireteam Grizzly. More importantly, he was the trusted partner of Yael. The kind of person you never leave home without, she'd once described him as. Equipped with an anti-mat' rifle, the two members of Grizzly were put up on overwatch for a planetary defense platoon. Being a communications specialist, Yael had been set up in a position to both spot for DeVantos, as well as keep tabs on the fight with the radio manpack. They were set up a few miles outside of Moran, the planetary capitol. They were holding a mountain pass that the enemy would be moving a convoy through - the most convenient location to mount an assault from. If they lost that, odds were they would be losing the city. They had a mile and a half of trench set up at the top of the hill. Even if the enemy managed to push the canyon, they had rows and rows of trenches to clear. Off in the distance, a convoy was perched for as far as the eye could see. Barachian was an independent colony, which meant that they had no Federation affiliation. For the entirety of the civil war, the Federation had been backing both the Loyalists and the Ultranationalists in hopes of allying with whoever was the victor. O.S.W teams had done work for both sides of the conflict, though were now assisting the Loyalists in defending the capitol. Push-and-shove, the battles in the past had been very one-sided. The Office of Special Warfare had been conducting under-the-table operations for the Ultranationalists in hopes of getting the Loyalists to bend at the knee at the negotiation table in order to bum extras out of them in exchange for assistance. Granted, the very same thing had been done to the opposing front as well. Problem was, the Ultranationalists were desperately attempting the coup the government. Coups were bad for business in the long run, which is why Command had seen it fit to end the war there and then. "Grizzly-ONE, this is Wolverine-THREE, SEAD, break. Route Alpha is suppressed. Friendly reinforcements are as follow; Two Bravo-Tango-Romeos, platoon-size chalk on four birds coming from Two-Platoon. CAS, T-O-T twelves Mikes. Mortars for map grid three-one-five-two-niner-seven. Standing by for tasking, over." Avraham reached over her shoulder in over to pull the phone off of the radio manpack. She spoke into it, "Wolverine-THREE, this is Grizzly-ONE. Acknowledging; SEAD, break. Alpha is suppressed with reinforcements coming up the back. CAS coming in, in twelve. Mortars for map grid three-one-five-two-niner-seven. We'll call on you when we need you, over." "Wolverine-THREE copies all, Grizzly. Out." Off in the distance, a dozen or so tanks could be seen rolling up alongside infantrymen. Avraham and DeVantos had been keeping tabs on them for the past hour or so. It was going to be a conventional battle, right up the middle. It's going to be bloody, she figured as she raised her binocs in order to take another look. It wasn't long after that, that the Loyalists had begun to open up on them. "Wolverine-THREE, this is Grizzly-ONE. Targets are sighted and in-range on your pre-sighted position. Two columns of mechanized infantry, counting twenty-plus enemy foot mobiles. Weapons free, you're clear for a continuous barrage, over." "Grizzly-ONE, Wolverine-THREE. Green light on mortars, two columns of mechanized infantry tallying twenty-plus tangos. Weapons free, firing for effect, over."

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Chronology; Part One Part Two Part Three ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I'll give you both a go.

August 2nd, 2297 The First Time New Cantrip, Orelli Province, Rebus Three. VI Specialist Parker fell to the floor clutching at his throat. The spalling that came out the back of his neck had grazed your arm as you took aim towards the assailant. One round, two rounds, click. You jammed. Then you panicked. Then you heard your assailant's magazine hit the floor as he went to reload. Making to do the only thing you knew how to; You ran straight for him, leaving your partner who was choking on his own blood to writhe around helplessly on the floor, wide-eyed and afraid. He was nineteen, and he was your assigned battle-buddy. It wasn't the first time that a friend of yours had been shot, been wounded. It was however, the first time that you blamed yourself. You were too trusting, too careless with the charismatic man who answered the door to the apartment you were checking. You cross-checked the young man with your rifle and pinned him to the wall. He screamed at you, you screamed back. His helmet smashed into yours and it made you dizzy. He threw you to the floor and got overtop of you, pinning the rifle to your neck. Your feet kicked helplessly as you began to mimic Parker's dying actions. Sissy. Your first time in CQC and you were about to get choked to death with your own bloody rifle. You bent your leg at the knee and wrapped your calf around his. Struggling, you took the knife from its sheath and cut the strap. He flinched as it jutted free, and you used that momentum to throw him to the side. Your knee wound up on his forearm and both of your own hands clenched the knife while his only free hand held you back. Your blood boiled, your adrenaline shot through you as potent as battery acid. Oh, how you could feel your heart racing. It wouldn't be him that would kill you, you thought. It would be your own damn self, at that rate. You put your entire body weight into your arms, leaning forward and slowly sinking the blade closer and closer to the young man who was beneath you. "Stop it!" he hollered. "Please, God! Stop it! Let me go! They made me! They made me!" His pleads fell on deaf ears. Never before had you killed someone, nor had you seen a bug. You were garrisoned on Rebus Three for your first year of deployment, straight out of boot. You were practically a reserve trooper fighting against backwater separatists. The second the knife came loose from your sheath, something broke inside of you. To this day you swear by that fact. That young man that lie beneath you, struggling and begging for his life. He was no older than Parker was at his time of death, no older than a boy. A child. You were a medic, but you were also a soldier. You had the power to save lives, and now you had the opportunity to take one away. His shirt began to stain red as the tip of your blade broke his skin. "Oh, fuck - stop!" he screamed again as his voice broke and cracked. Utterly terrified, petrified. You'd never saw fear like that in the eyes of another human being before, and it turned your stomach. Still, you carried on with what you'd set out to do. You knew well what was about to happen, what you were about to do. Not a word. The blade sunk through his chest slowly, painfully. You felt his strength had begun to seep away until finally, you heard his arm give out a sickening 'snap!' that made you wince, then a disgusting slicing noise followed once you broke through his chest down to the hilt. His head wrenched a few more times, twitching and spasming from the knife that had just punctured through into his lungs. His feet that kicked stood still and his breathing wheezed to a halt. Panting and breathing heavily, you sat down in the hallway. To your left lay the dead boy whose life you'd just taken. To your right, lay Parker - whose eyes still stared lifelessly up at the ceiling, hands still clenched tightly to his neck. There was a monsoon of blood beneath him, and that's when for the first time in your life; It finally hit you. You were twenty six years old and you had finally come to know the feeling that was Sonder. The sudden realization of passersby having a life just as long, and complex as your own. The nameless young man, Specialist Parker. Both of them had lived a life with just as many twists and turns as any other person, yours included. Now they were gone. Just like that, their fire that had been long-burning was now extinguished, and it was never coming back.

Gimme that Ylva goodness

November 20th, 2290 The Last Time You Were All Together Outskirts of Belfast, Northern Ireland, Terra V The first thing that you remember from that day was waking up in the car after a long drive to a song over the radio, one that you never thought you would forget. It caught your interest, and you weren't quite sure why. You took your PDA and inspected it to gather the time, only to be touched on the shoulder by Maria. "Smile!" she let out as she stuck a camera in your face. Smile. There's something you ought to do more. You did. You don't anymore, but you did quite frequently back then. For her; for no reason other than because she asked you to. You were on a family trip, the last time that the entirety of your immediate family were all together in one place. Before things got bad. Before the divorce, you and Maria went to Ireland with your parents. It wasn't the first time that you'd traveled, nor would it be your last. At that point, you never did stop to consider how far you might one day wander. Were you one day planning on going somewhere, or running away from it all? So many good questions that young you would never have stopped to consider, or think about. It was your first time to Ireland. In your youth you had been to Geneva, the Capital of the Federation. You had also visited Aberdeen, the city that was rumored to have planted the seeds that would one day grow into what you knew as the Federation. Of course, that had all happened long before you were born. Another cog in the machine. You always had enjoyed trying new things, despite the fact that you would oft object because you were afraid. Oh, boy, did change ever frighten the hell out of you. It was sudden, it was brash and the thought of not being familiar with something that was to become the new norm terrified you. The trip was pleasant, the divorce was less-than. You never did see your mother often after that; it was her fault, after-all, that your family had been sheared. She drank, she became crass and bitter as she aged. Your parents were a good deal older than you. Had you when they were in their late thirties, Maria in their early forties. Your mother had grown into a bitter woman by the time she had reached sixty. She turned to prescription medicine which eventually killed her by the time you finished Boot. She cried the day you told her you were leaving, and now you wish you could take it all back. Strange, you never knew.

I'll bring you in as a third specialist.

Cassette Contents;

I'll give you the OK to make a second specialist after having consulted with one of the old medical leads regarding your ability to perform.