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[color=e99490][h3][sub][sup][color=#f1bdbb]⚫[/color][sub] [color=#eda9a5]⚫[/color][sub] [color=#eda9a5]⚫[/color][/sub][/sub][/sup]   Name[/sub][/h3][/color][hr]
[indent][color=#90e5e9]⦊[/color] William Terry Hackett[/indent]

[color=e99490][h3][sub][sup][color=#f1bdbb]⚫[/color][sub] [color=#eda9a5]⚫[/color][sub] [color=#eda9a5]⚫[/color][/sub][/sub][/sup]   Age[/sub][/h3][/color][hr]
[indent][color=#90e5e9]⦊[/color] 36[/indent]

[color=e99490][h3][sub][sup][color=#f1bdbb]⚫[/color][sub] [color=#eda9a5]⚫[/color][sub] [color=#eda9a5]⚫[/color][/sub][/sub][/sup]   Position and Rank[/sub][/h3][/color][hr]
[indent][color=#90e5e9]⦊[/color] Chief Science Officer
[indent][color=#90e5e9]⦊⦊[/color] Lieutenant[/indent][/indent]

[color=e99490][h3][sub][sup][color=#f1bdbb]⚫[/color][sub] [color=#eda9a5]⚫[/color][sub] [color=#eda9a5]⚫[/color][/sub][/sub][/sup]   Race[/sub][/h3][/color][hr]
[indent][color=#90e5e9]⦊[/color] Human - Earth[/indent]

[color=e99490][h3][sub][sup][color=#f1bdbb]⚫[/color][sub] [color=#eda9a5]⚫[/color][sub] [color=#eda9a5]⚫[/color][/sub][/sub][/sup]   Appearance[/sub][/h3][/color][hr]
[indent][color=#90e5e9]⦊[/color] Quite, undoubtedly tall - 6'2" mass of lean muscle - even for a man of his origin. William provides a clean cut figure, looking pointedly less like he does research and more like he's toiled around in a bed of hay. If not for the formal attire concerning the Federation's dress code, plaid would likely feature in just about every article of clothing William has. Fortunately, he's resigned to the stark blues standard for his division. That somehow doesn't aid for how much he contrasts with everyone around him. Most would peg him a rancher from the hard callouses of his hands, the perpetual tan that colors his skin a gradient bronze.

Grins are commonplace, as is the dopey, laid back look of his face even as it is mottled with lines and light pock marks. The wiry, curly hair on his head often remains tamed in a short cut so as not to waste time better spent working. Still, it finds ways to flop and budge from its pressed pomade in loose strands that hang over his head. If it's at all possible to forget a man like William, it's quite difficult to forget his face, at the least, as it's distinct in its length and hard lines even as they smooth into a natural nonchalance.

If William ever cared for opinions, he likely would have toned down a long while ago. Even in his middle age, he has yet to quiet himself and remains a boisterous man with a voice as distinct and loud as possible. It draws off his tongue in smooth, southern grace with every bit the spitfire hidden beneath the lazy summer heat of his presence. Annoying, probably. Worse when alcohol is involved? Definitely.[/indent]

[color=e99490][h3][sub][sup][color=#f1bdbb]⚫[/color][sub] [color=#eda9a5]⚫[/color][sub] [color=#eda9a5]⚫[/color][/sub][/sub][/sup]   Personality[/sub][/h3][/color][hr]
[indent][color=#90e5e9]⦊[/color] William has no issues with his directness. Like most of his family, William doesn't appreciate beating around the bush and often comes off as blunt. Rude, though? Definitely not. Manners have always been a commonplace with William and even in his heightened mood, whether agitated or carefree, he often does so with respect at the forefront of his mind. It's easy, though, to befriend a man like William who often lacks any wherewithal to hide anything - maybe even insofar as wearing his heart on his sleeve. He likes people. He loves feeling the full range of emotions and refuses to hide that fact about himself. Honesty means just as much as respect.

The thrill of discovery often drives William in both his life and his work - often both at once. It's the chase William seeks: a distant feeling of enlightenment that opens his eyes just a wink more. Backing down from that chase, knowing when the depth plunges too far for any one person to traverse isn't something William does easily. It's not the credit he seeks, but the feeling of disappointment hear fears when falling upon a drastic failure. Failure itself doesn't scare Willaim. After all, trials and errors make the entirety of science. But knowing he'd stepped so close into the light, yet falling just an inch short. Like having the perfect sentence itching your fingertips and then losing it to a stray thought.

William festers with potential possibilities, outcomes, and suffers from a racing mind. White noise doesn't register to William, as he takes great care in keeping his thought process clear cut. William terrifies in his efficiency and the sheer will he pushes himself through. Suddenly the lines on his face seem a lot darker under the constant stress he pushes himself through.[/indent]

[color=e99490][h3][sub][sup][color=#f1bdbb]⚫[/color][sub] [color=#eda9a5]⚫[/color][sub] [color=#eda9a5]⚫[/color][/sub][/sub][/sup]   History[/sub][/h3][/color][hr]
[indent][color=#90e5e9]⦊[/color] Hackett Ranch likely supplied the largest plot of land in central Mississippi. Owned by Martha and John Hackett, the ranch cost a fortune, but quickly earned its deficit back steadily with its supply of cotton, as well as its teeming livestock. Technology made quick work of the fields, automated to plow and sow and harvest at specific intervals of time - leaving most of the work to engineering, of which consisted mainly of John's expertise. Most hard labor went with caring for live animals, of which their kids knew plenty.

Diligence was a near necessity in the ranch, luckily halving with the amount of people living there and the ranch hands hired to assist. Still, John believed hard work could take one far and drilled those ideals into each of his kids. William, of course, came first, a young, strapping boy that grew into his own boots quickly and without much fuss. To be fair, none of the Hackett kids caused much of a racket, especially with the last two, Judith and then Harold, fairing a bit quieter and more reserved than their eldest brother.

Early on in their lives, it was to be expected that the ranch get passed down every generation, or so. Either among the three of them, or to the eldest, that being William. None of them could refute such wishes, especially at such a young age. Even then, each children got only the finest in education, often in the form of personal tutors, though each gladly attended private schooling.

Unfortunately for both parents, each child quickly found a passion within just the first few months of their high school years. William had always been drawn to curiosity. Learning became an important aspect in William's early life. It could never be as simple as his father made it - everything William learned, he learned as far as the depths of his own resources could take him. When it came to education, those depths never truly ceased if one looked hard enough. William's drive and motivation pushed him not only to succeed, but to excel farther than anyone around him.

That uncanny knack for simply wanting to achieve and discover propelled him fast in his studies. Among many, organic chemistry, as well as quantum-physics had ranked top in William's list of priorities. It quickly became evident to both parents that William's eyes were set not on the ranch, but an area far more dangerous than was suited. His first insistence that he join Star Fleet during his sophomore year had been utterly denied, yet William continued. And continued. And eventually, upon turning eighteen and completing high school within the top 1% of his classmates, he took the leap without prior consent from his parents.

This drove a sharp rift between the family, especially as it caused a domino effect within the other two children. With their eldest brother taking the lead, both Judith and Harold applied to Starfleet Academy as soon as they were able. Though, William's own four year tenure at the academy came with enough ups and downs, he eventually allotted himself among a ship's own science division quickly after graduating. He jokes that he ran out of luck once they admitted him among the top ranking in his section on his first try ('cause the psych test went nearly catastrophic).

Most of William's time was spent in ship labs and working on discovering valuable uses of technology. Mostly, though, his work mainly consisted of researching the possibilities behind wormholes and the potential behind harnessing that kind of power. Unlikely to come up with something, though, William often went back and forth between projects, dedicating quite a bit of his time assisting head officers in their endeavors rather than attempting to complete his own research.

Unfortunately, even though his time in Starfleet was anything but fleeting, William eventually hung low after both of his parents passing due to an unknown, chronic ailment. Having just heard of their state and their recent death, William returned home out of a sense of duty and obligation. Mostly, his heart ached. None of their children left on a swell note and he had been among the ones that had dropped all forms of contact out of idiotic stubbornness. This lead to a swift decline in William's own state of mind and eventually he settled down on his home ranch in order to regain himself.

Studying in engineering, and simultaneously mostly failing in it, William did his best to keep the ranch running. He tended to the livestock, to the fields when he could, attempted to keep a few of the old hands hired and running things he couldn't. In fact, William spent an entire two years in complete shambles, running himself into the ground trying to run some kind of business he had no idea how to run. Working for his father and mother had been one thing, certainly, but owning everything? Allotting finances, paying bills, buying the required equipment, repairs - how he even managed to stay afloat was a mystery he wasn't willing to solve. Eventually, it finally came to having to sell the ranch in itself and find someplace else to settle down. It took months to get everything finalized and doled out, but eventually, and with a heavy heart, William let everything go. Or, at least, he tried to.

Yet, William had come to miss the exploration he'd grown fascinated with. Hard labor, economics, business, none of that seemed interesting to William. In fact, it only ever piled stress after stress onto his still exhausted shoulders. The decision to come out of his own, rather early retirement hadn't been a hasty one, but when news of the USS Orion requiring a crew and the ongoing war with the Dominion raging above, William figured both sufficed as worthy signs.

This was something he lived for and even if his parents could understand it now, they couldn't then. It was enough to drive William forward. With them gone, he found his drive only increased ten fold - he'd like to think they'd have been proud. Even if he didn't quite do as they wished.[/indent]

[color=e99490][h3][sub][sup][color=#f1bdbb]⚫[/color][sub] [color=#eda9a5]⚫[/color][sub] [color=#eda9a5]⚫[/color][/sub][/sub][/sup]   Skills[/sub][/h3][/color][hr]
[indent][color=#90e5e9]⦊[/color] William had always been a brilliant mind, that much had been evident during his time at Starfleet Academy, surpassing many of his fellow classmates and ranking among the top in his classes. Odd, when you look at him, but William's own drive and motivation never lacks, whether in the face of adversity or at risk of a good night's sleep. Most of William's expertise lay in organic chemistry, chemistry, and quantum-physics - mainly in the study of the Einstein-Rosenberg bridge, or wormholes. He's dabbled in theoretic concerning black holes, though a lot of his own experiments and data consists of things less... oblivion inducing.

Still, even though William's expertise lay along the border of theoretical and practical physics, some of his work is usually outsourced to the medical team. Though his biology and xenobiology is rather iffy, his knack for chemistry provides him ample skill in aiding with manufacturing medicinal products, cures, and antidotes. If needed, he can work rather closely with the medical division on most any ship, though his heart lies in one of the four fundamental forces of the universe. Or maybe all of them. He hasn't had the chance to study up on his thermonuclear dynamics - though, don't ask him to actually build anything 'cause he'll likely blow something up. As long as the question is, "How does it work?" and not, "Can you make it work?" then everything will remain in mostly one piece.[/indent]

[color=e99490][h3][sub][sup][color=#f1bdbb]⚫[/color][sub] [color=#eda9a5]⚫[/color][sub] [color=#eda9a5]⚫[/color][/sub][/sub][/sup]   Sample Post[/sub][/h3][/color][hr]
[indent][hider= Dust Trails - Two Years Prior][color=#90e5e9]⦊[/color] [i]... And, in light of recent events, the latter half of Martha and John Hackett's will shall be doled out on Hackett Ranch twenty miles west of Madison, Mississippi. Attendance is required for the effects of...[/i]

Crumpled paper made a distinct noise. Every single time William's hands clenched and squeezed the paper hard in his palms, it felt as his heart did. That distinct crunching sound ached in his ears, even now with the paper unfolded and the words, wrinkled and jumbled together, staring back with an equally heartbroken gaze.

Dumb.

William shook his head. Words don't have eyes. They bore into his soul all the same. He—

A knock. "Room service!" followed after. William crumpled the paper one last time, shoved it onto his desk and stood. The door slid open with a curt 'shnickt', slicing like William's thin smile. He let her in and just as quickly she came and left, a plate of food in her place. William stared at the door, let the hum around him settle the drumming against his ribs.

He straightened the paper and read it again - left his food cold.

[hr]

Dust blazed beneath the sleek exterior of Ford, painting the blue chrome of its doors in a harsh grey brown. Clinking reverberated against the metal, shuddering as the car did along a fixed path through barren farm land. The road stretched straight from the dusty highway two miles to a plantation style home that carried a wide berth against the farmland, a stretch from the house to the shed where his father kept most of the animals and feed. It stood grey against the purpling, bruised clouds that loomed in the distance that dominated even the stacks of towers that served as a background.

The truck halted, first among most - the only one, William had to remind himself. Sister and brother found themselves either across the galaxy or across the world. He wouldn't begrudge them, as his circumstance came with a bit of fortune behind it. Or, well, misfortune, perhaps.

A dread circled him. Stepping out of this car meant some kind of finality William wasn't willing to come to terms with. Questions and scenarios played in his mind with malicious intent, slashing at his will one by one. If's and but's, when and why. Then the sudden, quiet realization that time was fleeting,

William slammed a hand against the steering wheel and nearly rolled out of the truck as he shouldered the door open. Emotion boiled beneath William's skin. It pulled and pushed, demanded - didn't care for his own feelings. The car door slammed shut, and William immediately turned with his fists clenched. He stalked toward the garage door, his fist hitting the white surface with an aching crack. Those same fists gripped the handle and thrust up, shoving the garage door out of the way for William to trudge in to find the old convertible still untouched under the heavy tarp.

So many of his things scattered the garage: this car was his, his telescope shoved in the corner, his bike, his school uniform, baseball equipment, old ensign uniforms. William wanted it all and simultaneously wanted none of it. The pain in chest amplified with every step he took, yet his eyes only looked for one thing. The pile of science equipment, makeshift chemistry sets, robot parts and metal shoved from their spot on the table. They clattered against the concrete floor, glass shattering and metal pieces clanging against the side of the car. William took to grasping everything he could and throwing it across the room with substantial force.

Boxes and boxes of family memorabilia piled one over the other. They'd stuffed half of the garage full of their things already, mainly things not quite labeled in the will, most likely. All of it piled and mixed with things that were once his.

Flashes of memories surfaced every moment he'd catch a glimpse of something he once held dear. A number of journals he kept; Halloween costumes stuffed alongside useless plastic toys; a box full of medallions. William shoved the heel of his hand into his eye, leaving it puffy and red and further irritated. He growled and threw what he could to the side. When he eventually hit the bottom with absolutely nothing to show for, William let out a dismayed howl, his foot finding the side of a box again and again and again until he found himself flinging objects and boxes until the garage's clean, tidiness fell to shambles. A hurricane couldn't have done worse.

William plopped down against to the bare wall, stripped of the stacks and piles of belongings all neatly packed and organized. He brought his knees to his chest and settled his head between them, biting back a sob and another, until something in him broke. Crying hadn't been something he'd become accustom to, then again, it wasn't very often he felt a black hole rip his innards to shreds. [i]They'd spaghettify them,[/i] he corrected himself.

Hours maybe passed - William didn't bother to figure out the time. Outside it had grown dark from the heavy clouds overhead. He hadn't realized exactly when it started raining, though he figured it'd been awhile if he hadn't bothered to hear the thunder rattling the old house against its bearings. The door that lead inside creaked open to reveal a lady in a pressed suit and a high bun. Her heels clicked against the concrete, Williams eyes drawn to the slick black curve of them. A hand hovered in front of him, waiting for William to take it should he need to.

"It took an entire day to get everything organized," she sighed. She didn't have to gesture; he knew what she was talking about. "And it took you close to three minutes to tear it all a part." Without another word, she turned back and made her way inside. William followed behind, closed the door, and let the rest happen without so much as a thought clouding his mind. Sobbing made things clear. They also gave him the worst hiccups.

"If you'd have come inside first, instead of thrown a tantrum, I would have given you the rundown of everything owed," she held up a thin, transparent pad with words gliding down the sleek surface. Her manicured nails clicked against the hard glass. William almost crumpled, like the paper he so carelessly tossed, when she read off the words along the screen.

"And to our eldest, William, goes a third of our savings, all land and property for his own use, and his father's lock box which includes: the official deed to the house, insurance policies including both house and car insurance, ownership of his father's Ford Thunderbird, and official documents for the licensing and ownership of the ranch's livestock. Oh, and the keys to said car, house, and the padlock to the farm shed."

William found himself seated facing the sliding glass doors. The words hit, sure, but even in light of everything, he felt drained and exhausted. Too tired to sleep. And yet he closed his eyes, let it all sink in, and released it in a breath. Suddenly all of his outburst seemed so unnecessary - what he'd been searching for he got. But for what reasons? William sighed, closing his eyes in order to listen to the heavy patter of rain, coming in waves as the wind picked up. A steady pattern against the wooden deck of his parent's patio. Too many memories. He wanted them as memories - most of all, he wanted the picture he knew they'd hidden beneath all the paperwork. Two: one of his parents, young, on their wedding day; one of the them all, Judy, Harold, their three dogs and one cat. Just things, pieces of himself that he left here longer than he meant to.

"Since your siblings aren't here to claim their share of the land and deeds, I'm afraid they'll only be sent part of their parent's fortune," she interrupted his reverie after she deemed it enough time to contemplate. William merely nodded and watched her pack her things. "That concludes everything, I suppose," she sighed, "I still need to make everything official. We'll call you when we can." And then she began walking toward the door, a briefcase at her side.

She paused, and turned, "I'm assuming since this house now belongs to you, that you intend to clean the mess you made."

"Yeah. Yes."

"Good," she stopped again, half-way through the door and gave William a softened look, a contrast to her sharp features, "I hope your evening turns out better, officer."

"And you, as well, ma'am."

Better, by any standards, meant just a little less worse than before. That didn't mean things actually were better. Williams evening flat lined, a dull grey cloud with just one silver lining. Even the vacuum of space wouldn't let him forget his own misgivings, even if his parents did. Even if they'd forgiven years before he'd been willing to accept that as a viable option. Regret suffers no fools lightly. At least memories like these lasted a life time - or at least, until the money ran dry.[/hider][/indent]

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