[hider=Saerin Taal] Character Sheet Name: Saerin (Rin) Taal Species: Miraluka Age: 36 Rank/Title: None Role: Physical security expert / Close-quarters combatant / Chaplain Planet of Origin/Birth: Coruscant Appearance: Not exactly an imposing figure, Rin stands somewhat less than galactic average in her stocking feet. Not that you would mistake or miss her in a crowd - her body language, posture, and the timbre of her voice draws the eye though she does little to actually demand the spotlight. Her olive skin has been kissed by the sun of a hundred worlds, and her hair is dark, tied behind her head in a short and ragged tail. She has large, almond-shaped eyes, the irises and pupils milky-white and blank but no less intense for that. The line of her jaw is strong, her lips full, her brows expressive, the whole lately made tight with care and the rigors of a life under fire. She has a dancer's build made of strong, lean curves, her frame quick and flexible and with the grace that only comes from decades of careful practice of martial arts. Finally, Rin has strong, long-fingered hands, marked with several small scars, quick enough to be blurs in the air when she puts her mind to it. Rin's dress sense tends toward the simple and practical over anything else. She prefers close-fitting tank tops along with loose, comfortable pants and worn boots outside of engagements, usually in tones of blue and brown. In colder temperatures, she prefers a battered brown leather jacket, the lining thick enough to be comfortable to about freezing. She has several large scars scattered across her body, the most visible being the one that cuts through her left eyebrow and crosses her eye socket for a couple of centimeters, and the largest on the right side of her abdomen, where very few people will see it. She has no tattoos, but wears a pendant around her neck. Her ears are pierced several times, but only occasionally hold jewelry. Skills: Rin is, despite her stature, a [i]phenomenon[/i] in close-quarters combat. Not through brute force, but through an utterly uncanny ability to simply be where the opponent wishes she weren't, to devastating effect. The idea that a good large person will beat a good small person is certainly no less true - but there's something spooky about Saerin. Weapons move like lightning in her hands, she flows away from blows that would crush her bones to powder, and she makes the finest gunslingers look almost sloppy in comparison. No less impressive is her ability to defeat any door lock she's ever met, walk past cameras by dancing between their fields of view (or finding their common control points to disable them), or simply spot the hidden doors guards might use and follow one of them inside. She isn't a slicer - that's a different discipline - but she can walk through a building like a ghost, implanting remote-connection points to get slicers a point of access behind firewalls or to otherwise air-gapped security control points. Though few take advantage of the fact, Rin seems to be, or at least was, deeply religious, though perhaps not to any particular religion. Her knowledge of temples, prayer, rites for the living and dead, and any number of other pieces of mysticism seems to be entirely bottomless. - Combat Training - Rin will work very hard to close the distance to anyone she actually has to fight and engage up-close, handheld blaster-pistol distance being the furthest she prefers. - Intrusion - You won't know she was there, until you do, and at that point it's too late. - Mystic - Rin isn't the squad's counselor or soother of wounded souls, but sometimes there are words to say, and those words are prayers. Or the words of a code, credo, or scripture - if someone needs them, Rin probably has them. - Polyglot - Rin speaks half a dozen languages, including Mando'a. Equipment: - [i]Very pointedly[/i] not a suit of Mandalorian armor. No breastplate, no gauntlets, no helmet. She does have that battered leather jacket, though. - Extending shock-stick; collapses to about 20cm and extends to a full meter. - RSKF-44 blaster pistol, typically in thigh holster - Collection of lock-bypass, cable-splice, and other small hand tools in tight leather roll - Collection of wireless interface ports for remote computer system access - A leather satchel with "personal effects." Some of these are books. One is an apparently-seamless metal box about 30x8x8cm, elaborately engraved with a design that seems to, but never quite does, repeat. It is not a book. History: "I'm not wearing that," Rin said. She dropped the helmet on Resol's desk, a hollow bass thump filling the small room for a moment. She shoved it across the desktop towards the older man, the edge of the helmet leaving a fresh scrape in the scarred hardwood. Resol, for his part, remained impassive, but this was not getting off on the best foot. "This is a unit of Mand-" he began. "This is a unit of Alliance soldiers," Rin cut in, "You're the one making them into toy Mandalorians." Resol took a moment, a slow breath. "You will allow me to speak." His words concealed a smouldering volcano. Rin opened her mouth, a retort ready and acid on the tip of her tongue. Something dark and unpleasant flickered behind her eyes, and she paused. With care, she blew out the breath she'd pulled in, and relaxed her shoulders. She flexed her fingers, took another long, slow breath and, at length, nodded. "Miss Taal," Resol began again, "My unit is one that follows Mandalorian culture and tradition. [i]My[/i] culture and tradition. I have taught them in the ways of my people. They fight, they win. They speak the words, they wear the armor. They are my brothers, my clan, my people. Do you understand?" Rin chose her words carefully, and settled on a pair. "I do."" Resol watched Rin with equal care, and nodded. "I've had my little collection of misfits for some time," he said, "And now, you. A mystery. A [i]troublesome[/i] mystery, if your transfer papers are any indication." He picked up a datapad, "Bounced to three different commands in six months, with spells in four different brigs. Exceptionally skilled, but nobody seems to want you around after a couple of weeks. In fact, it is my understanding that your choices were this posting or prison." The ghost of a smile pulled at his lips, "Which isn't exactly an uncommon story around here."" "The question, becomes, then," Resol continued, "Why you're here at all. Why not disappear to Nar Shadaa or Jakku?" "I serve the Republic," Rin said, "The Alliance means well - given time and the chance, they may even succeed. But right now, they're walking in circles. You...aren't." Resol scrolled through the datapad, his eyes flicking to the woman in front of him between the scant few paragraphs. After a moment, he tossed it on the table where it bounced against the helmet. There was nothing useful on it. "Who are you, Saerin Taal?" He said, after a moment. "Do you ask all of your transfers that?" Rin replied. A grin tugged at one side of Resol's mouth, "Only the ones I might trust my life to." "Mmn," Rin said, more acknowledgement than anything that might be called agreement. "I was educated on Coruscant," she said, after a long pause, "A rather small field. My parents design starships, my sister is...a sort of academic. All of us are running from the Empire; we're all fighting in our own ways." Resol waited for a moment, then sighed, "That's it?" "I'm saving the rest for my autobiography," Rin said, "The chapter about group sex should make it fly off the shelves. I'll be rich." "And you don't care for Mandalorians." At this point, Resol knew better than to ask. Rin regarded the older man, her expression level and distant. "Personal experience." "This unit functions a certain way, Miss Taal," Resol said, "Regardless of your feelings." "The [i]Resol'nare[/i]," Rin interjected, and looked at Resol cooly, "And don't think I haven't noticed. I know the Six Actions, you won't need to worry about babysitting." "We speak the language. We wear the armor," the older man said, and put his hand on the helmet, "Do you plan to walk into battle all but naked?" "[i]Verd ori'shya beskar'gam,[/i]" Rin said, the words made almost seamless by her liquid accent, "I am here to fight, Resol. I'm here to fight for something I love, and something I believe in. I'll follow your orders, if they aren't completely insane. If restoring the Republic means standing with you, then I will do so with my last breath. I'll speak the language. I will teach and learn. But I won't wear that armor." "You must have something," Resol said, "[i]Aruetii[/i] or no, death is hard. Yours will do nothing for my squad." Rin looked down at the pile of armor on the table, dull grey with red accents, no two plates quite alike. She wondered who it had belonged to before, and chose not to look too deeply into that question. Instead, she focused her attention on what it contained - not the fabric or the circuitry or the pressure seals, but what the armor was made from. The intention of its maker, long lost to history, the purpose of its many owners. There were secrets, mistakes, regrets, woven into the armor's very quintessence - and there was something else. Moving with care, Rin unhooked the curved armor plate from the suit's left shoulder, scarred and burned from a hundred misadventures. She held it in her upturned palm, closed her eyes, and focused her mind. In her hand, the plate crumbled, slowly at first, but with every second it fell apart into fine, dark grains. They cascaded across Rin's palm, flowing like fine sand, and fell to the floor with a quiet hiss. Rin's head tilted slightly to one side, then the other, a look of intense, almost serene concentration on her face. At length, she was left with a handful of black grit, a bead of sweat trickling from her hairline and down one side of her cheek. With her free hand, she fished around in the pile, and extracted something beautiful. She held a piece of what could only be called jewelry, fine arcs and whorls describing something both abstract and definite, every part connected to every other. She shook the grit out of the piece and thumped it against her hand, and fine though it was, nothing shifted out of place. In the light, it gleamed with a familiar matte-silver color. "[i]Beskar[/i]," Rin said. She tugged a fine chain from around her neck, and busied herself with threading the pendant onto it. The pair watched one another in ferocious silence, the only sound in the room coming from the pile of black grit settling against itself. The quiet was not the kind that begged to be filled with words, because there were none. This was the kind where truth devoured words, where they would be unwelcome. In that stretched, taut-wire moment, understanding spread across two different people. And, at last, Resol was the one to tilt his head first in an infinitesimal nod. "We leave in the morning," He said. [/hider]