Gloves

Argent Dawn (Space Based RP)

Sounds good to me

Argent Dawn (Space Based RP)

I don't really need an introduction--like when they're meeting up to head out he can just like, jump in

Argent Dawn (Space Based RP)

Not bringing this fella in yet--ran this all by Phoe already, new on the ship currently, he'll participate in this mission but he won't be on the war council or anything, just want him ready to go.

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Name: Six
Gender: Male
Class: Infiltrator
Role: Ground-Team
Race: Human
Breathes: Default
Background:
Pre-Procedure:

Warning Super Long

His parents met in a normal way--some bar or some workplace, they never really elaborated to him. Not that surprisingly, when it all came around--mother left pretty early on. His dad never went into the details of it--he thought for a while she didn’t choose too. He was a kid, after all, who wants to assume that? But at some point his dad let slip that his name had originally been Jesper, but after his mom left (he was three, so his dad could still get away with it) he recalled him Leonidas, which Leo actually liked a bit better. Leonidas Jex had a nice ring to it, which he appreciated, even at a young age. So he found out, in that way, that his mother must have done something to his dad, been a drunk or had an affair or something. There was walking out, after all, and then being so awful he didn’t even wanna keep the name she chose.

So he grew up Leonidas Jex, with a dad called Wria who sometimes was a well enough parent--never really “good” but, well, sometimes not awful--on a little human colony called Colshift on some planet that he thiiinnks was the same thing? He never heard anyone name the planet, anyway, so always just figured that’s what it was called. It was never anything too big or lush--every few months a cargo ship with some extra supplies, though they did have some farming and industry to keep them afloat. His dad was one of the industrialists--wasn’t sure what, never really asked, just knew he went off to work in the mornings.

In his youth he lived in one of the single-story apartments that were the residencies of the Colshifters, himself and his father the third room on the left down the second row of houses, directly next to the home of a girl who became his best friend--whether that was from them actually having a legitimate connection, even at an early age, or from her parents being good, kind people who were always happy to take in the skinny little neighbor kid when his dad went off to work or drink or just didn’t want to look at him anymore (which Leo always thought was probably the one that came most often, but drinking or working were good lies too).

When they were little, they’d play games and watch movies and it was all good fun, and he couldn’t really point at exactly when he fell for her, but he thought it was probably pretty gradual. He started thinking she was pretty (for a girl) especially the name (Synnova was a pretty name who could deny it) when he was … seven or eight, probably? It wasn’t a moment he could pinpoint. She was beautiful entirely in her own right by the time he was eleven, he was hopelessly lost for her by fifteen, they were happily dating that same year, they were in love by nineteen, planning on children by twenty, living together in their own home just across from the one she’d lived in, her working tech in the factory, him muscle work and engineering on the farms, a general handy-man, strong and lean and well-built for the action.

This was the happy part, though. Really easy to paint himself and his childhood as just growing up with Syn, just spending time with Syn and days with Syn because really, that’s what most of it was--his dad shoving him off to Syn’s until, when he was old enough, he shoved himself off to Syn’s because he didn’t want to be home, he didn’t like home. He did really, by the end of it, spend more time at Syn’s than his own place.

And yet, Syn’s took a backseat, because she never hit him. She never looked at him with this tinge of disgust, tell him he had his mother’s eyes with a curl on her lip like she was tasting vomit, never grabbed him by the arm and shoved him in a closet to punish him for some slight he didn’t do--or maybe did, he never actually knew, Wria never explained, never bothered to past some angry shouting that usually didn’t amount to anything but an hour or two or seven in a dark closet alone and scared to speak out, to open the door and let himself out even though he knew he could (he’d tried before, and it hadn’t gone over well).

He wished Syn had been a bigger impact, he really did--she was smart and beautiful and his love for her was the strongest thing he felt. By his twenties, it was the only thing he felt, really, but even after escaping his father’s home (bastard drank himself to death when his son was nineteen) his ghost still lingered. The man never apologized, never explained, he never did end up meeting his mother--his entire family, other than Syn, was the memory of a man who hated him.

When he was twenty two, a ship arrived, from some company Leo didn’t really get the name of. A man dressed sharply knocked on his door and handed him a sheet citing that his “physical prowess and shows of intelligence in his community” made him eligible for an “experimental Alliance military donation project” (which he didn’t really understand the wording of, and when talking to Syn, she didn’t either), and he should visit X ship and X time to discuss it further.

He and Syn had a talk, and it was agreed that he’d go and find out more than they’d talk some more about what to do. They were that kind of couple, after all--a team. She told him no matter what she’d love him anyway, that if he was unfulfilled here he could always talk to her about it and she’d help him and there wasn’t anything that could stop them being them after all, and they’d make it no matter what.

(He didn’t tell her she was the only reason he was still here--maybe the only reason he was still breathing. He didn’t tell her he didn’t care about this job or this planet or this colony, and he certainly didn’t tell her he sometimes thought that the emotions he felt for her were just aftershocks that hadn’t faded yet when the rest of his feelings went away.)

So he did go, and he went in and got greeted by a deerish, tentacle kind of thing (that seemed rather female, but with a little chatting it turned out “her” species had a much different gender system and the human one didn’t really have a word for it) and led to a small room with a man (humanoid except perhaps a little lizardy around the eyes, and Leo couldn’t say what was under the suit or desk he was sitting at anyway) who explained it in more detail:

This company had had a few social disagreements with the Alliance. Nothing illegal, nothing really awful, and nothing that would even make them anything under than “ally” but they, as he insisted, were a good, decent company, who’d made a lot of donations and assistances to colonies such as Colshift and didn’t want to seem tarnished in the eyes of the Alliance in any way. So what they were planning was an experimental military-esque program--assassins and infiltrators, trained only to be the ideal machines for espionage.

It shook Leo a bit--he was never a violent person, never even got in a fight before. When he voiced that, the man explained it wouldn’t matter--he’d be trained, and the really experimental part of it was that they were considering mind-wiping some of the volunteers. They were gathering ten, total--Leo would be number six--and it was voluntary at the moment, some of the ones before him choosing to and some not, but Leo, if he accepted, could either do that and it wouldn’t really matter if he was violent or not before, and if not, he could just try and move past it.

He then was given a bunch of forms and put in an entry-way kind of room--as a quick label, someone wrote a large 6 in black across the back of his hand. He asked if he could go back and speak with his partner on what course to take, and they pointed him towards the exit in a friendly manner, giving him as much time as he wanted. Really they were uncomfortably pleasant about the whole thing, and he wished they’d have been a bit meaner. Would have been easier to say no.

There was another person in the room--a bit feline, a bit reptillian, but with those traits more like daubs over a human figure than anything of their own right. She lifted a hand in a wave when he entered, her own clipboard on her lap.

He sat across from her--two couches, a table between them.

“New recruit?” she asked. His eyes went up to her--she seemed friendly enough, genuinely curious.

He shrugged. “Not--not sure yet. I mean, I dunno. I don’t--I don’t wanna stay here, not really, but …” But Syn was there.

She seemed to understand, nodding, one lip pulling up in a rueful smile. “Yeah, it’s a tempting thing. Goin’ for it, personally--picked me up on the last stop, haven’t dropped me yet. Mind-wipe ‘n’ all. But y’know, different floats for different boats.” She lifted the same hand she’d waved with to scratch lightly at the place where her ear met her jaw, and he caught the 5 on the back of her hand.

“I just …” He sighed, dropping his head down and debating a moment whether to reveal his entire personal history, or at least the important emotional aspect, to a complete stranger in a waiting room after a job interview. But by her own admission, she wouldn’t remember it anyway. “I’ve been so depressed my whole life, and I just--my dad hated me, my mom never knew me, and I’d love to forget that. I think--I think I’d feel again, if I didn’t have it. But, but there’s this girl. I don’t want to hurt her.”

Five shrugged, and placed her own forms on the table. “Well, if it helps any, you won’t remember hurting her.”

Leo paused a moment, then sat up. In a quick, decisive motion, he signed what he needed to, checked the appropriate boxes, and put his initials beside “Complete Memory Erasure.”

Though he never found it out, the company was kind enough to go back to Colshift after it was done--he didn’t see Syn again, and cried before the procedure for the goodbye he’d never have with her--and collect all of his personal files, delete his records, and, other than the memories of those who’d known him, completely and entirely erase him from the world.

Post Procedure:
When Six was twenty-two he was put into an experimental procedure wherein his memory was erased from his mind and his identity was erased from the world. No government files, no personal things--as far as any system was concerned, he came into existence when he became Six. Didn’t even know a name past that.

It was a bit jarring, he thought--wasn’t any kind of uncomfortable or anything, he already knew the common language and, since he had no way to know any different, he assumed it was the truth when the nurses and workers around him informed him that he wasn’t in any kind of danger. Just a bit strange.
They said he was the sixth (hence the name), although he never met any of the others.
They trained him extensively for two years--weapons, hand to hand combat, a little bit of hacking just in case he needed it--until he was as deadly as they came. Adding to the physical things, they did some psyche work as well--a bit on reading expressions and basic psychology, but he figured out pretty quickly that the more classroom based stuff was more to tell whether he himself was sound rather than him being able to read others. As far as he knew he passed--he felt alright after the initial surprise of it, and it always felt more like just getting his footing than being re-born or however they liked to phrase it. He was in the field quickly enough.

His first mission was an assassination, some man who led some country somewhere, somewhat bird-looking species with a couple extra limbs and a handful of extra eyes to go with them, who was apparently genocidal. Six killed him quickly and efficiently--he didn’t feel too bad about it. They’d given him that “everybody who we have you kill is someone who’s done something to deserve to be killed” talk, and without any other thing to base his experiences off of he accepted it easily. Thus he had an acceptance to his work and the fact that he kills--not detachment, he thought it’d be far more disrespectful to their lives to feel nothing, but at the same time, they got themselves into it just as much as he did. Not to mention he knew that chances were he’d go down doing this too, eventually one of them would take him down before he did them.

He was twenty five when he met his partner--doing security at a target’s house. Six found himself rather stuck, the mark dead but security still gunning for him, and he helped Six make a quick escape. Wasn’t hard to convince his employers to keep them together after that.

At twenty six, he was donated pseudo-anonymously (only the higher-ups knew who exactly it was that handed him over--to everyone else, just another recruit) to the Alliance, who assigned him to the Argent Dawn.

Personality: Six is a calm, level-headed guy--rather quiet, but not unfriendly. Looking at him outside the armor, you wouldn’t peg him for an assassin--generally with a relaxed smile on his face, padding around in flip flops or slippers always happy to make small talk or easy conversation. Introverted, but not excessively so--not exactly a party-goer, but not adverse to get-togethers. Simply put, he’s one of the most mild-mannered people to ever be met.

During his work, he’s a bit more efficient--quieter, definitely, speaking only when absolutely necessary, and fast to get in and get out and do what he’s been ordered to. Able to hold his own in a fight, but not one to actively seek one out, focusing more on getting the mission complete than anything else.

Character Description: Five foot eleven (5’11”) human with a narrow but muscled build, attractive but not overtly so, a decently forgettable face. The hair is a darkish red--not quite bloody, a bit too brown for that, and cut so that it’s shaven almost down to the skin on the sides and back of his head, with a shaggy ruff over the top. His skin is slightly tanned--not dark, not quite, but not pale, except for the two slashing scars running sideways across his face. His eyes are what is really striking--a bright, pale blue, nearly cyan, central heterochromia in the left one painting the area around the pupil a sharp yellow.

Though generally dressing comfortably and casually, he has what he fondly refers to as his “work suit”--the armor provided by the company. Thin and close to him, the fabric is thicker around his forearms and shins, and plated at his chest, shoulders, elbows, and knees. The mask is spiked across the top--mostly decoration--and has a buggy, gas-mask appearance. The entire thing is coloured in dark blue- and purple-greys, leaving him with a look not unlike an old suit of armor or statue, threatening and otherworldly.

He carries with him one weapon--a small cylinder, slightly thicker at each end like dual hilts, which sticks onto his belt. One end has two small buttons--one ejects a thin, long metal rod, pointed at one end like a needle, and the other slides a small blade out from that, allowing it to cut as well as stab. Small, but deadly in the right hands.

Proficiencies:
-Pistol Training
-Sniper Training
-Close Quarters Combat Training
-Basic Hacking
-Stealth

Argent Dawn (Space Based RP)

Was it just Dresden or was this becoming a thing? She couldn't help but smirk a bit, trailing after the warrior again. In a small measure of professionalism, she pulled the dark glasses off her head and tucked one arm into her shirt collar, letting it hang onto her chest and then shoving her hands into her pockets. Upon reaching Varus, she dropped her back casually against a wall and lifted a hand in a wave. "Who we killin'?"

Teeth arrived shortly after, and took his own seat, paws placed gently in front of him. Wasn't a fan of this room (granted that mostly came from the name) but he was the Head Medic, and knew he'd always go where he was needed on board. No patients at the moment anyway, after all.

Argent Dawn (Space Based RP)

Dresden let her eyes wander over Jack, tilting her head a bit to look over the nodes. "We-ell, joke as I will, you need any help with that thing you can come to me with it. Personally I wouldn't trust any of the other lackies around here not to muck something up in there, but then I suppose I'm biased." It wasn't unfounded cockiness--she was good at her work, though technically rather low on the official totem pole--that was more from her own lack of ambition, however. Talented, yes, good at her work, quick to solve problems and then quick to implement what needs to be done to fix it, but perfectly content sitting exactly where she is, lest she start to have to actually interact with others to get her business done.

And the offer was genuine--partly kindness to one of the few on this boat she actually managed to get on with, partly her own curiosity to the workings of the armor that the other girl wore. It was a fascinating little gadget, after all.

Argent Dawn (Space Based RP)

Dresden didn't need to be told to follow, she did anyone. Jackdaw was ... interesting. Dresden's kind of person, friendly enough to make a little chat but not friendly enough to really expect any kind of friendship out of it. Far too many people took basic manners as an invitation into a life, which just wasn't how the Demon operated. Jackdaw took things as they really were.

"Maybe the Fed's got a new mission for us--go kill a buncha bad guys, save a buncha princesses, maybe get smoothies after," she quipped lightly, half serious. The tailed girl wasn't much for missions--or, at least was ambivalent to them. Sometimes worried a bit over the ship, been patching her up long enough to be a smidge attached, but usual the Dawn didn't need to go near the action, so she didn't need to worry over it much.

Were she a better person, she'd at least lie long enough to say she'd be sorry if someone on this boat got hurt--and maybe she would be, just a bit. They weren't bad people, after all, at least not for the most part, and Dresden does think that everyone (maybe even Jack sometimes) has to feel at least some bit of sorrow when a life is lost. It's a precious thing, after all, and Dresden, though she didn't have a real religion, was a decently spiritual person. She wasn't one to go around preaching the sanctity of life, wasn't going to start a hippie rally against violence, but most everyone has something to offer, did something with their time or had the potential to. No life should be lost without at least a drop of sorrow being tossed out there to mourn it.

Argent Dawn (Space Based RP)

She let out a huff, and shifted an appraising glare over his form, but one hand lifted up and dropped the shades back over her eyes. "Stay outta my shit. And tell Varus to let us know when some newbie on the boat thinks he's got the right to be poking around."

She stepped past him, slightly into Jackdaw's room, her tail following her and coiling on the floor but for the tip, which lightly tapped the other girl just on the outside of her ear, a strange little greeting but on the Demon liked.

Argent Dawn (Space Based RP)

I don't think Jack would have a journal of important information just chilling open. Where anybody wandering past could see, and same kinda thing goes for Max

Argent Dawn (Space Based RP)

Dresden dropped her shit off quick enough--not much to do, after all, and though she considered dropping in for a nap or something, going and pestering Jackdaw was always a more fun activity, and really she hadn't had enough of that on shore leave. She strolled out of the room, and then stopped. The new guy--Remy? Something with an R--was poking his head into other people's quarters. Frankly, Dresden really couldn't care less if they wanted to keep their doors open, everybody's business was their own business, but the dude was clearly not just glancing in checking if they were home.

"Hey," she barked, "get in your own damn room or get out of the quarters wing--we wanted you getting up in our shit, we'd tell ya." She pushed her glasses up on her head, not quite threatening in posture but clearly not happy with the situation.

Argent Dawn (Space Based RP)

Is Rennac just like, going through their rooms?