So yeah uh. Name changed for. Reasons
So yeah uh. Name changed for. Reasons
Name: Morrigan "Cade" Cadeyrn
Appearance: Choppily cut dark red hair to a little below her shoulders, that blazes like a fire in direct sunlight. Lighter skin, can tan, but it takes a lot of work, so she never really bothered. Bruises hella easy though. Smattering of freckles on her cheeks and nose. Her right arm has been replaced by a mechanical prosthetic(think Shiro, from VLD, if you must.), and there are visible scars on her shoulder where it was attached. Covered in various scars. 5'4, and still has some of the natural curves she inherited, though she's developed more wiry muscle as a result of malnourishment. Her eyes are an extremely light golden-brown that, when she uses her abilities, turns more to the gold side.
Usual Outfit: An olive green army jacket, rolls the sleeves up when she needs to or feels like it, but prefers keeping them down to hide her arm. A black camisole-like top, and ripped blue jeans, tucked into old black combat boots. Her jeans have spots of grease stains and soot, like she'd wiped her palms off after sticking her hands into a fire place. The only thing she managed to keep during her days as a prisoner was the coin-like pendant on a leather cord, a gift from her mother before she died. She never takes it off now. Wears a pair of finger less black leather gloves, and keeps a handgun tucked into the waistband of her jeans, and a few knives in her jacket and boots.
Personality: She used to be an incredibly bubbly and happy girl, but the past two years have, understandably, taken their toll on her. She's more cynical and jaded now, and mysterious when it comes to her past. Loves playing Moral Roulette. Seems to have lost her sense of self-preservation somewhere along the line, resulting in fairly reckless behavior.
Likes: Her gun, anything and everything about the stars, fire, spicy food, a good fight, pulling off an escape, black coffee.
Dislikes: Too-sweet things, being alone, not being able to see, tea, any mentions of Eiriosis(a fictional disease, but real in this 'universe').
Magic(if applicable): She's descended from a species that can withstand extreme heat, and basically turn themselves into beings of fire. This has materialized in pyrokinesis, but it saps her energy if used too much, and is incredibly hard to control.
Backstory: Her family was incredibly close, something that was somewhat odd for a royal family. Her mother contracted Eiriosis when Morrigan was twelve, and passed away two years later. Her death brought Morrigan and her father closer, instead of pushing them apart. When Morrigan was sixteen, she was kidnapped by one of the new servants, and held captive for a year and a half before managing to escape.
Fears: Losing someone she loves to Eiriosis, like she did her mother. Being caught by the people she's running from. Losing control.
Other: Trigger happy might be an understatement.
Here's Cade, just so I've got the ref
Name: Winston Locke
Appearance: He has medium length light brown hair that he slicks back every morning with gel, but it will often begin to come undone by the end of the day and falls over his face. His skin is naturally tan, even during the winter. His jawline is almost always dusted with a thin covering of hair, despite the fact he shaves every morning. His left hand has been replaced by a mechanical prosthetic after getting into an accident involving a hovercraft and a very hard wall. He wears a glove at all time to hide it. He is around 6'0", but most likely on the shorter side
Usual Outfit: The light blue blazer that identifies him as an officer on the Harbringer, along with the matching linen pants and spit-shined black dress shoes. Off job, he typically wears a white tank top under an aviator jacket, with a pair of frayed and faded jeans and simple sneakers. (Imagine the typical 60's bad boy look)
Personality: He is a reserved, intelligent young man that has a tenancy to take things much more seriously than he should. Every move he makes is a carefully calculated decision. He's more of a follower than a natural leader.
Likes: Carefully made plans, sweet tea, and a good sport game.
Dislikes: Unnecessarily reckless actions, losing the time of day, and anything that has to do with Eiriosis
Magic: He descends from a species with an unnatural ability to process data and make connections where normal people can't see them.
Backstory: Winston comes from a military family. His mother and father met in the Marine Corps, and his earliest memory was his father coming home in his uniform, a large smile on his face. He was a secluded and moody child, unable to cope with how much he moved around because of his parent's jobs. His mother contracted the Eiriosis disease by the time he turned 16. Her last wish was for him to join the military, which he did so. (It;s a half-assed backstory, but I'm tired)
Other: He works as an interrogator on the Harbringer.
(I completely forgot about this, I'm so sorry)
(Also, I just figured the Harbinger was a military ship)
In the og, the ship was more a sketchy ship, but I like the military ship thing! Also, I switched up the name to the Vagabond for reasons I can't honestly remember. I'll try and get a starter up tonight!
Four hours. Morrigan had been on this ship-the Vagabond, maybe?- for four, long hours. She wasn't sure how long it'd be till the crew's next destination, which was as far as she would travel with them, but she hoped it would be soon. That grinding coming from the engine room was driving her insane, but she couldn't exactly do anything about it, considering she was stowing away. The mechanic in her wanted to get down there and fix the godawful noise, just to give her some peace of mind, even if it meant giving away the fact that she was on the ship. Sadly, the stowaway would have to suffer a bit longer, until she could get off the ship and keep moving.
It was would have been safer to stay in one place, a nook or cranny or closet, and she knew that. But she had long since given up on safety, half a year ago, and switched quickly to enjoying life while she could. Which was exactly why Morrigan was slipping down the empty, she hoped, hallway, her sleeves pulled down to hide her arm and her gun still tucked away. Reckless, yes, but she wanted to explore. The ship seemed to be a military ship, and she'd never been on one of those before. So, if she couldn't fix up the engine, she could at the very least satisfy her curiosity.
Locke walked at a brisk pace, his hands clasped behind his back and his gaze stone set. He had been sent to "supervise" the repairs to the engine. He had zero clue at all how the mechanics worked, but the captain didn't trust the Machinist's Mates to be down their by themselves without at least one officer present. They were known as a rowdy bunch, which Locke found distasteful, but he took the job without any complaints.
The sound of another set of footsteps sent Locke on edge. The Mates should be in the engine block, not roaming around the ship as they please! The thought of it being a castaway didn't pass through his head as he walked around the corner and called, "Seaman Recruit!" in his most commanding voice, finally focusing on the owner of the footsteps.
"Who are you?" Locke asked when he finally realized she wasn't a sailor.
"Well fuck me with a lazer gun." Was the first thing out of Morrigan's mouth as the command was shouted. She knew enough about the terms used on ships nowadays from overhearing them, and knew that ship crews tended to hold onto a few old terms from back when ships sailed more on water than they did through space. The second thing was an even stupider thing to say. "The new residen' clown. I blow balloons an' do funny dances. 'Sposed t' boost morale, y'know?"
The officer immediately pulled the communicator from his hip and pressed frown on the red button on the side.
"Alert the security crew that we have a castaway in Section F, Hallway 5. Seal all doors to prevent any possibility of escape. It is unknown if she is armed or not."
Locke returned the communicator to his hip as all of the doors in the hallway were sealed shut. He then pulled his small handgun from its holster, but refrained from pointing it. That could cause the individual to be startled and escalate the situation.
"Are you armed?" he asked.
"You're a goddamn snitch." Morrigan pointed out, raising a dark eyebrow at the man in front of her. For someone with a gun nearly pointed on them and the threat of being arrested hovering over their shoulders, she stood as relaxed as one would in their own home. Like she didn't have a care in the world. "Tha's a fun question. See, yeah, I got two arms, but one o' them ain' mine, so does tha' leave me armed, or only half armed?" Lucky both of them, the most he would find on her would probably be a knife or two. She was good at hiding her weapons.
"Do you have a weapon on your person?" Locke said, frowning at the castaway's erratic behavior. Through her posture, facial expressions, and generally relaxed attitude in a situation like this, he could tell she had a reckless personality. Which posed more danger to him than if she had a gun pointed at him. It's hard to anticipate what a reckless individual will do next, because even they don't know what they're going to do.
"Security on its way," his communicator squawked in a robotic voice.
"Oh, yeah, definitely. Got this knife I bought from a peddler at Divire Station, really pretty engravin's on the blade, I'm tellin' ya. Fine ass craftmanship, an' totally worth the money." Morrigan rambled casually, bobbing her head side to side to a song she had stuck on repeat in her mind. Security. You going to fight, or just chill and wait for an opportunity to slip away?
After this revelation, Locke raised the pistol and pointed it at her chest, letting out an inward groan. Of course she has a weapon. Most likely multiple. A reasonable person only carries one, if at all. She most likely has a criminal background, possibly multiple years in jail.
"Tha's not very polite o' ya, man." Moriggan said, feigning disappointment as she slid her hands from her pockets, where they had been, the knife in question held loosely between her fore finger and thumb. "Ya wanna see? This shit is insane, dude. Prettiest knife I ever seen."
"I would rather you set the weapon down on the ground and put your hands on your head, if you wouldn't mind." If her plan was to annoy Locke so badly he would let her go, it wouldn't work. His patience was never ending, a product of his descendants.
"Tha's no fun, but a'ight, fine." The stowaway rolled her eyes, flipping the knife once, catching it, and then crouching to set it on the floor. Instead of putting her hands on her head, she clasped them, holding them up in the air. "I do mind, actually, but what are the chances ya'll lemme not?"
"Very slim," he admitted, gesturing with the gun down at the knife. "Please kick that away from you."
"Security force entering Hall 5, be advised," the voice said again as the two doors on each side of the hallway opened. At least nine guards poured in from either side, all armed with assault rifles and protected by body armor.
"She admitted to one weapon, but she has more," Locke said with certainty, holstering his pistol as 18 rifles were all pointed at the castaway.
“Are you callin’ me a liar?” Morrigan raised an eyebrow at the man in front of her, the first sparks of uneasiness making themselves known in her gut. Luckily, she was a pro at hiding any of that. You can’t let them lock you up. Multiple reasons, but you can’t be stuck here. It’s already been too long. “Y’know, while I’d love t’ hang around, I’m really jus’ lookin’ for a ride t’ the next stop.”
"Illegal boarding of a military vessel is a felony charge," Locke said, producing a pair of handcuffs. "Maybe you should have checked up on your laws before deciding to sneak aboard. Now, please turn around and hold your hand behind your back."
Now that was when something went wrong. At the sight of the handcuffs, pure panic flickered through Morrigan’s eyes for just a moment, and her hands dropped to her sides. “Yeah, abou’ that. Imma hafta take a rain check on tha’ one. I don’ do cuffs.”
"You are in no position to argue with me," Locke said simply. "I can have one of these gentlemen use a knockout round and put them on while you are unconscious, or we can avoid the senseless violence and do this the easy way. Your choice."
He waited patiently for her answer, the cuffs dangling from his right hand.
Morrigan shook her head, weighing the options in her mind. After a moment, she held her hands out in front of her, gloves and sleeves hiding the difference between her metal and flesh arm. Though she’d already made the joke, most people tended not to believe her. Her hands were clenched so tightly that if she hadn’t had the gloves, she would have drawn blood from her flesh hand, which wouldn’t have been the first time but was never too fun. “Fine. Try’n keep ‘em loose though. I bruise easy.”
"Thank you," he said, stepping forward and placing the cuffs on her wrists. They were nowhere close to how tight they'd usually be, per her request.
Rough rope, tied so tight around her wrists that any slight movement reopened the raw and bloodied skin just starting to heal- “Funny. Yer the first cop tha’s ever actually listened when I asked ‘em t’ keep ‘em loose. Props.” Calm. She was calm, a little tense but most generally relaxed. Morrigan looked around, winking at one of the men with guns on her.
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