Name: Calvin “Cal” Boone Strand
Age: 40
Appearance: Cal stands at 5’11” and borders on stocky. He wears his brown hair cropped short. Clothed in a green plaid shirt with the neck buttoned, he wears a duster over his shoulders.

Skills:
He's the captain! Great at palming cards, lifting cortex’s, and misdirecting attention just in the nick of time. He can fly the boat if need be and he surely can shoot. His brain pan may not be educated by first class Alliance book-learners, but he's got enough life lessons to know how to dance on the razor's edge and come out with a pocket full of creds and ne'r a scratch at the end.

Personality:
Relaxed and cool-headed, Cal can see the way out in a collapsed tunnel, likes the sound of his own voice, and smokes a lot. Not the good stuff neither, it’s that la shi that turns your teeth black and makes you smell like tar. With a decided air of unchecked superiority, he's gained all the social graces a bit of charm and nice jawline hands to any man in the 'verse. Over loyalties, more important to Cal is a long lived life for all the joys short lived shore leave can satisfy. He's a simple man, really.

History:
Cal was born to Aster and Jordan Boone on Three Hills in a town called Fairoak. He lived as an only child with a childhood complete with all the spoils that such a life in Fairoak could provide. Wanting for nothing, Cal learned that most things came easy if’n you ask nicely. Or they didn’t and you had to get them yourself. Charm birthed an equal opponent in wit and the boy grew into a young man a body either loved or hated.

Then Aster grew sick. Jordan did what he could for her, leaving his son and wife in the care of his brother to travel to Bob, a nearby moon, for medicine. While Jordan was gone, Cal, sick with his own worry at the prospect of losing his mother, could remember little else than his mother’s bedside. The sickness took Aster in a matter of twelve hours. And Cal’s father? He never returned.

Cal now a young man orphaned by circumstance, stayed with his uncle until he was of age to take care of himself. Against Uncle Richard’s guidance, Cal left Three Hills for the core planets. To him, those lonely planets held bitter loss now, and the technology and affluence of the core planets were as attractive as any future he could envision.

Reality, as it is wont to do, struck a different chord on the teenage Cal, landing him in the ‘employ’ of a freighter ferrying supplies to and from core to rim. The hauls were long. The work was hard, too, but he got to see the worlds. Leave on those trips always spanned time enough to get into trouble and manage the narrow escape that was his final boarding call. It was a thrill for a young man to imagine making his mark and sowing his oats across the universe.

His indenture saw him straight into the Unification War.
The captain, at the behest of the Alliance, saw an opportunity for such a cargo vessel to be of strategic value in shuttling much needed goods and armaments to places of outposts on the rim. Captain Strand, however, had a keen mind and a knack for business. He set an additional contract with the Browncoats; a contract that meant they not only got intelligence on when and where goods were headed, but a share of the shipment as well. In the end, he mused, to the Alliance all this was a simple line item on a cortex somewhere. Losses were just a part of doing business.

It worked, at first. Shipment after shipment saw greater price tags for Strand’s travels. Cal watched this climb in payoff pique the captain’s worse angels into getting greedy. Less and less stock made it to the Alliance outposts, and more into the hands of the Browncoats. Some might call him a hero, but Cal could see the old man had hitched his retirement to the war machine. The Alliance noticed, too.

The order from the core planets reached Constance before the freighter arrived: if the whole shipment isn’t present and accounted for, court marshal the ship and its crew. Cal only learned of the order from the corpse of a field dispatcher in the aftermath of what had become a shoot out between the poorly supported Alliance meeting party and Captain Strand. The man himself lay gasping with a hole in his gut among several unlucky crew members. Cal saw an opportunity and, commandeering the dispatcher’s gear, sent a wave back with an all-clear message to the Alliance. In those final moments, Strand asked Cal to take him to New Kasmir, the last leg of his journey.

Empowered by the captain to chart the course, Cal took the reins of the China Doll and set them down a league from any town.

“This here mite be my last stop,” Captain Strand coughed, “but you got plenty more in yuh. Take ‘er. Treat ‘er right.” He lifted his hand from the wound, now bleeding through the bandage and his clothes. “Now you dig me a spot good an’ deep, yuh hear?” With his one free hand, Strand took off his hat and tucked it around Cal’s ears.

The young Cal nodded.

“The hat looks good on you,” the old man rasped.

From then on Cal went by Strand to keep the contracts flowing from both sides. His stunt with the Alliance placed Strand’s name back in their good graces since a ship as small as the China Doll meant nothing in the shadow of an interplanetary war.

Fast forward a decade and Cal’s war profiteering creds have dried up, the side that paid better lost out, and crew attrition is at an all time high. For his service, he received a civilian commendation from a begrudging Alliance commander that resulted in nothing more than a pat on the back and a check mark on his ident card, not that anyone asked to see it anymore since Unification Day. In the meantime, he’s had to take on plenty of less paying and higher risk jobs that weren’t exactly above board.

Plenty of time took place between then and now, but here’s where it gets interesting.

His last job set him down in Persephone where the China Doll’s been sitting, gathering dust for two week’s time. The berthing fees alone, not to mention the parts required have placed shoving off just out of reach. To add insult to injury, his first mate just parted ways from the sinking ship. There's only one man in town who has the creds to keep him flying and the questionable moral fiber to lend on credit to a man like the Captain of the China Doll...

Name: Abigail "Abby" Travis
Age: 18 (Had her birthday on New Melbourne...woohoo!)

Appearance: Abby stands 5’6” tall and is rail thin. She’s got red hair in need of brushing, mistrustful brown eyes, and a fair complexion with the last of childhood’s freckles slowly fading. Her typical wardrobe is denims or chinos over a pair of well worn engineer’s boots, topped off with either khaki or flannel shirts over a tee shirt.

Abby shuns makeup and jewelry, preferring the adornment of her father’s replica Colt Navy style revolver strapped to her hip.

Skills: Since the age of 3. She has lived aboard a Firefly class, that time giving her a healthy practical knowledge of the boat, along with its’ aches and pains. Abby can read and do cargo math. She can navigate and hold a course, but has never done the takeoff or landing parts. She understands how to stow cargo for the black. Though she’s not a mechanic, she’s got the basics down well enough to be a ready hand for someone who can do the proper fixin’. She’s completely at her ease in an EV suit. Abby will always do her part of the chores, but her least favorite job is cooking. She’s most proud of her gun handling and marksmanship. Though Abby’s never had to use her pa’s pistol in anger, she’s proven deadly accurate with a long rifle. (Just wait til she tells you all about the day she popped two Reavers at 600 yards.)

Personality: Grumpy, cranky, sarcastic, and prone to walk right into a scrap, Abby suffers no fools. That said, she loved her deceased aunt and uncle. She makes few friends, but the ones she does are generally for life. She values her privacy, and despite her rough hewn nature, takes pleasure at night in the pages of her current book.

History: When both parents went off to fight for the Independents, 3 year old Abby was left in the care of her Uncle Bob and his wife, Aunt Lupe. Word of her folks’ deaths at the siege of New Kasmir was delivered, along with Pa’s pistol, to then 7 year old Abby. She cherishes this final keepsake, and is meticulous in its’ maintenance.

NAME|
Alana Lysanger

PHYSICAL APPEARANCE|
The young woman is a 28 year old female, standing at approximately 5 feet, 4 inches in height. She has blonde hair and blue eyes, normal features that got unnoticed were it not for her prominent eyebrows. Alana has the occasional scar acquired throughout the years but she is blemish-free. She does, however, have a tattoo of a sunflower on the back of her right shoulder.

Fashion wise, Alana dresses for comfort a little more so than for looks. She is practical but that doesn't mean her choice in clothing is poor.

SKILL SET, MANNERISMS|
A bit of a recluse and distant. Alana is not all that much for conversation unless actively busy in the performance of her duties. Nonetheless, she's friendly and welcoming, typically not one to turn away from a conversation when engaged. Despite her past, Alana is able to work well under pressure, having saved quite a few lives in the past. During stressful situations, she'll push aside any form of emotion or feelings. She's honest about who she is, as well as the work she does, and considers herself to be a realist rather than an optimist.

CHARACTER BACKSTORY|
Born and raised in a moderately stable home to Zak and Dev Lysanger, Alana had a happy life during her childhood years. Her older brother of 5 years her senior, Tyson Lysanger, was quite the trouble-maker, though she still loved him regardless. She looked up to him, and even though they went at each other's throats every now and then, the two grew fond of each other with time, shifting from sibling rivalry to a bond that would make them nearly inseparable despite whatever challenges were thrown their way.

Growing up, the siblings were raised with the right values and teachings that shaped them into the adults they would eventually become, or at least, that was the case for Alana. When Tyson was of age, he went to war. The family as a whole was not happy about the decision, but they were well aware of the fact that it was not up to them. Time went on for the remaining Lysangers, going on about their business as usual. One random day out of the blue, Tyson showed up home without any sort of prior notification. Not that they were unhappy to see him, they just weren't expecting him. But once the initial surprise subsided, Zak, Dev, and Alana noticed that something wasn't right. Tyson was different, the person there with them not the Tyson they knew before his deployment. That odd feeling lasted for a few days before the unthinkable happened. As the family was having a quiet supper, Tyson, without so much as a warning, pulled a small weapon from his waistband and subsequently proceeded to shoot his father in the head followed by his mother. Alana sat frozen and wide-eyed, having just witnessed her parents' murder carried out by her older brother. He aimed the gun at her, but he didn't pull the trigger even though his finger was resting on it. Instead, a single tear escaped his left eye before placing the tip of the gun against the side of his head and shooting himself dead.

Needless to say, Alana's traumatic experience led her to experience a level of grief not quite known to her before. She developed depression as a result, and even went through a phase of constant criminal activity. But after all was said and done, Alana knew she had to move on with her life. Given she couldn't do anything to save her family's life on that god awful evening, Alana decided she'd join the medical field, a profession which she'd considered in the past. Still somewhat numb from her trauma, Alana up and left home once she had her career in order, deciding that new adventures would do her some good.

She's currently transitioning between employments, taking the occasional job here and there but nothing solid.

Name: Yuri Antonov

Age: 31

Appearance: Yuri stands 5’10” and has a subtle muscular frame at 165 lbs. He tries to keep both brown hair and beard trimmed enough to avoid them getting caught in any moving machinery. His current wardrobe consists of either the coveralls and engineer’s boots he wore on his former job, or a rough looking plaid flannel shirt and threadbare grey cuffed slacks that Abby fished out of the boat’s Lost and Found. He promises himself to stop and pick up new clothes someday.

Skills: Until Cal gave him the added responsibility of being 1st Mate, Yuri was settling into his new post as China Doll’s mechanic, a job which tended to fit him like a glove. Having demonstrated a way with tools since age 6, Yuri’s entire life was a practical education in the workings of large machines, emerging into adulthood as his father’s assist on the skyplex over Ezra. From there, he served as an engineer’s mate aboard the NS McSorley, an ocean going vessel on New Melbourne. He can machine parts, has a passable knowledge of AI and computer systems, knows his way around reactors, and possesses a knack for engineering on the fly.

The man is terrible at cards, and it can be said that he knows enough to point the correct end of a pistol…but not much else.

Beyond the world of engineering, Yuri’s passions are history and music. He has a deep affinity for jazz, and will go out of his way to catch a band in some backstreet bar.

History: Born as the second son of Pyotr and Katja Antonov, Yuri grew up in the power plants and emission generators of terraformers. His childhood was typical for a boy in these environs. He learned the hard life from hard men who lived it. His older brother Ivan taught him still darker lessons through constant bullying and sadistic pranks. At age 16, Yuri and his family were uprooted in the aftermath of Ivan’s budding criminal career gone wrong. With the law on his heels, the older Antonov brother found sanctuary in the employ of crime lord Adelai Niska, a contract which eventually sucked the entire family into the spider’s web. It was on Niska’s skyplex that Pyotr met his death, falling into the gigantic gimbals that preserved balance. Shortly thereafter, Ivan, known as “Crow,” found his demise on Regina, during a drug deal gone bad.

At his mother’s urging, Yuri escaped Niska’s world to forge a new future, putting his skills to work aboard the 1100 ft. long NS Eileen McSorley. There he remained for the next several years, until a powerful hurricane sent the ship to the bottom. He might have died with his crew, had it not been for China Doll and her resident AI coming to lift him out of the storm tossed sea. Nowadays, when he looks into the eyes of his shipmates, Yuri sees the people who saved his life. That knowledge makes it easy to face each day with a sense of gratitude.