[color=FD7B84][CENTER][img]https://fontmeme.com/permalink/240327/0131349cd7475366c680edb9e1dc9e06.png[/img][/CENTER][table][row][/row][row][cell][center][img]https://i.ibb.co/YDSvdMz/image-2024-03-27-160139960.png[/img]
[color=2E2C2C][sup]_______________________________________________[/sup][/color][/center][hider=Personal Data][indent][sub][b]D A T A[/b][/SUB]

[sup][COLOR=SILVER]
[b]Full Name[/b][COLOR=#807B84] - Arna Jaeger[/COLOR]
[b]Callsign[/b][COLOR=#807B84] - Eagle-1[/COLOR]
[B]Age[/B][COLOR=#807B84] - 26 (b. 2562)[/COLOR]
[B]Birthplace[/B][COLOR=#807B84] - Lone Star[/COLOR]
[b]Pilot Type[/b][COLOR=#807B84] - Assault[/COLOR]
[/color][/SUP]
[color=#2e2c2c]-[/color][/indent][/hider]
[hider=Psyche Analysis][indent][SUB][b]P S Y C H E[/b][/sub]

[sup][COLOR=SILVER][b]"Never Tell Me The Odds!"[/b]
[COLOR=#807B84]Arna is...well. A polite way to phrase it would be "not easily cowed," perhaps? She's an adrenaline junkie with a daredevil streak a mile wide, always at risk of going completely off the rails and ending up in places that she doesn't have any business being, doing things that are really bad ideas.[/COLOR][/COLOR]

[COLOR=SILVER][b]"You Lookin' For A [i]Fight?"[/i][/b]
[COLOR=#807B84]Like, for example, starting fights. Loud, brash, and abrasive, she's one of those people that somehow find a way to get in a fight regardless of whether or not doing so will actually get her anywhere. That's not to say she's overly bellicose or combative; she doesn't intentionally go looking for fights. But because of the kind of person she is, she also won't [i]shrink[/i] from them. At ALL.[/COLOR][/COLOR]

[COLOR=SILVER][b]*Fingerguns*[/b]
[COLOR=#807B84]All that being said, though, that completely ignores how much [i]fun[/i] she's having. Yes, she's loud, brash, and abrasive; but that also means she's totally unafraid to laugh as long and loud as she wants. Always ready to poke fun—but never out of malice!—both at others and at herself, she's a wild, unconstrained woman who takes an equally wild and unconstrained joy out of life.

Though she [i]is[/i] dubiously blessed with an [i]awful[/i] sense of humor.[/COLOR][/COLOR]
[/SUP][/indent][/hider]
[hider=Gear][indent][SUB][b]G E A R[/b][/sub]

[sup][COLOR=SILVER][b]Peacekeeper MP1k1[/b]
[COLOR=#807B84]Arna's personal armament, the Lone Star-manufactured Peacekeeper is a compact automatic pistol that she keeps snugly holstered at her side at all times. Matte black with her image—a plane beneath a skull—stenciled on the side, this powerful machine pistol shoots holds up to thirty rounds in its long stick magazine, and fires at a blistering 1100 rounds per minute. She prefers not to use it if possible, but if necessary she's more than capable of defending herself.[/COLOR][/COLOR]

[COLOR=SILVER][b]Hip Flask (Did You Really Expect Anything Else?)[/b]
[COLOR=#807B84]On the opposite hip from her pistol is a plain silver hip flask, dented in a [i]number[/i] of places. Her initials, [i]A.J.,[/i] are scratched on to it on the outside by what looks like a knife, along with [i]E-1[/i]. On the inside, kept by her side, are the initials J.B., and [i]F-4.[/i] It's kept full, usually of either bourbon or vodka.[/COLOR][/COLOR]

[COLOR=SILVER][b]Worn Photo[/b]
[COLOR=#807B84]Kept on her person at all times is a wallet-sized photo of her and a man of similar age, laughing so hard together they look like they can't breathe. One of the few times she cools down instead of being so [i]gunpowder[/i] all the time is when she's looking at it, or when she's asked about it.[/COLOR][/COLOR][/SUP][/indent][/hider]
[hider=Neural Combatant][indent][SUB][b]N E U R A L   C O M B A T A N T[/b][/sub]

[sup][COLOR=SILVER][b]Armor[/b]
[COLOR=#807B84]Eagle-1 is a superlight assault NC, jet black and accented with lines of bright magenta-red, with her previously mentioned trademark image—the plane and skull—emblazoned on the right shoulder. Her extremely powerful propulsion system means that she's always on the move, so she relies on mobility, not armor, to keep out of harm's way. Thus, she's only very lightly plated, though through the virtue of ceramo-metallic tungsten, it remains durable enough to take one or two shots before she's scratched out of the fight..[/COLOR][/COLOR]

[COLOR=SILVER][b]Hands[/b]
[COLOR=#807B84]And now we get into the meat of what [i]Eagle-1[/i] does, and why it can afford to be so lightly armored. In so many words? It's a walking airstrike. Held in her hands is the Dragon PFC, a custom-tooled firearm brought all the way from the insane minds of Lone Star: a [i]handheld flak cannon.[/i] Firing fragmentation shells with a proximity sensor in the noses, it allows her to blanket whole swathes of the battlefield with desolation at a time. One shell individually might not be enough to take an NC out of the fight, but she can put so many of them downrange, and they spread over such a large area, that one of them will EVENTUALLY get there. A surgical strike, she's not.[/COLOR][/COLOR]

[COLOR=SILVER][b]Back[/b]
[COLOR=#807B84]As previously mentioned, mobility is the core of what Arna does, and there's nowhere better to see this than her back. It plays host to a TREMENDOUSLY powerful propulsion system, capable of catapulting her a hundred feet in any direction with frankly concerning speed. Such is the reason she wears the outfit she does: a g-suit from her days as a pilot that serves to lessen the effect of the sudden g-force changes. Overclocking her propulsion at fullsync enables something almost unique to [i]Eagle-1:[/i] flight. [i]Limited[/i] flight, of course, and only if she's willing to commit: it takes a LOT of her NC's power to maintain it for even the shortest length of time. But she does pull that trigger and cross that threshold, the maneuverability and firepower that comes with it are difficult to overstate.[/COLOR][/COLOR]

[COLOR=SILVER][b]Right Auxiliary[/b]
[COLOR=#807B84]Not merely satisfied with a flak cannon, Arna requires more powerful ordnance on occasion. Such is the reason for her right auxiliary: a rocket pod containing fifteen guided rockets linked to a targeting system in her HUD. Not only that, these aren't ordinary rockets: rather, to fit with her theme of widespread devastation, they are cluster munitions, allowing her to hail down explosions from on high like the hammer of god. These can be fired one at a time, and they usually are to conserve them. But if the situations calls, she can unleash them all in a storm of fire that leaves the ground before her a sea of blasted craters.[/COLOR][/COLOR]

[COLOR=SILVER][b]Left Auxiliary[/b]
[COLOR=#807B84]In a departure from the insanity that are her weapons, her left auxiliary is much more pedestrian. Because of her superlight armor, she sprung for the best projector she could get. She's ABSURDLY vulnerable to ion weaponry: not only does it disable her shields, but it can also short out her propulsion system and leave her little more than a sitting duck. But as long as ion weaponry isn't overly prominent on a particularly battlefield, it makes [i]Eagle-1[/i] much more durable than it may at first appear.[/COLOR][/COLOR]

[/SUP][/indent][/hider]
[hider=Relations][indent][SUB][b]R E L A T I O N S[/b][/sub]

[sup][COLOR=SILVER][b]Jacob Brake[/b]
[COLOR=#807B84]The subject of the photo, the other name on the flask. Jacob Brake is the love of Arna's life. Though he remains in Lone Star while she lives now in LH, she still thinks about him often. She can't send him messages or anything; a civilian (these days) line sending messages into the military is a pretty futile idea to think about. So instead every so often—there's no schedule, just when she feels like it—she'll write him an unsent letter and save it for the future, when she can show him all the letters she never sent.[/COLOR][/COLOR]

[COLOR=SILVER][b]Colonel Andrew Barlowe[/b]
[COLOR=#807B84]Arna's loooong-suffering CO in the LSAF, Colonel Barlowe is a straight-laced, no-nonsense officer that expects a certain level of decorum from pilots under his command when addressing him.

You can probably imagine that he and Arna did [i]not[/i], in fact, get along.[/COLOR][/COLOR]

[COLOR=SILVER][b]Delia St. Seine[/b]
[COLOR=#807B84]Delia St. Seine has been referred to as many things over her 18 year life. People have called her a prodigy. A genius. A menace. A disaster. A symbol of the problems inherent in the system.

Quinn calls her a sister.

After her parents' untimely demise when she was very young, she was taken care of by a family friend for several years. During this time, she demonstrated an amazing aptitude for engineering, and Rebecca Darroux took notice of that and took her under her wing, begin teaching her all about the process of weaponmaking. As she learned from Rebecca, Delia heard rumors that she had an adoptive daughter, which of course, Rebecca mercilessly crushed down, and so Delia didn't really put much stock into them. Until one day when she was eleven, when she--completely by accident, when she was looking for Rebecca--ran across a shy, quiet girl, must've been eight or nine years old, with a long black and yellow braid and wide, apprehensive yellow eyes. Or...eye. The right one was gone.

To make a long story short, the two of them eventually grew close to each other, and Delia to Becca. And when Delia's adoptive father Mendez died, she was (informally) adopted by Quinn and taken into their family.

Now, though...she's been missing for a few months now, with no word at all. And both Becca and Quinn are getting very, very worried.[/COLOR][/COLOR]
[/SUP][/indent][/hider]
[/cell][cell][b]Physical Details [color=WHITE]◢[/color][/b]
[color=#807B84][indent]Quinn is a shortish girl, no more than 5'3" in height, with an extremely ordinary build. Despite that, she is [i]extremely[/i] recognizable whenever she walks into the room thanks to a few very specific and unusual pieces of her appearance. And first and foremost is her hair. While dark gray streaked with yellow isn't exactly [i]impossible,[/i] is [i]is[/i] highly unusual. But moreso is the sheer [i]volume[/i] of said hair. When tied up in a tight (if large) braid, it ends up going down to her upper thighs. Untied, it goes all the way halfway down her calves. Needless to say, she keeps it braided near permanently to avoid tripping over her own hair. She's reasonably athletic, another piece of her that is fairly average; but that average [i]is[/i] applied to the average of a teenage girl, so she's not going to be running a marathon any time soon.

Next are her eyes. Or, well, her eye, singular. Only her left eye is intact, and it is a bright, sharp, violent yellow, wide and expressive, roving around with constant curiosity. By contrast, the other side of her face displays a black eyepatch, dyed here and there with goldenrod yellow. Faint echoes of scar tissue peek out from underneath, barely hinting at the mangled, mutilated mess that sits where her eye socket used to.

For the most part, she wears functional clothing; not out of any real desperate need, but simply because it's her taste. She's never really liked super restrictive fancy clothing. As a general rule, she likes duller, darker shades much more over bright colors or pastels. When asked for a reason, she simply claims that dull colors set off against her eye and hair a bit better, and that anything else would look weird.[/indent][/color]
[b]Background Information [color=WHITE]◢[/color][/b]
[color=#807B84][indent]

Quinn Loughvein's background is a bit mysterious, all told. With the exception of her parents, nobody really knows much about it, especially her. And she certainly doesn't want to spend much time around her parents. What can be loosely speculated is that she was born in Denver-Vegas in the summer of 2662, upon which her parents immediately tested her for NC compatibility. And upon discovering she was neurally compatible, they began feeding her and pumping her with a staggering array of neurochemicals and other morally dubious drugs in an effort to crank her neural compatibility up: to turn her into the [i]ultimate[/i] NC pilot. She was steered away from ever leaving their sight; and so never being exposed to the world.

Unfortunately for her parents, working where they did meant working reasonably closely to Rebecca Darroux, the poster child of the [i]jerk with a heart of gold.[/i] And, on top of that...[i]canny.[/i] She noticed that there were some things wrong with the Loughveins; they were exceptionally cagey, so it took more or less eight years. But when she did notice, she decided to tail them with a drone to figure out exactly what was going on.

She did.

She called them in the next day and [i]reamed them,[/i] tearing them apart for their mistreatment and giving them an ultimatum: either they give child up and forfeit parental rights, or she'd see them in court. With all the evidence she needed from the drone footage.

Of course, it was obvious to everyone that 'court' was a sham in a city like this. But Becca had a bit more cachet and notoriety; and thus, she made the rules. 

It took a bit for parental rights to be ceded; and during the process, Becca decided to spend some time with the child to avoid leaving her alone with her parents. She didn't know exactly what had cause her to have an eyepatch at eight, but whatever it was, it was [i]not[/i] good, and she wasn't sure she wanted to know. But then...something interesting happened: She got attached. 

Quinn's life changed unbelievably quickly as soon as she found herself adopted by Becca. She chose to keep the name Loughvein; it just felt wrong to leave it behind. She [i]was[/i] a child, after all. And her life going forward was...nice. Sure, Becca had her share of detractors. But she'd never been anything but wonderful to Quinn, and as time went on, to Delia as well.

Rebecca hoped that she could keep Quinn out of the NCs permanently; completely disregarding that pilots typically didn't live very long, she didn't know the full range of effects that the drugs that Luke and Shannon had given her had. But it was fruitless, because Quinn gravitated to them in the end; and at 15, she became one of the younger pilots out there. The notably sensitive Quinn didn't fare too well on the battlefield, but she was a pretty skilled pilot, and DV probably wasn't going to let her go easy.

To make a long story short, Becca eventually bought her out of the military. It wasn't exactly cheap, and it wasn't exactly easy; but Quinn was much, much happier. But still...she loved piloting, but didn't want to be in the military. So...what?

It was then that Becca put in her head the idea--the contract was free now--to leave DV, and go freelancing.

So she did.

She's been doing so for a little while now, and has happened across Lost Hope.

(She still calls Becca every night).
[/indent][/color]
[b]Polaris Shift [color=WHITE]◢[/color][/b]
[color=#807B84][indent]Quinn's a little bit of a special case in the way she thinks about her Shift. Not only does it not bother her overly much, but...she actually [i]likes[/i] it.

Quinn's Shift manifests as a voice inside her head. As far as anybody can tell, it's got nothing to do with personality drift regarding any old pilots of Ablaze, it has nothing to do with anybody else at all. More likely it's just a kind of persistent psychosis. But whatever the cause, the manifestation remains the same: there's another person inside of Quinn's head, or at least that's how she puts it.

This personality--who she says also wants to be called [i]Quinn[/i] and so she that's what Quinn calls her--as far as can be gleaned, is rather different from the Quinn that most people know. That bouncy positivity is markedly absent. In the fragments of conversations that can be observed, she seems much more cynical and aggressive. But regardless, Quinn seems to put a great deal of stock into the other Quinn's opinions and thoughts. And not only that. Quinn has...

...She's made friends with it.

A small side effect of her Shift and this bizarre situation is that Quinn can sometimes have difficulty in knowing whether she's talking to her internal Quinn through thoughts, or spoken out loud. Sometimes she'll cut in and out of a conversation, bits and pieces of it out loud and the rest remaining unspoken. It can be someone disconcerting at times.
[/indent][/color]
[b]Personal Mission [color=WHITE]◢[/color][/b]
[color=#807B84][indent]Above all else, Sirona wants desperately to be [i]safe[/i].

Trapped for so long in so many ways, literally or figuratively, Sirona feels constantly exposed. Like she's always being watched, always [i]been[/i] watched, and always deeply unsafe. Her past is full of shadows—the doctors from L1, the military of Fairbanks, the last look that she took at her sleeping sister—that loom over her like so many swords of Damocles. So her ultimate goal, even if she doesn't quite know it, is to lift those swords away, one by one. She may never be able to rid herself of them all. She may never feel completely comfortable. The past may always haunt her through her nightmares.

But it shouldn't need to control her any longer.
[/indent][/color]
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