Post by dawson on Dec 26, 2010 20:34:21 GMT -5
Name: Rebecca Evelynn Dawson
Nickname: Red, D
Gender: Female
Sexuality: Homosexual
Age/Birthday: 36, 250910
Race: Human
Place of Birth/Home Town: Seattle, Washington State, Earth
Character Portrayal: Zoe Bell
Hair: Shoulder-length, straight, usually kept up in rows or a pony, blonde
Eyes: Grey
Height: 6’1”
Individual Features: Firstly, and most notably, is her naturally large frame for a woman, as well as her heavily trained build that puts her just over two hundred pounds.
She does have plenty of identifying marks beyond that, in the form of both tattoos and scars; for inkings, she has fifteen, to be exact. The first two rest on the back of either shoulder (Link), the third on the right-hand side of her neck (Link), the fourth over her right pec (Link), the fifth opposite it (Link), the sixth along the right side of her torso (Link), the seventh opposite it (Link), the eighth on the lower left of her abdomen (Link), the ninth, and largest, runs up the back of her right leg and halfway up her back (Link), the tenth on the top and side of her right foot (Link), the eleventh is a drop of falling blood just above her right collarbone, the twelfth consists of the black lettering Nimic on the inside of her left forearm; the thirteenth is a pair of small, twin black dots on the inside of her right wrist; the fourteenth is a white fleur-de-lis directly above them, and the last is a blue fairy on the outer side of her left calf, plus four piercings, a labret, both ears, and her navel, and more than a few scars ranging from surgical scarring over her lower spine and around her shoulders and wrists, to a straight puncture from a knife just below her ribcage, to seven bullet holes spread out across her body.
General Appearance:
Family:
Stephen Dawson (Father, deceased)
Maria Dawson [Nee Loughlin] (Mother, deceased)
Hanna Harrington [Nee Dawson] (Twin sister, 36, Seattle Special Weapons And Tactics)
Isabel Dawson (Sister, deceased)
Christopher Dawson (Brother, deceased)
Thomas Dawson (Uncle, 61, retired lawyer)
Brianna Dawson [Nee O’Dell] (Aunt, 58, retired pharmacist)
Jonathan Dawson (Cousin, 38, lawyer)
Chelsea Kroi [Nee Dawson] (Cousin, 34, orchestral violinist)
Friends: Jack Daniel, Evan Williams, and Jim Beam and his brothers, Black and Red
Enemies: Hanna Harrington, Thomas Dawson, Jonathan Dawson
Job: Venia Tactical Officer
UGAP Army Tier One Task Force Wraith, Sergeant First Class, retired
Personality:
One of the most apt descriptions ever used on Rebecca was being likened to your grandfather’s old truck. Bruised, battered, and broken, but it still works with an inexplicable reliability. Mentally and physically, she’s been through hell and back more than once, and her experiences have most certainly changed her, not necessarily for the better, but although embittered, sometimes a bit bristly, highly pessimistic, and quite possibly devoid of morals, she’s still remarkably level-headed and functional in both garrison and field environments, as well as heavily driven and impossibly stubborn. Just don’t ask her for her world-view or to deal with people who are easily offended.
While not exactly unfriendly, she’s prone to being very direct, blunt, and not one for small talk, and possesses a fairly twisted sense of humor, especially while working. If it isn’t worth saying, why waste the time to say it? And if it does need said, then out with it already, oh well if someone doesn’t like it. Too bad for them, they’ll get over it. Probably. If not, that’s their problem. She’s not particularly concerned with making friends or finding love; she’s had them, she’s lost them, she doesn’t really want more. Notably, she also has a mild form of PTSD which manifests in sudden movements, people standing behind her, large crowds, and loud noises usually putting her on edge, further adding to her lack of social skills.
Likes:
The adrenalin high of combat.
The burn of a good workout.
Honesty.
A good bottle of aged single malt scotch.
Cheeseburgers. Greasy, meaty cheeseburgers. If you ever need to bribe her…
Dislikes:
People who don’t pull their own weight.
Liars.
People standing behind her.
Spaceships.
Irish whiskey.
Therapists and psychiatrists.
Pliars (don’t ask).
Lawyers.
Fish.
Fears:
Water.
Attachment.
Going quietly.
History:
Rebecca Evelynn Dawson was born in Seattle, Washington State, to a Kiwi father and Scottish mother, and was named after her father’s mother. She was born along with a twin sister, Hanna, who is older by barely a minute, and was succeeded one year later by another sister, Isabel, and three years later by a brother, Christopher. Stephen Dawson was something of a black sheep in his somewhat high-society family, of which he rarely spoke, and lived in a small apartment in a somewhat rough neighborhood, then his sail boat, then back to his apartment until he married, and worked as a charter captain. Maria Loughlin was raised in Texas by her mother’s parents after hers were killed in a fire shortly after her birth, and was more Texan rancher with Scots heritage than anything else. Maria moved to the North to attend college and continued living there even after graduating, moving from city to city, seeing the sites, though she stopped in Seattle after renting a sail boat, or more specifically, meeting its captain/owner. After about a year of courting, Maria and Stephen married, bought an average suburban home, and became an average suburban family. Stephen started work as a policeman, though he still maintained his boat and rented it out occasionally, while Maria worked out of their house.
Most of the Dawson’s lives were fairly uneventful, until Rebecca and Hanna hit six. It was then that Stephen was involved with one of the largest arrests of the year, a drug kingpin on a DUI and possession. After digging, the kingpin was discovered for what he really was and prosecuted for numerous charges, though several witnesses and people involved started disappearing. Eventually, Stephen’s turn came, and a hit squad of muscle found their way to his home in the middle of the night. Everyone but Isabel, who was at a friend’s house, was inside sleeping and everyone but Rebecca and Hanna were killed. Hanna climbed out of her bedroom window and onto the roof, as she had on many occasions before, and remained there until the police arrived; Rebecca, however, wasn’t quite as fortunate, and survived only by hiding inside the family’s drier and trying to block out the sounds of her father and three year old brother’s murder and her mother’s rape and eventual murder in the next room over. The hit squad didn’t stick around long to search the house and closer, however, as sirens were getting dangerously close by the time they had finished with Maria. Rebecca, Hanna, and Isabel were all put into protective custody until the situation “blew over”, as it were, upon which time custody of the three was given to Stephen’s brother Thomas and his family in Los Angeles.
Isabel took well to LA, as well as the amenities available due to living with a rich uncle, and Hanna managed well enough, but Rebecca…Rebecca never really recovered from that night. It was several years later before she ever got a full-night’s sleep, always waking up screaming within a few hours, and during the day wasn’t much better. She became increasingly rebellious over time, hanging out with less and less reputable crowds, eventually getting involved in alcohol, cigarettes, drugs, and eventually violence. She spent her first night in a jail cell at fifteen for assault and possession, though nothing managed to hit her record thanks to her uncle’s profession in law. A week later, Thomas threw her out, thinking that she would be a little more receptive of his authority, maybe straighten out a little by the time she invariably came back. He was greatly mistaken.
Rebecca never came back.
For a year, she took care of herself, picking up money from gangs, drugs, violence, and simple stealing, and for awhile, things weren’t going so bad for her. She could outrun all the cops in the neighborhood, the thugs left her alone because she could take half of them, and the other half still thought she was useful, and the dealers valued good runners that knew how to not get caught and keep their mouths shut. For one year, Rebecca was doing alright. Then she slipped up, did the wrong thing for the wrong people, and pissed somebody off. She had her first epiphany about how she was living her life while laying, broken, bloody, humiliated, and defiled, in a dark, damp alley, and unable to pick herself up off the ground, she had a good long time to think about it. Seven and a half hours, to be exact, before someone who had it in them to help found her, half-dead, clothes torn to shreds in all the wrong places…
A month in the hospital and a police investigation that went nowhere, and Rebecca swore she wouldn’t go back. So she cleaned up her act, sobered up, even tried religion for awhile. When that fell through, she picked up another idea. She found a training club, picked up a trainer, and started making a living through amateur fights, the legal kind. It didn’t take her long before she realized that, not only did she enjoy bashing people’s heads in for profit, she was pretty good at it, too. She’d always known how to handle herself, sure, she’d taken lessens in self-defense and had quite a bit of practice since…but her trainer was sure she could go pretty far if she kept at it. And so, Rebecca kept at it, kept pushing herself, kept learning, kept improving. She was nineteen when she was in her first Semi-Pro mixed martial-arts fight, a day that also marked another important occasion; it was also the first time she saw Isabel since leaving. Her sister, now attending UCLA in the musical arts department, always read the newspaper, every day, you see, and, as luck would have it, the day Rebecca’s fight was announced was the day that the only section of that day’s paper left in the shop Isabel went to was the Sports section. So, she figured, why not? Might as well read what you’ve got, right? Well, guess what she found on the third page in, in the local listings?
You got it. Rebecca “Red Menace” Dawson vs. Jada Hoph, 6:10pm, August 31st, Los Angeles Memorial Sports Arena.
And what better way to see just how well your sister’s taken to a legal career path than to watch her humiliate someone with seven more years of experience and several trophies under her belt? And though Rebecca never really reconciled with Thomas, and Hanna, who was currently attending the LA police academy, was a little skeptical her “little” sister could stay straight, Rebecca did promise to keep in touch with her sisters from then on out. She even promised to support Isabel’s “sissy” musical career if she was hell-bent on playing the cello, of all things, but only on two conditions. The first, she only had to listen to her play when she didn’t have to sit near the rest of the family. Except maybe Hanna, and then only to bug the hell out of her. The second…well, the second condition didn’t contain any traces of sarcasm whatsoever. Unlike the first, she was being dead-serious. The second condition was that Isabel never ask about the three years they were apart. Period. There were some questions she just wasn’t going to answer, for anyone. Some things just had to come on their own. As for Hanna, well…as long as the eldest refrained from calling her twin a banger and Rebecca refrained from calling her fuzz, they were good. Which wasn’t often, and as such, a lot of black eyes were traded. Unfortunately for Hanna, it didn’t take too long for her to pick up on the fact that her “little” sister could take her. Consistently.
So, here we are again. Rebecca was holding steady. She was beginning to make a pretty good name for herself, had a fairly nice apartment, a shiny car with a lot of horsepower, a fairly steady income, and even a broom-closet with a small pile of trophies. She even stuck to her end of the bargain and kept as close to Isabel as possible, considering how very little time the aspiring musician had between classes, music lessons, and whatever else it was she was doing to get wherever it was she was going. The girl was wound like a clock, yet had no concept of “time management”, Rebecca could have sworn. Even Hanna started to warm up to her sister again. Somewhat. So, things are going pretty good, right? Right.
Wrong.
Why? Well, turns out that Hanna was right about Rebecca, just not in the way she imagined, and it only took two years to prove it. On Hanna and Rebecca’s twenty-first birthday, stitches were pulled and old wounds that should have remained closed were pulled open. For once in a very long time, the twin sisters went out by themselves, with only one thing in mind. Find a place that serves alcohol. Neither of the two have ever spoken of what happened that night, but it’s something neither of them will likely ever forget. Everything was going well until, several shotglasses later, Hanna remembered having looked at her sister’s file in the station and, not really thinking, asked what had happened to her. At first, Rebecca tried to skirt around the subject, but Hanna was every bit as hard-headed as her sister and she kept pressing. It wasn’t long before Rebecca became defensive, which only made Hanna push harder and harder until they were both thrown out of the building. Not that that stopped them from continuing to verbally abuse one another, though. Eventually, Hanna’d had just about enough, and she let her “little” sister know just what she thought she was going to amount to. Of course, very little of what came out of her mouth after that point was what she really believed, and none of it was anything she would have said sober, but…it’s what came out nonetheless. Rebecca’s reaction was much less vocal, and a whole lot more painful when she regained consciousness the next day with a very broken nose and two very black eyes. And the best part? After being informed that she had a concussion, most likely from hitting the curb head-first after being laid flat by her sister, she was then informed that Rebecca was sitting in a holding cell in Hanna’s own precinct for three counts of assault, her being the first, and the second two being both of the responding officers, both of which had more than a few good lumps. Once Hanna explained to her captain that it really was her fault and that she’d provoked Rebecca, plus a whole lot of promises and buttering, she managed to arrange for the charges to be dropped and for Rebecca to be released. Unfortunately for Hanna, again, she passed her sister as she was being escorted from the building, and though she didn’t remember exactly what she’d said the night before, Rebecca…well, she did, and she was every bit as pissed sober. Half-way into an apology, she was cut off by a rather sizeable fist, which broke her nose. Again. The last image of Rebecca she had for several years was six uniforms forcing her, kicking and screaming obscenities, out the door.
What happened next, nobody saw coming. Instead of falling back into old habits, or even just stepping back into the ring to beat all of her emotions out of someone else, Rebecca decided she’d about had enough with Seattle and everything it held. Too many memories, too many familiar faces. So, she did the first thing that popped into her fool head, courtesy of a recruitment poster, and walked into the nearest UGAP Army recruitment office. Due to only mediocre marks in what education she had, Rebecca’s choices were fairly limited, though she did technically have a clean record still, so after proving she could pass the physical requirements and testing out the same day, Rebecca shipped inside the week at her own preference with a guaranteed Combat Arms contract. To her surprise, she actually responded fairly well to authority during training, and as for the training itself…well…she excelled. Not only was she physically among the strongest in her training company, she had the endurance of a racehorse, an earned resistance to pain, and a mental tenacity that nearly rivaled her physical endurance, all of which combined together to place her at the top of her graduating company, and earning her Private First Class straight out of Basic. If the start of her military career was any indication, the rest of it would be pretty noteworthy. And for the most part, it was.
After graduation came, Rebecca was assigned an Infantry contract, and as such went through full-length combat training after a short break, again showing her colors and earning herself a top placement, then immediately transferred straight to an active infantry unit assigned to Delta Prime. Four years active service, with an exemplary, albeit quiet record marked only with good conduct, high physical scores, and both advanced infantry training and martial arts courses, and Rebecca reinlisted, opting to switch over to a specialty service, although her choice was voided even before she’d arrived at Drill Sergeant school when she was contacted about a placement in Special Forces. She didn’t need much convincing to apply, and three of the physically hardest months she’d endured to that point later, she was stationed aboard a rapid response vessel assigned to the Sol system as part of a Tier Two Army Special Forces unit. Two years, with only minor operations interspersed, before Rebecca took her first leave period over Isabel’s birthday and tracked her down before the rest of the family could catch up.
After making certain Hanna wouldn’t be around that day, she decided to wait for little Izzy to get out of one of the classes she was now teaching at UCLA, a night class to be specific, in the parking-lot beside her car. She found it rather depressing that Isabel didn’t seem to have any plans for the night, and she had just the remedy for that. After the initial shock of finding her long-absent older sister who had never really told her what her job was beyond “military stuff” sitting on the hood of her car wore off, Rebecca managed to convince her to come along for a night out. There was no way in hell she was about to let her baby sister get away without having a party on her birthday. Not today. Granted, it really didn’t take much convincing, but that’s beside the point. Once clear of the campus, Rebecca aimed for the nearest bar.
It was time to get s**t-faced and find Isabel a one-night stand (or so Rebecca’s plan went).
They didn’t even make it to the bar. Flipping each-other as much crap as possible while sitting at a stop-light, as well as making fun of Hanna for marrying an artist who wore sweater-vests, Rebecca’s car was rear ended by a man being chased by the LAPD, who was pushing ninety at the time. Thrown into the intersection, and nearly spun clean around, the next few seconds were a blur; headlights of an oncoming Suburban, spinning, the headlights of an 18-wheeler coming from the other direction, and screaming. Whose, she still isn’t sure. Neither vehicle had the time to stop. The SUV, traveling a fifty-five miles per hour, hit just behind the rear wheel-well on the driver’s side, while the semi, going fifty, centered out on the front of the passenger-side door, throwing the car over the edge of the sidewalk and into the docks below. Of course, a wood pier isn’t quite hardy enough to withstand the impact of several thousand pounds of metal thrown from about fifteen feet. When she came to in a haze that didn’t manage to obscure the most horrendous pain she could remember, all she remembers is darkness, darkness and water, water everywhere, and that she couldn’t move. Panic, screaming, cries for help, agony, water steadily rising, and that cold of LA’s winter water seeping into her bones, that final, deathly cold. Drowning is the last thing Rebecca remembers of that night. Waking in a hospital bed, she was informed that she was incredibly lucky to have survived, but, the doctors regretted to say, had suffered a severe spinal injury, and though they had done their best, they didn’t know if the paralysis would be permanent. Barring that, most of her injuries, primarily broken bones, would be healed within months. It was rather obvious, however, that there was something none of them wanted to say. Something they didn’t want to tell her. Even Hanna, who was sitting against the wall silently, couldn’t seem to meet her gaze. So, Rebecca went right out and asked, even though, in the back of her mind, she knew the answer. Where the hell was Izzy? Reluctantly, one of them spoke up as Hanna’s usually harsh exterior cracked, a single sob slipping through. They had done everything possible, you see, but…well…the funeral had been the week prior.
Sanda had been in a coma for seventeen days.
It was about the end of the next day, however, that Rebecca found a reason to stop contemplating the easiest way to kill oneself while strapped to a hospital bed and do something with herself. It was small, oh so very small…but that was all it took. Her reason to try and pick up the pieces again? She could wiggle her toes. From toes, came feet, and so on and so forth. Soon after, she actually started attending physical therapy. For the next six weeks, she taught herself how to walk again inside a gym. Then how to run. Then how to jump. By the end of the month, the trainers couldn’t keep up with her anymore. She was back, and just as vicious as before it seemed; Isabel, the last thing she really gave a damn about anymore, was gone, but there was nothing she could do about it, so she dedicated herself completely to her work, focus on what lay ahead so she wouldn’t have time to think about what came before, and that worked for the most part. A week later, she was run through physical testing by the Army to judge whether or not she could still perform to their standards, and when she ran a max-score test, she was puzzled to be reassigned to an administrative position. After the first week she was about ready to cry foul, when a suspiciously cryptic suit showed up in her CO’s office for about an hour, then came into hers and handed her a pile of transfer papers signed by her CO and the Defense Secretary. She was out of the office before the next morning.
For the next six weeks, she underwent the screening process for the lesser-known Tier One group Task Force Wraith, which replaced her entry into her previous unit as the hardest thing she’d ever done. Ninety percent washed out. Rebecca bludgeoned her way through. From there on out, her existence became nothing more than exactly that. On record, she existed, but what few documents exist of any operations she has taken part in have been all but completely blacked out or erased. Another year came and went by without much of note, only a few minor operations here and there, another reenlistment, and another four years spent as a black element of the UGAP, a deniable asset. Well, that was the plan, anyways. She was a year into that plan when the train went off the tracks again during an operation the UGAP wouldn’t be caught dead with any trace of involvement in. When a massive PMC that had since become self-governed was suspected of involvement with terrorist cells, but still held political and financial ties to the UGAP, it was only logical that a Tier One group be sent in. On faulty intelligence, four shooters planning on infiltrating a research facility with, at most, a dozen armed guards, walked straight into a solid company of fully-geared mercenaries. In the ensuing chaos, fifty-nine mercenaries were killed, eighteen wounded, two of the Tier One shooters were killed, and the other two were captured and suffering severe injuries during two days of attempting to escape the superior force.
Staff Sergeant Rebecca Dawson, under the callsign “Red”, and Warrant Officer Victor Lawrence, “Paco”, were, as they had known they would be, burned. They were denied any association with the UGAP in any form, and never gave any information themselves tying them to it. As such, they spent the next four years in a prison mining camp, choking on dust and fumes one day, and being tortured for information they refused to give the next. About that time, Red had had just about enough it seemed, and four years of failed escape attempts and planning finally paid off. With the initial riot, there was enough chaos as the severely outnumbered guards were, at first, overwhelmed by the sheer mass of inmates for the pair of trained special force operatives to procure firearms, and once that happened…well, there wasn’t a company of elite mercenaries loaded for bear in their way this time. Within a week of the crushed prison riot, Paco and Red showed up at the front gate of the base Wraith was housed on, and after a very long conversation with several confused MPs, finally got in contact with their CO.
After full physical and psychological workups and a very long debriefing period, both were deemed physically salvageable with some recovery time as well as uncompromised. Mentally, however…well, they were both placed in indefinite therapy and not allowed anywhere near firearms. Lawrence was cleared for duty first, after about a month, though Rebecca wasn’t cleared for nearly three, and even afterwards was restricted to administrative duties and still required to see the on-base psychiatrist for another month. Eventually, she was put on a board for medical discharge, and two months after that, got herself exactly that. Oh lord, was she pissed. Three weeks straight in a local gym breaking bags and going home to get blackout drunk, and she was still fuming. She spent a little over a year and a half being generally miserable, pissed off, or drinking, as she had no idea what else to do with herself. Retirement wasn’t something she’d ever looked forward to, a return to civilian life. She’d just about started to contemplate work in the private sector, or perhaps picking up life in the ring again, when an envelope was stuck beneath her door, courtesy of a sneaky bugger who usually went under the name of Paco, which contained information on the UGAP-sponsored vessel Venia.
Why not, right? It would get her out of the house.
Random Facts:
Speaks English, broken Spanish, and bits of Russian
Has a black-level belt in UGAP’s military martial arts program, combat sambo, and muay thai and expert badges in both rifle and pistol
Can. Not. Cook. Seriously, she can burn water.
Her right shoulder has been heavily damaged in the past, and though still fully functional, can be dislocated easier than normal; she can, however, relocate it with ease with the correct method, as well as intentionally dislocate it fairly painlessly; makes for a good party trick.
RP Sample:
“Haha!”
Yeah, whoever had given Rebecca access to the kitchen alone really hadn’t known her very well. As proven by the jet of flame that burst from the pan on the stovetop, singeing her eyebrows slightly. The kitchen rang with a clatter as she slapped the lid onto the pan and pressed down to keep it in place. She glanced around the room a few times, making sure she was indeed alone, and coughed slightly. Well, that was fun. Apparently she’d be eating crispy pasta tonight, oh well, could be worse…could be stuck with field rations. She shuddered slightly at the thought; of everything in the service she missed, that was one thing she was more than glad to be rid of. And yet, she still ate them on a regular basis…well, that was something to ponder another day. Or, you know, never. She already knew she was out of her bloody mind, why reinforce that knowledge further?
Scraping the well-crisped…things that may or may not have once been noodles into a bowl, she discarded the pan in a sink, pinched a fork, and mock-ninja crept back to her quarters. First night on board, and she’d already given the chef cause to despise her, if he ever figured out who had done it. Awesome. What are you gonna do next, dumbo, cut out the padding of the pilot’s chair or something? She was sure that would go over well. Seriously, though, she was going to have to make some sort of alliance with the chef sooner or later, which meant no more midnight raids on the larder for awhile. A body like hers required a lot of food to maintain, you know, and unless she wanted to fuel it off protein and caloric overloads from field rats, it was best to get on the chef’s good side. Which…may prove difficult, as she wasn’t known particularly for her ability to get on people’s good sides. Her last base cook had only liked her because she would literally eat anything he put in front of her. He’d made some fascinating experiments with her stomach before, some of which should never ever be shared with others. Unless, of course, you really don’t like them, then they’d be pretty useful. She still remember throwing up for a week straight after his attempt at sushi.
Rules: Understood. Over and out.
((Forgive the mess, I think I broke my brain))
Nickname: Red, D
Gender: Female
Sexuality: Homosexual
Age/Birthday: 36, 250910
Race: Human
Place of Birth/Home Town: Seattle, Washington State, Earth
Character Portrayal: Zoe Bell
Hair: Shoulder-length, straight, usually kept up in rows or a pony, blonde
Eyes: Grey
Height: 6’1”
Individual Features: Firstly, and most notably, is her naturally large frame for a woman, as well as her heavily trained build that puts her just over two hundred pounds.
She does have plenty of identifying marks beyond that, in the form of both tattoos and scars; for inkings, she has fifteen, to be exact. The first two rest on the back of either shoulder (Link), the third on the right-hand side of her neck (Link), the fourth over her right pec (Link), the fifth opposite it (Link), the sixth along the right side of her torso (Link), the seventh opposite it (Link), the eighth on the lower left of her abdomen (Link), the ninth, and largest, runs up the back of her right leg and halfway up her back (Link), the tenth on the top and side of her right foot (Link), the eleventh is a drop of falling blood just above her right collarbone, the twelfth consists of the black lettering Nimic on the inside of her left forearm; the thirteenth is a pair of small, twin black dots on the inside of her right wrist; the fourteenth is a white fleur-de-lis directly above them, and the last is a blue fairy on the outer side of her left calf, plus four piercings, a labret, both ears, and her navel, and more than a few scars ranging from surgical scarring over her lower spine and around her shoulders and wrists, to a straight puncture from a knife just below her ribcage, to seven bullet holes spread out across her body.
General Appearance:
Family:
Stephen Dawson (Father, deceased)
Maria Dawson [Nee Loughlin] (Mother, deceased)
Hanna Harrington [Nee Dawson] (Twin sister, 36, Seattle Special Weapons And Tactics)
Isabel Dawson (Sister, deceased)
Christopher Dawson (Brother, deceased)
Thomas Dawson (Uncle, 61, retired lawyer)
Brianna Dawson [Nee O’Dell] (Aunt, 58, retired pharmacist)
Jonathan Dawson (Cousin, 38, lawyer)
Chelsea Kroi [Nee Dawson] (Cousin, 34, orchestral violinist)
Friends: Jack Daniel, Evan Williams, and Jim Beam and his brothers, Black and Red
Enemies: Hanna Harrington, Thomas Dawson, Jonathan Dawson
Job: Venia Tactical Officer
UGAP Army Tier One Task Force Wraith, Sergeant First Class, retired
Personality:
One of the most apt descriptions ever used on Rebecca was being likened to your grandfather’s old truck. Bruised, battered, and broken, but it still works with an inexplicable reliability. Mentally and physically, she’s been through hell and back more than once, and her experiences have most certainly changed her, not necessarily for the better, but although embittered, sometimes a bit bristly, highly pessimistic, and quite possibly devoid of morals, she’s still remarkably level-headed and functional in both garrison and field environments, as well as heavily driven and impossibly stubborn. Just don’t ask her for her world-view or to deal with people who are easily offended.
While not exactly unfriendly, she’s prone to being very direct, blunt, and not one for small talk, and possesses a fairly twisted sense of humor, especially while working. If it isn’t worth saying, why waste the time to say it? And if it does need said, then out with it already, oh well if someone doesn’t like it. Too bad for them, they’ll get over it. Probably. If not, that’s their problem. She’s not particularly concerned with making friends or finding love; she’s had them, she’s lost them, she doesn’t really want more. Notably, she also has a mild form of PTSD which manifests in sudden movements, people standing behind her, large crowds, and loud noises usually putting her on edge, further adding to her lack of social skills.
Likes:
The adrenalin high of combat.
The burn of a good workout.
Honesty.
A good bottle of aged single malt scotch.
Cheeseburgers. Greasy, meaty cheeseburgers. If you ever need to bribe her…
Dislikes:
People who don’t pull their own weight.
Liars.
People standing behind her.
Spaceships.
Irish whiskey.
Therapists and psychiatrists.
Pliars (don’t ask).
Lawyers.
Fish.
Fears:
Water.
Attachment.
Going quietly.
History:
Rebecca Evelynn Dawson was born in Seattle, Washington State, to a Kiwi father and Scottish mother, and was named after her father’s mother. She was born along with a twin sister, Hanna, who is older by barely a minute, and was succeeded one year later by another sister, Isabel, and three years later by a brother, Christopher. Stephen Dawson was something of a black sheep in his somewhat high-society family, of which he rarely spoke, and lived in a small apartment in a somewhat rough neighborhood, then his sail boat, then back to his apartment until he married, and worked as a charter captain. Maria Loughlin was raised in Texas by her mother’s parents after hers were killed in a fire shortly after her birth, and was more Texan rancher with Scots heritage than anything else. Maria moved to the North to attend college and continued living there even after graduating, moving from city to city, seeing the sites, though she stopped in Seattle after renting a sail boat, or more specifically, meeting its captain/owner. After about a year of courting, Maria and Stephen married, bought an average suburban home, and became an average suburban family. Stephen started work as a policeman, though he still maintained his boat and rented it out occasionally, while Maria worked out of their house.
Most of the Dawson’s lives were fairly uneventful, until Rebecca and Hanna hit six. It was then that Stephen was involved with one of the largest arrests of the year, a drug kingpin on a DUI and possession. After digging, the kingpin was discovered for what he really was and prosecuted for numerous charges, though several witnesses and people involved started disappearing. Eventually, Stephen’s turn came, and a hit squad of muscle found their way to his home in the middle of the night. Everyone but Isabel, who was at a friend’s house, was inside sleeping and everyone but Rebecca and Hanna were killed. Hanna climbed out of her bedroom window and onto the roof, as she had on many occasions before, and remained there until the police arrived; Rebecca, however, wasn’t quite as fortunate, and survived only by hiding inside the family’s drier and trying to block out the sounds of her father and three year old brother’s murder and her mother’s rape and eventual murder in the next room over. The hit squad didn’t stick around long to search the house and closer, however, as sirens were getting dangerously close by the time they had finished with Maria. Rebecca, Hanna, and Isabel were all put into protective custody until the situation “blew over”, as it were, upon which time custody of the three was given to Stephen’s brother Thomas and his family in Los Angeles.
Isabel took well to LA, as well as the amenities available due to living with a rich uncle, and Hanna managed well enough, but Rebecca…Rebecca never really recovered from that night. It was several years later before she ever got a full-night’s sleep, always waking up screaming within a few hours, and during the day wasn’t much better. She became increasingly rebellious over time, hanging out with less and less reputable crowds, eventually getting involved in alcohol, cigarettes, drugs, and eventually violence. She spent her first night in a jail cell at fifteen for assault and possession, though nothing managed to hit her record thanks to her uncle’s profession in law. A week later, Thomas threw her out, thinking that she would be a little more receptive of his authority, maybe straighten out a little by the time she invariably came back. He was greatly mistaken.
Rebecca never came back.
For a year, she took care of herself, picking up money from gangs, drugs, violence, and simple stealing, and for awhile, things weren’t going so bad for her. She could outrun all the cops in the neighborhood, the thugs left her alone because she could take half of them, and the other half still thought she was useful, and the dealers valued good runners that knew how to not get caught and keep their mouths shut. For one year, Rebecca was doing alright. Then she slipped up, did the wrong thing for the wrong people, and pissed somebody off. She had her first epiphany about how she was living her life while laying, broken, bloody, humiliated, and defiled, in a dark, damp alley, and unable to pick herself up off the ground, she had a good long time to think about it. Seven and a half hours, to be exact, before someone who had it in them to help found her, half-dead, clothes torn to shreds in all the wrong places…
A month in the hospital and a police investigation that went nowhere, and Rebecca swore she wouldn’t go back. So she cleaned up her act, sobered up, even tried religion for awhile. When that fell through, she picked up another idea. She found a training club, picked up a trainer, and started making a living through amateur fights, the legal kind. It didn’t take her long before she realized that, not only did she enjoy bashing people’s heads in for profit, she was pretty good at it, too. She’d always known how to handle herself, sure, she’d taken lessens in self-defense and had quite a bit of practice since…but her trainer was sure she could go pretty far if she kept at it. And so, Rebecca kept at it, kept pushing herself, kept learning, kept improving. She was nineteen when she was in her first Semi-Pro mixed martial-arts fight, a day that also marked another important occasion; it was also the first time she saw Isabel since leaving. Her sister, now attending UCLA in the musical arts department, always read the newspaper, every day, you see, and, as luck would have it, the day Rebecca’s fight was announced was the day that the only section of that day’s paper left in the shop Isabel went to was the Sports section. So, she figured, why not? Might as well read what you’ve got, right? Well, guess what she found on the third page in, in the local listings?
You got it. Rebecca “Red Menace” Dawson vs. Jada Hoph, 6:10pm, August 31st, Los Angeles Memorial Sports Arena.
And what better way to see just how well your sister’s taken to a legal career path than to watch her humiliate someone with seven more years of experience and several trophies under her belt? And though Rebecca never really reconciled with Thomas, and Hanna, who was currently attending the LA police academy, was a little skeptical her “little” sister could stay straight, Rebecca did promise to keep in touch with her sisters from then on out. She even promised to support Isabel’s “sissy” musical career if she was hell-bent on playing the cello, of all things, but only on two conditions. The first, she only had to listen to her play when she didn’t have to sit near the rest of the family. Except maybe Hanna, and then only to bug the hell out of her. The second…well, the second condition didn’t contain any traces of sarcasm whatsoever. Unlike the first, she was being dead-serious. The second condition was that Isabel never ask about the three years they were apart. Period. There were some questions she just wasn’t going to answer, for anyone. Some things just had to come on their own. As for Hanna, well…as long as the eldest refrained from calling her twin a banger and Rebecca refrained from calling her fuzz, they were good. Which wasn’t often, and as such, a lot of black eyes were traded. Unfortunately for Hanna, it didn’t take too long for her to pick up on the fact that her “little” sister could take her. Consistently.
So, here we are again. Rebecca was holding steady. She was beginning to make a pretty good name for herself, had a fairly nice apartment, a shiny car with a lot of horsepower, a fairly steady income, and even a broom-closet with a small pile of trophies. She even stuck to her end of the bargain and kept as close to Isabel as possible, considering how very little time the aspiring musician had between classes, music lessons, and whatever else it was she was doing to get wherever it was she was going. The girl was wound like a clock, yet had no concept of “time management”, Rebecca could have sworn. Even Hanna started to warm up to her sister again. Somewhat. So, things are going pretty good, right? Right.
Wrong.
Why? Well, turns out that Hanna was right about Rebecca, just not in the way she imagined, and it only took two years to prove it. On Hanna and Rebecca’s twenty-first birthday, stitches were pulled and old wounds that should have remained closed were pulled open. For once in a very long time, the twin sisters went out by themselves, with only one thing in mind. Find a place that serves alcohol. Neither of the two have ever spoken of what happened that night, but it’s something neither of them will likely ever forget. Everything was going well until, several shotglasses later, Hanna remembered having looked at her sister’s file in the station and, not really thinking, asked what had happened to her. At first, Rebecca tried to skirt around the subject, but Hanna was every bit as hard-headed as her sister and she kept pressing. It wasn’t long before Rebecca became defensive, which only made Hanna push harder and harder until they were both thrown out of the building. Not that that stopped them from continuing to verbally abuse one another, though. Eventually, Hanna’d had just about enough, and she let her “little” sister know just what she thought she was going to amount to. Of course, very little of what came out of her mouth after that point was what she really believed, and none of it was anything she would have said sober, but…it’s what came out nonetheless. Rebecca’s reaction was much less vocal, and a whole lot more painful when she regained consciousness the next day with a very broken nose and two very black eyes. And the best part? After being informed that she had a concussion, most likely from hitting the curb head-first after being laid flat by her sister, she was then informed that Rebecca was sitting in a holding cell in Hanna’s own precinct for three counts of assault, her being the first, and the second two being both of the responding officers, both of which had more than a few good lumps. Once Hanna explained to her captain that it really was her fault and that she’d provoked Rebecca, plus a whole lot of promises and buttering, she managed to arrange for the charges to be dropped and for Rebecca to be released. Unfortunately for Hanna, again, she passed her sister as she was being escorted from the building, and though she didn’t remember exactly what she’d said the night before, Rebecca…well, she did, and she was every bit as pissed sober. Half-way into an apology, she was cut off by a rather sizeable fist, which broke her nose. Again. The last image of Rebecca she had for several years was six uniforms forcing her, kicking and screaming obscenities, out the door.
What happened next, nobody saw coming. Instead of falling back into old habits, or even just stepping back into the ring to beat all of her emotions out of someone else, Rebecca decided she’d about had enough with Seattle and everything it held. Too many memories, too many familiar faces. So, she did the first thing that popped into her fool head, courtesy of a recruitment poster, and walked into the nearest UGAP Army recruitment office. Due to only mediocre marks in what education she had, Rebecca’s choices were fairly limited, though she did technically have a clean record still, so after proving she could pass the physical requirements and testing out the same day, Rebecca shipped inside the week at her own preference with a guaranteed Combat Arms contract. To her surprise, she actually responded fairly well to authority during training, and as for the training itself…well…she excelled. Not only was she physically among the strongest in her training company, she had the endurance of a racehorse, an earned resistance to pain, and a mental tenacity that nearly rivaled her physical endurance, all of which combined together to place her at the top of her graduating company, and earning her Private First Class straight out of Basic. If the start of her military career was any indication, the rest of it would be pretty noteworthy. And for the most part, it was.
After graduation came, Rebecca was assigned an Infantry contract, and as such went through full-length combat training after a short break, again showing her colors and earning herself a top placement, then immediately transferred straight to an active infantry unit assigned to Delta Prime. Four years active service, with an exemplary, albeit quiet record marked only with good conduct, high physical scores, and both advanced infantry training and martial arts courses, and Rebecca reinlisted, opting to switch over to a specialty service, although her choice was voided even before she’d arrived at Drill Sergeant school when she was contacted about a placement in Special Forces. She didn’t need much convincing to apply, and three of the physically hardest months she’d endured to that point later, she was stationed aboard a rapid response vessel assigned to the Sol system as part of a Tier Two Army Special Forces unit. Two years, with only minor operations interspersed, before Rebecca took her first leave period over Isabel’s birthday and tracked her down before the rest of the family could catch up.
After making certain Hanna wouldn’t be around that day, she decided to wait for little Izzy to get out of one of the classes she was now teaching at UCLA, a night class to be specific, in the parking-lot beside her car. She found it rather depressing that Isabel didn’t seem to have any plans for the night, and she had just the remedy for that. After the initial shock of finding her long-absent older sister who had never really told her what her job was beyond “military stuff” sitting on the hood of her car wore off, Rebecca managed to convince her to come along for a night out. There was no way in hell she was about to let her baby sister get away without having a party on her birthday. Not today. Granted, it really didn’t take much convincing, but that’s beside the point. Once clear of the campus, Rebecca aimed for the nearest bar.
It was time to get s**t-faced and find Isabel a one-night stand (or so Rebecca’s plan went).
They didn’t even make it to the bar. Flipping each-other as much crap as possible while sitting at a stop-light, as well as making fun of Hanna for marrying an artist who wore sweater-vests, Rebecca’s car was rear ended by a man being chased by the LAPD, who was pushing ninety at the time. Thrown into the intersection, and nearly spun clean around, the next few seconds were a blur; headlights of an oncoming Suburban, spinning, the headlights of an 18-wheeler coming from the other direction, and screaming. Whose, she still isn’t sure. Neither vehicle had the time to stop. The SUV, traveling a fifty-five miles per hour, hit just behind the rear wheel-well on the driver’s side, while the semi, going fifty, centered out on the front of the passenger-side door, throwing the car over the edge of the sidewalk and into the docks below. Of course, a wood pier isn’t quite hardy enough to withstand the impact of several thousand pounds of metal thrown from about fifteen feet. When she came to in a haze that didn’t manage to obscure the most horrendous pain she could remember, all she remembers is darkness, darkness and water, water everywhere, and that she couldn’t move. Panic, screaming, cries for help, agony, water steadily rising, and that cold of LA’s winter water seeping into her bones, that final, deathly cold. Drowning is the last thing Rebecca remembers of that night. Waking in a hospital bed, she was informed that she was incredibly lucky to have survived, but, the doctors regretted to say, had suffered a severe spinal injury, and though they had done their best, they didn’t know if the paralysis would be permanent. Barring that, most of her injuries, primarily broken bones, would be healed within months. It was rather obvious, however, that there was something none of them wanted to say. Something they didn’t want to tell her. Even Hanna, who was sitting against the wall silently, couldn’t seem to meet her gaze. So, Rebecca went right out and asked, even though, in the back of her mind, she knew the answer. Where the hell was Izzy? Reluctantly, one of them spoke up as Hanna’s usually harsh exterior cracked, a single sob slipping through. They had done everything possible, you see, but…well…the funeral had been the week prior.
Sanda had been in a coma for seventeen days.
It was about the end of the next day, however, that Rebecca found a reason to stop contemplating the easiest way to kill oneself while strapped to a hospital bed and do something with herself. It was small, oh so very small…but that was all it took. Her reason to try and pick up the pieces again? She could wiggle her toes. From toes, came feet, and so on and so forth. Soon after, she actually started attending physical therapy. For the next six weeks, she taught herself how to walk again inside a gym. Then how to run. Then how to jump. By the end of the month, the trainers couldn’t keep up with her anymore. She was back, and just as vicious as before it seemed; Isabel, the last thing she really gave a damn about anymore, was gone, but there was nothing she could do about it, so she dedicated herself completely to her work, focus on what lay ahead so she wouldn’t have time to think about what came before, and that worked for the most part. A week later, she was run through physical testing by the Army to judge whether or not she could still perform to their standards, and when she ran a max-score test, she was puzzled to be reassigned to an administrative position. After the first week she was about ready to cry foul, when a suspiciously cryptic suit showed up in her CO’s office for about an hour, then came into hers and handed her a pile of transfer papers signed by her CO and the Defense Secretary. She was out of the office before the next morning.
For the next six weeks, she underwent the screening process for the lesser-known Tier One group Task Force Wraith, which replaced her entry into her previous unit as the hardest thing she’d ever done. Ninety percent washed out. Rebecca bludgeoned her way through. From there on out, her existence became nothing more than exactly that. On record, she existed, but what few documents exist of any operations she has taken part in have been all but completely blacked out or erased. Another year came and went by without much of note, only a few minor operations here and there, another reenlistment, and another four years spent as a black element of the UGAP, a deniable asset. Well, that was the plan, anyways. She was a year into that plan when the train went off the tracks again during an operation the UGAP wouldn’t be caught dead with any trace of involvement in. When a massive PMC that had since become self-governed was suspected of involvement with terrorist cells, but still held political and financial ties to the UGAP, it was only logical that a Tier One group be sent in. On faulty intelligence, four shooters planning on infiltrating a research facility with, at most, a dozen armed guards, walked straight into a solid company of fully-geared mercenaries. In the ensuing chaos, fifty-nine mercenaries were killed, eighteen wounded, two of the Tier One shooters were killed, and the other two were captured and suffering severe injuries during two days of attempting to escape the superior force.
Staff Sergeant Rebecca Dawson, under the callsign “Red”, and Warrant Officer Victor Lawrence, “Paco”, were, as they had known they would be, burned. They were denied any association with the UGAP in any form, and never gave any information themselves tying them to it. As such, they spent the next four years in a prison mining camp, choking on dust and fumes one day, and being tortured for information they refused to give the next. About that time, Red had had just about enough it seemed, and four years of failed escape attempts and planning finally paid off. With the initial riot, there was enough chaos as the severely outnumbered guards were, at first, overwhelmed by the sheer mass of inmates for the pair of trained special force operatives to procure firearms, and once that happened…well, there wasn’t a company of elite mercenaries loaded for bear in their way this time. Within a week of the crushed prison riot, Paco and Red showed up at the front gate of the base Wraith was housed on, and after a very long conversation with several confused MPs, finally got in contact with their CO.
After full physical and psychological workups and a very long debriefing period, both were deemed physically salvageable with some recovery time as well as uncompromised. Mentally, however…well, they were both placed in indefinite therapy and not allowed anywhere near firearms. Lawrence was cleared for duty first, after about a month, though Rebecca wasn’t cleared for nearly three, and even afterwards was restricted to administrative duties and still required to see the on-base psychiatrist for another month. Eventually, she was put on a board for medical discharge, and two months after that, got herself exactly that. Oh lord, was she pissed. Three weeks straight in a local gym breaking bags and going home to get blackout drunk, and she was still fuming. She spent a little over a year and a half being generally miserable, pissed off, or drinking, as she had no idea what else to do with herself. Retirement wasn’t something she’d ever looked forward to, a return to civilian life. She’d just about started to contemplate work in the private sector, or perhaps picking up life in the ring again, when an envelope was stuck beneath her door, courtesy of a sneaky bugger who usually went under the name of Paco, which contained information on the UGAP-sponsored vessel Venia.
Why not, right? It would get her out of the house.
Random Facts:
Speaks English, broken Spanish, and bits of Russian
Has a black-level belt in UGAP’s military martial arts program, combat sambo, and muay thai and expert badges in both rifle and pistol
Can. Not. Cook. Seriously, she can burn water.
Her right shoulder has been heavily damaged in the past, and though still fully functional, can be dislocated easier than normal; she can, however, relocate it with ease with the correct method, as well as intentionally dislocate it fairly painlessly; makes for a good party trick.
RP Sample:
“Haha!”
Yeah, whoever had given Rebecca access to the kitchen alone really hadn’t known her very well. As proven by the jet of flame that burst from the pan on the stovetop, singeing her eyebrows slightly. The kitchen rang with a clatter as she slapped the lid onto the pan and pressed down to keep it in place. She glanced around the room a few times, making sure she was indeed alone, and coughed slightly. Well, that was fun. Apparently she’d be eating crispy pasta tonight, oh well, could be worse…could be stuck with field rations. She shuddered slightly at the thought; of everything in the service she missed, that was one thing she was more than glad to be rid of. And yet, she still ate them on a regular basis…well, that was something to ponder another day. Or, you know, never. She already knew she was out of her bloody mind, why reinforce that knowledge further?
Scraping the well-crisped…things that may or may not have once been noodles into a bowl, she discarded the pan in a sink, pinched a fork, and mock-ninja crept back to her quarters. First night on board, and she’d already given the chef cause to despise her, if he ever figured out who had done it. Awesome. What are you gonna do next, dumbo, cut out the padding of the pilot’s chair or something? She was sure that would go over well. Seriously, though, she was going to have to make some sort of alliance with the chef sooner or later, which meant no more midnight raids on the larder for awhile. A body like hers required a lot of food to maintain, you know, and unless she wanted to fuel it off protein and caloric overloads from field rats, it was best to get on the chef’s good side. Which…may prove difficult, as she wasn’t known particularly for her ability to get on people’s good sides. Her last base cook had only liked her because she would literally eat anything he put in front of her. He’d made some fascinating experiments with her stomach before, some of which should never ever be shared with others. Unless, of course, you really don’t like them, then they’d be pretty useful. She still remember throwing up for a week straight after his attempt at sushi.
Rules: Understood. Over and out.
((Forgive the mess, I think I broke my brain))