MOUSE

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MOUSE

Post by Mouse on Sun Aug 19, 2012 12:00 pm

((OOC: Mouse is kind of like the personification of an unreliable narrator. I'll interject OOC comments periodically, using "[ comment ]" formatting to do so. I'll try to do it as little as possible, though.))


Name, nicknames, anything:

    Lǎo Shǔ Húli. [Just gonna call her "Mouse" after this.] It means Mouse Fox. Master's Wife says it's because she's as fearful as a mouse (lao shu) and sneaky like a fox (huli). No last name. Master's Wife said she didn't deserve a last name.

Age, rank, anything that goes along with that (include what branch of the military [ignore if character is not military] the character is in):

    Somewhere between 18 and 24. It's really hard to know how old you are when you don't have a birthday.

Describe your character's appearance. Include eye colour, hair colour, height, build, and anything extra.

    She's about 4'7, and scrawny, what with the not eating for long periods of time. She has long black hair that she keeps either in her face, or pulled back in a ponytail, brown eyes, high cheekbones, pale skin, a little nose and mouth.

    Scars crisscross her skin, mostly on her back, but a fair amount on her hands and arms. One particularly nasty scar runs from her scalp down to her chin, through her eyebrow and narrowly missing her eye.

    She moves like a cat- silently, smoothly, and has the innate ability to accidentally sneak up on people, causing her to pick up the habit of coughing when she enters a room- unless she's purposefully sneaking around. You get hit enough times (and not always with just a fist) for sneaking up on someone, you start to do your damnedest to make sure someone knows you're there.

Character play-by (Actor/actress that portrays your character)

    Zhang Ziyi [ Zhang doesn't have the scar, unfortunately, so use your imagination on that one. ]

Likes/Dislikes, at least three each.

    Likes:
  • Small spaces. Small spaces are safe. Small spaces means no one can get at her.
  • Trees. Trees are good to climb in. Trees are good for hiding your tracks. Trees are safe to sleep in.
  • Not being hit.
  • Pretty things. But she can't touch. Touching is bad. She's clumsy and might break it.
    Dislikes:
  • Knives. Knives are bad. Knives cause pain.
  • Cruelty for the sake of cruelty.
  • No escape route.
  • Men noticing her. That's bad. That's bad, bad, bad.

Skills, at least three.

  • Walking lie detector [ See "Strengths" ]
  • Hasn't found a surface she can't climb. Her saviors on Earth tease her about being part gecko.
  • Once she's taught how to shoot, it's discovered that she treats it like math and physics. She can calculate the angles, trajectory, recoil, anything that would throw a shot off, and know what she needs to do in order to hit a weak point. Unfortunately, guns scare her. She doesn't like the loud bang.

Strengths/Weaknesses, at least three each.

    Strengths:
  • She notices everything. Everything. [ See "Weaknesses". ]
  • For someone so skittish, she's darn likable. She has that cute little fuzzy kitten quality where everything that won't hurt her delights her. Her emotions are written on her face at any given time. She likes people, once she gets used to them, and they like her back.
  • She's flexible and can move quickly in short bursts of speeds. When in life-or-death situations, the world seems to slow for her, and while she doesn't move any faster in the slow motion world, she's able to take everything into account and figure out the appropriate action and start the process of doing it, within the space of a second.
  • Due to natural inclination and talent, Mouse is very good at sneaking. She learned at an early age how to pick locks, and has honed that skill to a fine edge.
  • Explanation for the strength: She's classifiable as near human; using scans, it is discovered that her species has an enlarged amygdala and several neuro pathways linking it to the frontal lobe, pituitary gland, and perception centers of the brain. The scans also show significantly increased synaptic activity comared to a normal human brain. These regions of her brain share the same membrane, as well, essentially operating as the same unit. What the strength actually is: Mouse is a natural empath, able to detect emotions. Her species are so adept at detecting emotions, she's essentially a walking lie detector, with a significantly higher success rate than a polygraph. Because of the way her perception center works, she is quite adept at following the links: this person is feeling this way (emotion), this is why they feel that way (motive), and this is what they plan on doing about it/with that emotion (intent). So in addition to being a walking lie detector, she is also a walking danger detector in a lot of ways.
    Weaknesses:
  • She notices everything. Everything. Her problem is that because she notices everything, her brain doesn't know how to filter it into levels of importance, and she loses a lot of what she notices. She's always watching around her and paying attention to the people around her. Because she's always looking for an attack and an escape route, she has a tendency to get lost.
  • Cannot lie to save her life. Seriously. Can't. Because of her species being able to detect lies, she never learned how. What's the point in lying if people know immediately that you're doing so? The best she can do is lie by omission, and that's only with a lot of work.
  • She's not as strong as most people around her due to old injuries that didn't heal properly. She's also accident prone, and is dealing with at least one current injury all the time. Add to that that she's been malnourished most of her life and still isn't eating properly, and she's definitely a bit of a weakling.
  • She'll obey an order she's given out of second nature, and it only occurs to her later that she didn't actually have to obey the order.
  • She has an intense fear of knives, and is hyper aware of the movements of the people around her, causing her to not notice what's ahead.
  • Prone to panic attacks.
  • Because of the way her brain is set up, it's very easy for her to become overloaded with information, and she starts functioning on auto-pilot without thinking about what she's doing or what's going on. Loud noises, bright colours, crowds of people, it can all get confusing for her and overload her. When that happens, she tends to crawl under a desk or something until she can process again.
  • PTSD. Seriously. Her whole life has essentially been one Stresser after another, with zero recovery time between them.

At least three important events in your character's life and why it matters.

  • Growing up as a slave, she got used to hearing people talk about her as though she weren't there, and one of the remarks she'd heard when she was young was that it was a pity she'd been given the face of an angel, and yet to be so strange and stupid.

    She supposed she couldn't really blame them for their comments.

    Mouse didn’t say her first word until she was nine.

    Or at least, she thinks she was nine. She can’t be sure of that. No one really cared enough to tell her how old she was or when her birthday was. Birthdays weren’t for slaves. They were only for Master and Master’s Wife, and Master’s family.

    Some kid’s first words were “Mama” or “flower” or “puppy” or some other such word.

    But that time had passed long ago for Mouse.

    Mouse had long since lost the innocence that comes from being a child, if indeed she’d ever possessed it. It could be argued that she had never truly been a child.

    It's hard to be a child when your angel's face is marred by bruises and scratches, and your back is already scarred from whippings.

    Her first word was actually two words. “Yes, ma’am.”

    That which had inspired the words had been a fist to the cheek. It wasn’t the first hit she’d ever received. She’d been on the receiving end of strikes and kicks whenever she was inept or clumsy or was in the way. After a few disastrous attempts to dodge and the punishments that ensued, she’d learned that trying to evade the impending pain was a bad idea.

  • She was doing the dishes- Master’s Wife had long since banished her from public serving, claiming that Mouse was too inept to be allowed to do work that someone might see, but the basement, cellar and kitchen work was good enough for her- when she was shocked to receive an appreciative slap on the butt accompanied by a pinch and wet lips on her neck, while words riding on stale breath pronounced her to be a pretty piece of meat, just as her mother had been.

    It was the first time she'd truly regretted being pretty.

    What happened afterwards she refused to let her memory go back to- it was bad enough that it attacked her in nightmares. She would not let her conscious mind dwell on it.

    She hadn’t fought. To fight could easily mean her death.

    Neither had she cried. Her tears had long since ceased to flow.

    She had the face of an angel, and she'd turned to stone long ago.

    If she’d still retained her innocence before, it was lost that night on a cold kitchen floor. She’d fled as soon as it was safe to move, safe to leave, standing in the cold rain until her clothes and hair were drenched, until her skin was cold and clammy, until her body was shaking and her teeth were chattering, and still, she stood, tears mingling with rain.

    Even stone can cry, if pushed to the right point, but it doesn't do so loudly, and neither did she.

    She would have stood out there even longer if Master’s Wife hadn’t stormed outside, hurling accusations of Mouse luring the other woman’s husband away from his wife and to herself, just like Mouse’s mother- the second mention of Mouse’s mother in a lifetime of never hearing a word about the woman.

    Mouse had stood mute, not knowing what to say, not knowing what to do, not knowing if she should defend herself or stay quiet.

    Perhaps any choice she'd made would have been the wrong choice.

    She had the face of an angel and the calmness of stone, and that seemed to enrage the other woman all the more.

    Master’s Wife moved, a flash of silver in her hand, and Mouse’s face erupted in a streak of flaming pain streaking down the side of her face, blood trickling it’s way down her neck, mingling with the rain and the tears and staining her shirt.

    Mouse’s memory of that night stops there, and it doesn’t pick up again until a few weeks later. She wished that her memory could have decided to stop a few hours earlier, but no amount of wishing could change it.

    She started to wear her hair down in her face, and stopped washing it altogether, so it hung in greasy clumps, hiding the unruined half of her face. She stopped washing her face. She did everything she could to hide her looks.

    She only had half the face of an angel- but half is enough.

    Sometimes half is too much.

    She started dreaming of freedom and planning her escape.

  • Mouse woke to a branch breaking.

    It could be an animal.

    Or it could be people.

    Or it could simply be one person.

    She froze, while the man paused before he got to the river, looking around as though he could feel her eyes on him.

    She didn't have any weapons, other than the switchblade she'd stolen before running.

    His eyes found hers.

    She stopped breathing.

    He pulled empty hands out of his pockets, giving her an "I speak peace" gesture. "Hey. I'm Huang. I won't hurt you."

    She didn't move, didn't speak. She just continued to watch him with wide eyed fear.

    He took a cautious step towards her, moving slowly. "What's your name, qíng lǚ?"

    Her mouth was dry, but she found herslelf answering in a raspy voice. "Mouse."

    A slow smile came to his face, reaching his eyes. "What are you doing up in that tree, Mouse?"

    Mouse stayed still.

    "What are you hiding from, little one?" He took another step towards her.

    Still she didn't answer. She couldn't remember how to breathe.

    Something in her face must have alerted him to the fact that she hadn't breathed since he'd stepped into the clearing, because his eyes widened. "Oh, shit." He climbed the tree and helped extricate her from the tree, ignoring her tries to get away. Once she was on the ground, he stuck her head between her knees. "Breathe, zhōngrén. It's okay. You're safe. I won't say I'm harmless, 'cause I won't lie to you, but you got nothing to fear from me."

    Mouse's lungs started working again- not exactly correctly, but at least she was getting air into her lungs. Her breaths came in harsh wheezing, the sound filling her ears, but breath was breath and air was air, and she sucked lungfuls of oxygen in gratefully.

    He brushed a hunk of hair out of her face and they both froze when her scar became visible. "Holy hell, Zhōngrén. You pissed someone off bad, didn't you?"

    Mouse turned away, letting dark hair fall back into her face. "You could say that." Her voice came out soft and rough.

    Huang turned her back towards him with a finger under her chin. "Sometimes men can be vicious bastards." He searched her eyes, trying to find an answer.

    Mouse was tensed, ready to run but knowing she couldn't. She couldn't run away and she couldn't fight, if it came right down to it.

    Sometimes, she wanted to curse the gods for making her a plaything, a toy, rather than a fighter. It was a cruel joke to play on someone who's whole life had been a cruel joke.

    Mouse averted her eyes, while still watching him out of the corner of her eye. "Yeah. They can be." She looked back into his eyes, brown eyes meeting gray through a curtain of black hair. "So can women."

    Huang handed her some dried meat from his pack. "Listen, Mouse, I pride myself on not being a careless bastard. It isn't exactly safe traveling alone. Now, I can admit that I'm not the safest guy, but I promise you that I will never hurt you. I'm nothing for you to be afraid of." She continued watching him warily as he played with a strand of her hair between his fingers. "If you travel with me, I'll protect you."

    She surprised them both by nodding her agreement.

  • Huang never pushed her for more than she was willing to give on anything, be it history, trust, or anything that had simply been taken from her but never asked for.

    The only thing he did that made her uncomfortable at first was he liked to touch her hair. But she got used to it quickly enough.

    No, he didn't push her. He removed her walls stone by stone, but he never pushed her.

    Instead, he shared about himself and never asked for anything in return.

    She learned that he'd grown up in a small town, and that she reminded him of his sweetheart, Luan Ming, who'd been taken years previous by slavers. He'd followed them, only to find that she'd died.

    That had been the only thing she'd pushed him on, actually. He'd slipped up and called her Ming. She'd wanted to know why. He hadn't wanted to tell her. She'd looked at him from behind her fall of hair. "I think I have the right to know whether or not the man I'm traveling with is bat-shit crazy."

    Huang had laughed in response, before sobering up and telling her.

    That night was the first time she initiated contact. She gave him a hug, letting the action say the words she didn't have.

    The next night, as they were getting ready for sleep, she told him about her past.

    All of it.

    His response wasn't as nice as hers had been, but somehow was just as comforting, if not more so.

    First he uttered a string of curses. Then he punched a tree. Then he let loose another bunch of curses. Then he came up with some rather inventive and creative ways to torture and kill.

    While he was doing all that, she watched silently. After he punched the tree, she was no less silent, but she cleaned and wrapped his knuckles while he continued cussing and planning on making her former owner's life a living hell if she but said the word.

    After he calmed down, Huang wrapped her in a hug and swore that she wouldn't go through anything like that again as long as he was around.

    She believed him.

    The next day, he started teaching her how to defend himself. The lessons were slow going, because she kept freezing and having a panic attack, but they were able to work on it a little bit at a time, and she could go a little bit longer each day before freezing up and they needed to stop. Unfortunately, there wasn't a whole lot he could teach her; what he knew was things he had taught himself and he was a lot bigger than her. He used things that worked for him, and since she was as small as she was, she would need an entirely different style than he had learned. He was able to teach her how to stand without being knocked over, or how to hold her hand so she could punch without breaking her hand (she'd tried to keep her thumb in her hand, to protect it, at first but he had broken her of that habit very quickly), or where to aim to make it hurt, but there wasn't a lot more that he could do for her.

    But he tried. That was the important part.

    Weeks went by and the rare touches got less rare

    One night, Huang brushed her hair away from the ruined half of her face, traced her scar from scalp to chin and pronounced her beautiful.

    Mouse shattered.

    He held her as her as she cried, her sobs eerily silent.

    He held her as her whole body shuddered and shook.

    He held her as her tears soaked his shirt.

    He held her as her walls crumbled and turned to dust.

    He held her when she was done crying, and she enjoyed the feel of his arms around her and the solidness of his chest against her cheek.

    He held her as she snaked her arms around his neck and kissed him for the first time.

    Hours later, when he called the wrong name, it was her turn to hold him and his turn to break.

  • The time of tranquil travel was bound to come to an end.

    It did.

    A group of slavers were on the two before they could get away.

    Huang fought hard, but one man's courage and determination simply wasn't enough.

    He was killed by a bullet to the chest.

    Mouse couldn't scream, couldn't cry as she was captured.

    Her voice was dead and her tears were stone.

    Slavers don't exactly care if their property is willing or not.

    These particular ones decided to cut a notch in her arm for every time they used her.

    She started praying for death.

    She tried to starve herself, but they'd force her to eat and then punish her for it. Her willpower wasn't strong enough to defy them for long, not even for death.

    She gave up hope and latched onto a plan.

    She provoked and enraged one of the slavers when he came in for his time with her, hoping she could make him mad enough to kill her.

    He smashed his fist into her nose, and even as cartilage shifted, even as blood gushed, hot and red, from her nose, even as she was blinded from tears of pain, she continued taunting him.

    Her plan didn't work- and at the same time, it did.

    He beat the everloving snot out of her, but he didn't kill her.

    The slavers left her in the hot desert sun, probably figuring she'd die soon enough.

    She didn't.

    She was a whole mess of massive hurt, but she didn't die.

    She backtracked to find Huang, knowing she wouldn't like what she found but having to do it anyway.

    When she finally found him, she took his pack and the charm he'd worn around his neck to remember him by, before burying him. Digging the hole was long, dirty work, and she developed more than one blister before she was done.

    Once she'd gotten him covered, she curled into a ball, hugging her legs against her as hot tears coursed down her cheeks and dripped onto knees clad in the pants she'd pulled out of his pack.

    She stayed there all night, and then set out again the next morning.

    She didn't know where she was going, but she knew that someday, she'd find it.

Main goal:

    Survive. Not be a slave ever again.

Greatest fear:

    ...No.

What does your character not like about themselves? At least three things.

    [ These are three things she was always told about herself that she honestly believes to be true. ]
  • Weak.
  • Stupid.
  • Worthless.

Why was your character chosen for the Stargate program? (Include any skills that would be part of the reason.)

    She begged to not be left behind.

Describe your character's personality, at least one hundred words.

    She's quiet and shy and prone to panic attacks. When she latches onto someone, she remains their friend forever. Or until death. Death usually comes first- and so far it hasn't been her own. When she makes a friend, she sticks with them and won't leave them for anything short of death. Depending on the friend, she can be seen as either intensely loyal, or insanely and annoyingly clingy. But even that won't deter her from following them around like a lost puppy. She'd willingly take a bullet for someone that she deems a friend- but it takes a lot for her to see someone as a friend.

    She's observant. Has to be, with the amount of time she spends not talking. Her eyes flick back and forth and all around, while she hopes she doesn't miss anything. She's always on guard for a fist or a knife to come her way.

    When she actually cares enough about something to stand up for it- or the person- she is stubborn and determined, and short of knocking her out and dragging her away, she will not abandon the people she cares about.

Your character's history, at least 300 words.

    Mouse was a slave for most of her life- which is why she doesn't have a last name. Master's Wife wouldn't let her have a last name. It's also why she's named Lao Shu Huli- it's not very common to name people after animals. It was done specifically to be demeaning. [ It would be like someone naming their kid "Dog" and telling the child that they didn't deserve a better name. ] She doesn't remember her parents at all, and isn't sure if they're dead, or were traded to another slaver.

    Her life as a slave is where the scars on her back came from. The long scar on her face also came from that experience, when her master decided that she had turned into a fine piece of meat (his words), and his wife decided to take care of that.

    She escaped, through a combination of a rare instance of luck, her natural ability to sneak around emphasized by learning (she learned early on that she wouldn't get punished if she wasn't noticed), and the plan that she'd worked on for years, just waiting until the right opportunity to implement it.

    Because she's been escaped for only a short time, she's still on edge and on guard, absolutely convinced that she'll be returned to her owner- and if that happens, he'll kill her. Literally, not an exaggeration. Her fear of that isn't helped by her escape, and then being captured by slavers. Her lover was killed when she was captured. She managed to escape again, and buried Huang, but she's left with an intense fear of people in general, and of men in specific.

    Mouse has scars. All the visible ones link to an emotional or mental one, and some of her emotional scars don't have corresponding physical ones.

Roleplay sample (please use the character you're creating):

    Cattiebrie lived in what used to be the stable, back before the animals had mutated and the horses had still existed and the cows hadn't yet turned into brahmins.

    Master's house was truly a beautiful work of art-or it would have been if it wasn't run down- with the dense spanish moss draping heavily from the large elm trees, the ground marshy and squishing under bare feet, the air thrumming with bugs. The statuesque house rising out of the murk and the grays and the greens, the white antebellum mansion prominent among the colors and features of the landscape.

    But the beautiful old house had it's flaws. It had a good structure and it was made out of cypress- the only wood that termites didn't eat. It had been built to last. But it still had it's cracks and it's flaws, and nothing they could do would ever make the mansion what it used to be.

    In some ways, Cattiebrie related to the house.

    Growing up as a slave, she got used to hearing people talk about her as though she weren't there, and one of the remarks she'd heard when she was young was that it was a pity she'd been given the face of an angel, and yet to be so strange and stupid.

    She supposed she couldn't really blame them for their comments.

    Cattiebrie didn’t say her first word until she was nine.

    Or at least, she thinks she was nine. She can’t be sure of that. No one really cared enough to tell her how old she was or when her birthday was. Birthdays weren’t for slaves. They were only for Master and Master’s wife, and Master’s family.

    Some kid’s first words were “Mama” or “flower” or “puppy” or some other such word.

    But that time had passed long ago for Cattiebrie.

    Cattiebrie had long since lost the innocence that comes from being a child, if indeed she’d ever possessed it. It could be argued that she had never truly been a child.

    It's hard to be a child when your angel's face is marred by bruises and scratches, and your back is already scarred from whippings.

    Her first word was actually two words. “Yes, ma’am.”

    That which had inspired the words had been a fist to the cheek. It wasn’t the first hit she’d ever received. She’d been on the receiving end of strikes and kicks whenever she was inept or clumsy or was in the way. After a few disastrous attempts to dodge and the punishments that ensued, she’d learned that trying to evade the impending pain was a bad idea.

    No, it hadn’t been the first time she’d been struck. But it had been the first time the fist had been accompanied with a command to speak when spoken to.

    She hadn’t not spoken out of a lack of intelligence or the inability to do so. No, it had been the hope that by keeping her mouth shut, she might be able to evade notice.

    Yeah.

    Right.

    Fun hope. Too bad it didn’t work.

    Idiot.

    Master’s wife seemed to take special, vicious pleasure in punishing Cattiebrie.

    It wasn’t until Cattiebrie was seventeen that she got an idea of why that might be so. She was doing the dishes- Master’s wife had long since banished her from public serving, claiming that Cattiebre was too inept to be allowed to do work that someone might see, but the basement, cellar and kitchen work was good enough for her- when she was shocked to receive an appreciative slap on the butt accompanied by a pinch and wet lips on her neck, while words riding on stale breath pronounced her to be a pretty piece of meat, just as her mother had been.

    It was the first time she'd truly regretted being pretty.

    What happened afterwards she refused to let her memory go back to- it was bad enough that it attacked her in nightmares. She would not let her conscious mind dwell on it.

    She hadn’t fought. To fight could easily mean her death.

    Neither had she cried. Her tears had long since ceased to flow.

    She had the face of an angel, and she'd turned to stone long ago.

    If she’d still retained her innocence before, it was lost that night on a cold kitchen floor. She’d fled as soon as it was safe to move, safe to leave, standing in the cold rain until her clothes and hair were drenched, until her skin was cold and clammy, until her body was shaking and her teeth were chattering, and still, she stood, tears mingling with rain.

    Even stone can cry, if pushed to the right point, but it doesn't do so loudly, and neither did she.

    She would have stood out there even longer if Master’s wife hadn’t stormed outside, hurling accusations of Cattiebrie luring the other woman’s husband away from his wife and to herself, just like Cattiebrie’s mother- the second mention of Cattiebrie’s mother in a lifetime of never hearing a word about the woman.

    Cattiebrie had stood mute, not knowing what to say, not knowing what to do, not knowing if she should defend herself or stay quiet.

    Perhaps any choice she'd made would have been the wrong choice.

    She had the face of an angel and the calmness of stone, and that seemed to enrage the other woman all the more.

    Master’s wife moved, a flash of silver in her hand, and Cattiebrie’s face erupted in a streak of flaming pain streaking down the side of her face, blood trickling it’s way down her neck, mingling with the rain and the tears and staining her shirt.

    Cattiebrie’s memory of that night stops there, and it doesn’t pick up again until a few weeks later. She wished that her memory could have decided to stop a few hours earlier, but no amount of wishing could change it.

    She started to wear her hair down in her face, and stopped washing it altogether, so it hung in greasy clumps, hiding the unruined half of her face. She stopped washing her face. She did everything she could to hide her looks.

    She only had half the face of an angel- but half is enough.

    Sometimes half is too much.

    She started dreaming of freedom and planning her escape.

    After six long years, six years of going over her plan every night to figure out where it needed to change, what she needed to do, she finally got the chance to escape.

    She took it.

    For a tracker to find someone, they follow footprints. She walked on the rocky parts until she got to a tree, and climbed the tree, traveling from tree to tree to tree. She fell out a few times, and was scraped and bruised in more places than she could count by the end of it.

    Once she reached the river, she walked in murky, brackish water to hide her tracks.

    It worked.

    She got away.

    And the stone angel started to learn to fly.

    [This is a long one; obviously, if I were really RPing this situation out, it would be broken up into multiple parts.]

    Cattie was sitting in an old office building, spinning in a slow circle in a squeaky office chair. Caleb had gone down a floor to "talk" to someone, and he didn't want her around for business negotiations. That was nothing new. He never wanted her around for them- he said that the people he had to talk to wouldn't talk if she were there, but she suspected it was the other way around. She didn't begrudge him it, though- he knew better than she did the kinds of people he met up with, and if he thought it would be best for her to stay out of the way, she'd listen to him. She knew that he would do his best to keep her out of danger. She'd rather be beside him than away from him, but he'd rather do what he could to keep her safe, even if it meant keeping her away for short periods of time. He promised this talk wouldn't take long, and then they'd be able to go off into the desert again.

    She blew out a bored breath, continuing the spinning of the chair, staring at a pencil that someone had managed to lodge into the ceiling. She was trying to figure out how hard someone would have had to throw it in order to lodge it in enough that it was still there however many years later. She'd already figured out how many dots were on the ceiling by counting the dots across and down a tile and multiplying, how many tiles across and down the room and multiplying those, and then taking into account the half tiles or missing tiles because of lights and the vent, so it was unsurprising that she was fascinated by the pencil in the ceiling.

    It was right about then that she heard a familiar defiant roar that suddenly cut off into silence.

    She slammed her foot down, stopping the spinning of the chair, and strained her ears to listen. She slid to the door and opened it as slowly and quietly as she could, listening to a voice . "We got the Kurgan. We had to use the strongest dosage on him. Highest damn setting we've ever had to use on a human. He's like a bear. He's going to make a good addition to the Games." The voice was gruff but not as high as one might expect from the gruffness and Cattie's stomach sank as she heard what they were saying about Caleb.

    Another voice, silky smooth answered. "Excellent. Have the ghouls do a quick search of the rest of the offices. Kill anyone they find. There shouldn't be anyone, but we don't want to take any chances that he's somehow made a friend. He wouldn't. He's not one for friendship, and even if he was the type to make friends, no one would be willing to get past the stench."

    She shut the door as quickly and quietly as she could. If they were sending ghouls, plural, the chances of her taking them down without firing her guns were slim to none. So hide it was. She looked frantically around the room, looking for any spot that could be a safe place. "Gotta think. Gotta think. Come on, Cattie, put that brain of yours to work and think." She muttered to herself as she ran about the room. All there was was a small table that she couldn't hide behind, and several chairs that wouldn't do much damage to the ghouls if she threw them. Pencil in the ceiling and...

    And an air duct. She'd put on some weight due to actually eating regularly, so she was no longer malnourished, but she was still scrawny as hell, and would fit in the air duct. Thank God for being well under 5 feet tall, and under 90 pounds. She slung her rifle around so that it was flat against her back, and her pistol was safe in her pocket, before moving the table over, standing on it, and she tried to ignore the precarious wobbling of it. Luckily, the vent was loose after several decades of no use, and it swung open with very little work. She tied one of her hair ribbons to the vent cover and clambered in, shimmying down the rectangular shaft. She could see a larger area ahead with a fan that used to rotate but was now still. She slowly made her way forward, trying to be as quiet as she could, dragging herself by her arms and scootching herself with her toes. The ribbon in her hand went taught and she tugged on it sharply, the vent cover swinging upwards and her ribbon starting to untie itself. "Come on, baby, come on. Stay tied just a little bit longer." Her voice came out in a whisper as she continued the gentle tug and the vent snapped back into place with a click. She continued pulling and the ribbon came untied the rest of the way. Wouldn't do to leave evidence of her being there. Now she just had to keep scootching and get out of this particular vent before the ghouls decided to play peekaboo with the vent and spot her.

    She moved as silently as one can move in a metal vent, shimmying forward at a fairly fast pace considering the caution she was taking. She heard the door slam open and hit the wall. The crashing sounds behind her continued. Presumably, the ghouls were throwing the scant furniture in the room around, just to make sure that no one was hiding underneath it.

    The crashing stopped and she could hear the ghouls talking to each other. "What the hell is a pencil doing in the ceiling?"

    She was almost to the wider opening. Keep moving, keep moving.

    "I dunno. Maybe it wasn't a human that did it, Max. Maybe the person who worked here was making a machine, and it launched a pencil into the ceiling." Did all ghouls get stupid when they ghoulified, or was it just the ones she'd met?

    "Guess I didn't think of that one."

    "Well, that's why I'm the brains and you're the muscle."

    A pause. Then, "Hey! You callin' me stupid? How about I put my knife upside your skull?"

    "You ain't got the balls, coward."

    "Who you callin' coward?" Cattie heard a softer noise, one that sounded suspiciously like a blade puncturing skin and bone.

    "I show you coward! I ain't no stinking coward!" And then the sounds of a victory dance reached Cattie's ears.

    She hated stupid people, and that stretched to cover ghouls, too.

    She reached the open area and pulled herself into it. It was large enough that she could even sit up, so she did so, trying to stretch out as much as she could. She was now in the central hub, and there were four vents to choose from. One of which she just came from. Well, technically, there was the option of up or down, but somehow she didn't want to go that route. She would if she had to, but until she had to, she wasn't going to.

    "Damn it, Max. What the hell is this? We're paying you damn ghouls to kill other people and guard the prisoner, not to kill each other! How are you supposed to do your job if you're too blasted busy fighting with each other and beating your brains out?" It was a new voice, almost as cold and smooth as the guy in charge voice she'd heard earlier, but not quite. Obviously, he was one of the people in charge, or he wouldn't have been able to talk the way he was if he wasn't. Max would just put new voice in his place and that would be that.

    And dear god, she was nervous. She could tell because she was babbling in her head. Most people could only babble out loud, but Cattiebrie was special, and was able to do it in her thoughts-

    She forced herself to calm down.

    She was the only person around that Caleb could trust. He was still alive, and that meant she had to rescue him. Why couldn't their situations be reversed? He'd come up with a plan and ride to her rescue easily. He was big and strong and knew how these things worked, while she was little and not strong and didn't know how to do a rescue mission. She had her laser pistol and her rifle, but she didn't know how many people she'd be going up against, and it would be entirely too easy for them to figure out she was in the vents if she started shooting from above them.

    Damn her for being a coward.

    The silky cold voice was back, talking to not as silky and not as cold voice. "Now, now, Edward, no use getting mad at our friend Max. We knew going into this that the ghouls would likely spend more time fighting each other than of being any real use to us." This voice was dangerous in its mildness, and Cattie knew three things:

      1)He was the person in charge.
      2)He was no stranger to killing.
      2)He was going to hurt Caleb.


    Her blood turned to ice in her veins as a cold anger seeped into her bones.

    Edward spoke again, sounding apologetic, and Cattie chose the vent that would lead towards where the voices were coming from. "I apologize. Max, the floor is secured? There was nobody here?"

    "Nobody here."

    A crackle of static, and that meant walkie talkies. If they had those, there was no telling what kind of technology they had access to. Which meant she'd have to play it that much safer.

    "Excellent." Bossman drew the word out, and Cattie could imagine him drumming splindly fingers together. "The plan is working, then. Now to wait for the Kurgan to wake up. He shall be a good opponent. Are the chems prepared, Edward?"

    This was getting worse and worse. She didn't like this. Didn't like this at all. But there was nothing she could do about it, other than listen and try, try, try to come up with a plan. A plan that would work.

    That would be the hard part.

    "They're ready whenever you are, sir."

    "Then let us inject our friend Caleb."

    Cattie followed them, and had to shove her fist into her mouth to stifle the sob when she saw an unconscious Caleb beginning to stir after an injection of adrenalin, his hands and feet wrapped in heavy manacles.

    There were six people ringed around Caleb. Three were humans. Three were ghouls. One of the humans was wearing a suit that must have cost a hell of a lot of money, and had slicked back black hair and shoes that were much too shiny. Cattie knew that he was the Bossman, just by the way he held himself, as though the world owed him something and he was making it pay up.

    The other two humans were dressed rather oddly, but that wasn't out of place in the Wastes. Both of them wore leather dusters, shorts, and sturdy boots. The man, the one that Cattie was assuming to be Edward, had his head shaved bald, and piercings marching up his ear. The woman had long black hair piled on top of her head, and stood almost as tall as Edward. Both had the smooth muscles of someone that knew how to fight, and Cattie knew that she'd have to kill them first if she chose to instigate an attack.

    They had swords and guns strapped around their hips, and Cattie knew that they would know how to use both. Otherwise, they wouldn't have been hired for this job.

    Caleb's eyes opened slowly, and Cattie's fingers curled into the grating of the vent, the metal digging into her skin.

    "Look, Jennifer. The sleeper wakes." Bossman was too gloating, and Cattie tagged him as being the third to die. Not because he was dangerous, but simply because she wanted him dead. He hurt her Caleb. He would pay.

    The good news was that she now knew the chick's name. If that could indeed be called "good news".

    "You're going to die." Caleb announced it, his iron gray eyes flat and cold, and his voice had a ring of truth to it.

    "We all die, Mr. Wolff. But I expect you'll die long before me." Damn. He was like one of the villains from a bad pre-war movie, all cool and calm and suave and gloating. Cattie hated that kind of villain- that had been the kind that the slaver who captured her and killed Zeke had been- and she much preferred the cackling sadistic kind, because they were more likely to leave loose holes in their plans, and-

    Wait. No, her favorite kind of villain was the dead kind.

    She wasn't sure whether to be proud of the fact that she had categorized villains in her mind and had preferences, or to be seriously depressed and unnerved by it. So she shoved the thought out of her mind.

    Bossman squatted in front of Caleb and held up a small vial.

    "Do you know what this is?"

    "Mouthwash? If it is, you should use it, because your breath stinks." Caleb blinked at the man, making a face as though dealing with a disgusting odor.

    Bossman smiled, and Cattie shivered. That was not a nice smile. That was the kind of smile that promised pain and if you were very, very good, a fast death. "It's a strong poison. You've already been injected with it. We have a job for you to do, and once you agree to do it, we'll inject you with the antidote. But only once you agree."

    Caleb spat in Bossman's face. "Go to hell."

    Bossman merely wiped the spit off his face, before punching Caleb as hard as he could. Cattie jumped in spite of herself, creating a racket inside the vent.

    Shit.

    Shit.

    SHIT!


    She was already moving, getting as far away as she could.

    As though proving her earlier hypothesis that ghouls were stupid, one of them yelled, "What was that?"

    Another one answered the first one with a smack to the back of the head. "Someone's in the vents, you idiot."

    Cattie couldn't see the blade of the woman's sword being placed against the ghoul's neck, but she heard her say, "Then I suggest you go after them" in a low, dangerous voice.

    Cattie scrambled down the vent, glad that this one was larger and slightly easier to maneuver in than the previous one had been. She army crawled down the vent, not caring how much of a racket she made. Another hub, and she slid into it. Only instead of landing on the solid metal surface like she had before, the entire floor of this one was another vent, and she found herself tumbling down, throwing her arms and legs to the side to slow her down and not doing any good. She slammed into a a hinged cover, and the floor swung out from underneath her and she was tumbling again.

    Cattie hit the ground hard, her ankle rolling when she hit, and she knew she was going to be in trouble. She forced herself to get up and move, shoving the pain back.

    She had to save Caleb. She could hurt later, but for now, she needed to move. And come up with a plan.

    She looked around and spotted an emergency exit. She limped over to it quickly. She'd landed in a construction area that had long since been abandoned, but there was a hammer and a screwdriver and a crowbar, and she could use those for weapons.

    She opened the door to the stairwell slowly, unsure if ghouls would be checking. Looking up showed that she was alone in there.

    What to do? What to do?

    They'd be expecting her to go down and get out.

    Which meant she was going up. She moved as quickly as possible on a bum ankle. It would have been easier to go down- she could have just slid down the railing- but she wasn't going to abandon Caleb. She managed to make it three floors up, which meant she was about two above where Caleb was, and she'd have to find another way back down soon, when a door below her opened. "Terry here. I found where he came out. Thirty second floor, some construction area. The vent was open. Idiot didn't even try to cover his tracks." Cattie peered down the stairwell, spotted movement, and pulled out of sight again, opening the door slowly and quietly.

    A voice crackled over the staticy walkie-talkie. "I'm checking the floors underneath. You check the floors above. And remember to say when you're done talking, dumbshit. Gary out."

    "Yeah, okay." Cattie heard the door close and heavy footfalls began climbing the stairs. "Oh, crap!" The noises of plastic, and then more speaking. "Terry here. I meant to say, yeah okay and Terry out."

    God bless stupid ghouls. Because Terry was busy talking, he didn't notice Cattie lying in wait. She braced herself against the wall, and swung the hammer as hard as she could at the ghoul's head. She would have rather have used her gun, because she was more confident in her ability to shoot than to fight, but the goal was to be quiet again. She couldn't pinpoint her location.

    The hammer slammed into Terry's head, and he grabbed at her arm as he went over backwards, tugging her down the stairs as he fell, her arm wrenched out of her shoulder socket, and then they hit the ground about ten feet down, Cattie landing on top of Terry, his neck breaking on impact, before she slid into a wall headfirst.

    Ow.

    Ow.

    OW.[/i]

    She started breathing again, trying to not cry from the pain, before sitting up, placing the hand of the injured arm flat against the wall, straightening the bad arm and bracing the elbow with her good arm to keep it from buckling, and then slammed her body forward against it, popping her shoulder back into place.

    Her first reaction was to throw up as stars swam in front of her. Turns out it was, in fact, possible to see fireworks from pain.

    She grabbed Terry's walkie-talkie, and the gun he had with him, putting the gun in her pants pocket and clipping the walkie talkie to her pants on the other hip. Luckily, she'd injured her left shoulder, and she used her right arm more for shooting. She wiped her hammer off on Terry's clothes, and kept going upstairs.

    * * *

    Caleb regained consciousness again, and the man from before was back. "Did you have a nice nap, Mr. Wolff?"

    Caleb rolled his eyes. "Blah blah blah, banter banter banter. Let's just skip this, you tell me you want me to do a job for you, I tell you go to hell, then when I get free, I kill you. It's bound to happen, so we can just skip all the middle stuff." He used a more carefree tone than he actually felt. He couldn't reach his lockpicks and if Cattie had any brains, she'd be long gone.

    A look of mock sympathy came over suited guy's face."Oh, poor you. You must be so tired of being chained up. My heart just bleeds for you."

    "Not yet, but it will be bleeding." He growled the words out, and the man took an involuntary step back.

    "Blah blah blah, empty threat, empty threat, empty threat." He countered, mimicking Caleb's blasé tone. "I have a question for you. Answer, and I'll even give you a small bit of the antidote to the poison. Not enough to save you, but enough to buy you some time. You see, I was under the impression that you traveled alone. It seems, however, that you were with someone, and that someone is loose in this building, and we've found the body of the ghoul he killed. So you're going to tell me who this man is and how to find him."

    Unbeknownst to him, they'd pumped him full of truth drugs as well, and he was surprised when he blurted out the answer: "Cattie."

    There was a moment of silence. "Caddy? How do I find him? Where would he be? What would his plan be?"

    Caleb didn't correct the misunderstanding that the guy had that Cattie was a guy. He wasn't going to take away any conceivable edge from her. He was careful to continue using her name, instead of slipping her gender. "If Cattie was smart, Cattie would get the hell out. Chances are, that's not the plan of action Cattie's going to take."

    "Then what will he do?"

    Caleb shrugged against his bonds. "That's easy. Cattie's going to kill all of you. Every last one of you." He was shocked with that answer. Apparently, he couldn't lie. But that was something he hadn't yet realized.

    Cattie was going to kill them all.
    ***

    Cattie was on the thirty seventh floor, hiding from another ghoul, her small hands wrapped around her hammer. Her shoulder was killing her, and her ankle was throbbing, but she was paying it no mind.

    The ghoul paused where it stood. "I can smell you."

    Not good. So not good.

    The ghoul rushed her, and she crashed to the floor, the hammer going flying across the floor.

    She scrambled to get another weapon in her hands, and the ghoul punched her already bruised cheek, and for the second time that day, she saw stars.

    The ghoul whaled on her, but she managed to get her hand around the screwdriver, and she plunged it into the ghoul's eye socket as deep as she could, ignoring the hits she was taking in the process.

    The ghoul twitched and then fell over.

    Cattie lay there for a moment, before forcing herself back up. When this was over, provided she and Caleb lived through it, she was sleeping for a week.

    She stood on wobbly legs and crept back down the stairwell

    Before she intersected another ghoul, the walky talky at her belt went staticy again. "Status report. The boss wants us to update each other periodically." A series of short replies came in about all clear, or other such things.

    But there was one missing. "Zach, report." The command came over the walkie-talkie.

    Cattie couldn't resist. She picked it up and pushed the big red button and said simply. "Two down. Four to go."

    She ignored the crescendo of voices that came through after her announcement. Instead, she turned the walkie-talkie off, so that it couldn't give her position away.
    ***

    Cattie was tackled by a ghoul, her head slamming into a wall. Cattie scrabbled to get away from it or to get her hands on one of her weapons, but the ghoul was too strong. He had her by the hair and was smashing her head into the wall repeatedly. After she lost track of how many times he did that, she managed to get her legs between herself and the ghoul, and kicked it away, losing handfuls of hair in the process.

    Her hand closed around the crowbar, and she swung it as hard as she could, catching his chest. Then she swung it again, the clawed end tearing out the ghoul's larynx.

    She watched it die, no pity in her eyes.

    Her thumb hit the button on the walkie-talkie. "Three down. Three to go."

    The next floor down, she didn't find a ghoul. The woman with the sword is the one that Cattie found herself dodging.

    Jennifer was stronger than her. By a lot. Jennifer was stronger, taller and had a lot better reach. Jennifer had also been trained to fight, while Cattie had learned from Caleb what she could. Cattie just barely missed the sword swipe, raising the crowbar just in time to avoid getting her face slashed again.

    The dark haired girl slashed at Cattie's unprotected stomach, and Cattie jumped backwards, feeling the cloth of her shirt tear, and the sword slice into Cattie's skin. Not deeply, but enough to hurt, and she couldn't stop the gasp of pain. As Cattie swung the crowbar awkwardly with one hand, she threw the screwdriver with the other. As soon as the screwdriver left her hand, the awkwardness of the one handed swing was gone, because her other hand was back on the crowbar. Jennifer tried to dodge the spinning screwdriver, but the tip of it still struck her shoulder. She met the crowbar with the sword, and the two girls were body to body. Jennifer would win this. She had the height and weight advantage. Cattie shifted slightly, bracing the crowbar along her arm as her other hand felt along her belt for something, anything.

    Jennifer was enjoying this. Cattie could tell by the look in her eyes, the smile that stretched her mouth wide. If she'd had any doubts, they disappeared when Jennifer licked up Cattie's cheek.

    Cattie's eyes widened as her hand closed around the handle of the hammer. She swung the clawed end towards Jennifer's face, using her body to hide the movement until it was too late.

    The dark haired girl screamed in pain and rage as the claw buried itself in her eye, and Cattie yanked it out, swinging it again as hard as she could.

    The noise stopped as Jennifer collapsed and died.

    Cattie tugged the hammer out of Jennifer's skull and wiped it clean, picking up the screwdriver and Jennifer's weapons. "That was disgusting." She shuddered, wiping her cheek as she walked away.

    She thumbed the button to turn it back on. "Four down. Two to go. And Jennifer won't be seeing you again." Then she turned it back off.

    She heard the cry of rage even without the aid of the walkie talkie.

    She moved as quickly as she could while still being quiet, sticking to the shadows, trying to melt into them.

    A knife hit the wall in front of her face, and she threw herself backwards, hitting the ground and sliding across, another knife passing through the air where her head had been not even seconds before.

    She scrabbled to her feet, but the first slash of Edward's sword caught her in the shoulder, and she had to fight to not scream in pain. The pain rode her breath in a whimper, but that was as much as he got.

    He swung at her again, and this time, the sword she'd stolen from Jennifer came up to meet it.

    To hell with this. He knew what he was doing, he was bigger and stronger than her, and if she insisted on fighting him with the sword, she would die.

    She kicked him solidly in the chest, propelling herself away from the deadly blade. Her hand touched her pistol that she kept in a cross draw stance, and the trick holster came through for her.

    The gun was in her hand, and Edward had enough time to get out an "Oh, fu-" before the energy blast caught him right between the eyes.

    She watched him drop, before picking up her walkie talkie and saying simply, "Five down. Your turn."

    He'd be expecting her to take the stairwell. She had to come up with another plan.

    Her eyes caught on the metal doors of the elevator. That might work.

    She investigated the elevator doors, managing to pry them open with the crowbar, before sliding all her weapons into her belt or pockets. She used her hair ribbons to tie the crowbar to her rifle. There was no elevator on the floor, and even if there were, it wouldn't have worked.

    But there were elevator cables.

    This was a stupid, stupid, stupid thing to do. There were not enough words to communicate just how stupid this was, and she knew it.

    Wasn't going to stop her, though.

    She backed up, took a deep breath and a running start, and launched herself through the air at the thick cables.

    Her hand caught it, and then her other hand, and she wrapped herself around it, lowering herself down slowly.

    Her recently dislocated, relocated and cut shoulder hurt and stabbed with pain, but she kept going.

    She kept going, even when her hands began to bleed.

    She kept going through the pain. To fail was not an option.

    She kept going.

    She had to.

    She had not considered the fact that she'd had to jump for the cable in the first place, so how was she supposed to get out?

    Luckily, luckily, luckily and thank God, the not-working elevator had stopped directly underneath the floor she needed to be on. Which meant she could stand on the elevator and walk over to the doors and figure out how to open them from this side of them.
    * * *

    They were questioning Caleb again, and he was refusing to answer.

    Then the man in charge spoke into his walkie talkie. "Come here, Caddy, or your friend dies."

    Don't answer, don't answer, don't answer-

    She answered, her voice low and husky, and for the first time, Caleb was glad that she didn't sound as female as she looked. "Right. Because the bad guys never lie. Newsflash, asswipe, I don't believe you, I don't trust you, and you're going to die."

    Evil McEvil reached into his suit jacket and pulled out a revolver from it's holster. He aimed carefully at Caleb, while Caleb looked at him with defiant eyes. "Listen well, Caddy." The gun fired, and the bullet tore through Caleb's shoulder and he couldn't prevent the roar of pain. "That was the sound of your friend being shot in the shoulder. I'm not lying about this. He's still alive. But if you don't come here within the next minute, I will not hesitate to kill him."

    Silence greeted him.

    Caleb started laughing through the pain. "You're an idiot. You're going to die now."

    "I told you already, Mr. Wolff. Those chains will hold you. You're not getting out." He put his revolver back in it's holster.

    "Oh, no. It won't be me. You just signed your own death warrant. Because Cattie won't leave anything left for me to take care of."
    * * *

    Cattie pried the elevator open, the angel of death. Cattie advanced on Bossman slowly. "If you move, I will shoot you right now. Believe me. I will not hesitate to do so."

    His eyes widened. "A girl? A girl killed all my men? Inconceivable."

    Cattie responded flatly. "I do not think that word means what you think it means."

    "How? How did you do it?" He was still refusing to accept what had happened, and that she had been the one to do it.

    "You'd be shocked what you can do when the person you love is at risk." She had never used that word with Caleb before. Ever. His eyes widened at the word, but she didn't notice.

    She shifted her gun as she fired, so instead of killing him, she shot him in the shoulder. "That was for Caleb. If I were willing to waste bullets on you, I'd plug you full of holes and let you die. But I'm not. Luckily, I have this handy sword here." She hacked at him and was impressed when it cut straight to the bone, leaving his hand useless. "Damn. Your girl kept her sword sharp. I'm impressed. Normally, you have to have a serrated edge and do a lot of sawing to hit that level of damage." She thought about what to do, before looking at him with cold eyes. "Die now." The blade sliced through the air again, slashing his throat. She watched him die- he had things she needed, and there was no way in hell she was getting in touching distance before he was dead.

    He stopped bleeding. He was dead.

    The danger was over and the adrenaline was leaving her. She took two steps before her ankle decided to give out on her. She kneel-walked over to the suited bastard, finding the keys to Caleb's chains and a full syringe that she hoped desperately was the antidote to whatever they'd given him. Edward and Jennifer hadn't had anything, so if it was in the building, it was now in her hand. She crawled back to Caleb and unchained him.

    She had blood smeared on her cheek, and what looked like brains in her hair. She had various bruises on her face and her hands were caked with blood.

    She had never looked more beautiful to him.

    "Why didn't you run away? You should have." Too late, he realized he'd said the wrong thing.

    She jerked her shoulder in a hard shrug. "I couldn't leave you here."

    "Damn, I'm proud of you." He reached for her with his good arm and pulled her close. "You also scared the pee out of me when I realized you were running around trying to save my ass."

    She mumbled against his chest. "Yeah, well, it worked, didn't it?"

    He stroked her hair, neither one of them unwilling to move for a bit. "By the way, I love you, too."

PLAYER DETAILS. Name (doesn't have to be real, just a moniker for us to use), age, how long you've been RPing, timezone, best way to contact you, anything else you think we should know:

    Name: Kati
    Age: 26
    RPage length: Since fall of 2008. I think.
    Timezone: GMT. I keep trying to call it GMC, but that's a car company.
    Contact: Owl Post
    Anything else: I play Sandy Howards, too. Oh, the RP posts are from a Fallout version of Mouse, originally named "Cattiebrie". So that's the name discrepancy, as well as the appearance, etc. The reason I chose two is because... well, I really really like the first one, and the second shows just how badass she can be when push comes to shove. Though it will take her some time to get to the point where she can do that kind of thing. For the first little while, she'll be more skittish and wary than able to mount a defense, and I do play her straight to that.
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Mouse
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Sex: Female
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Re: MOUSE

Post by Sarah Yadin on Sun Aug 19, 2012 12:28 pm

Wow...I thought Sarai had it bad.

Only question I have is, if we're finding her in A Snake POW camp (if things don't change), how did she get there? What is her experience with the Goa'uld? Is her species a new subset of human, or an altered Goa'uld experiment?

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Sarah Yadin
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Sex: Female
Occupation: Mossad

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Re: MOUSE

Post by Mouse on Sun Aug 19, 2012 12:33 pm

I'm confused now. Razz

I know that Run and I were tossing out ideas, and we mentioned a Snake POW camp, but I didn't think we'd decided on anything. Goa'ulds are part of her world, but she didn't really deal with them all that much; her people just lived in terror of them returning to the world.

I hadn't really decided if she was a new subset of human, or an experiment; I figured we could explore all that together in RP-land.
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Sex: Female
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Re: MOUSE

Post by Sarah Yadin on Sun Aug 19, 2012 12:36 pm

Ah, OK. I was just going with the only idea I'd heard so far. Razz

Sounds good.

Approved pending discovery

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Re: MOUSE

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