❝"I'm not gonna spend my whole life as some fucking lab rat, you understand that? That's all we are to them, all we ever were, and we deserve better. They- They deserve better. And if that means I'm a piece of shit, that I'm ungrateful for what I was given, then so be it."❞
||Speech Color #7515a1||
||Thought Color#8c5fa1||
♪Ghosts of Beverly Drive||Death Cab for Cutie♪
Faceclaim|| Revy | Black Lagoon
♠Name♠
Mora Cathrine Mathilde Brenda
(Given Name Yoko Kaori)
♠Age♠
25
♠Gender♠
female
♠Height♠
5'8"
♠Weight♠
~150
♠Type♠
Geo
♠Physical Description♠
Mora is a woman in her prime. Her features are muscular and well-defined, yet retain a sense of femininity. Though perhaps not the most physically imposing due to her height, her hazel eyes alone are more than capable of clearing a room when necessary. She keeps her maroon hair tied behind her head in a long ponytail, with her bangs framing a rectangular face. She boasts a prominent tattoo on her right shoulder; an act of rebellion permanently branded to her skin, which is sun-tanned and unblemished in the areas she chooses to display.
Her body is lithe and muscular, something she often flaunts with revealing attire. The effect is furthered by the fact that Mora is what some would refer to as "well-endowed" - a trait she takes full advantage of. After all, people usually don't have the best aim or the sharpest wit when they're too busy staring at her tits.
Likes
+ Alloys
+ reading
+ guns
+ music
Dislikes
- the facility
- needles
- the ocean
- cold weather
Fears
☠ heights
☠ losing those close to her
☠ being trapped in the project her whole life
Once upon a time, the child Yoko was a shy, reclusive girl, more the sort to hide in her room reading entire shelves of books than talk to the scientists, let alone talk back. She spent much of her time by herself, intimidated by her fellow children. She did manage to make a few friends, who helped her to come out of her shell and even engage in pranks and other mischievous antics, but each friend lost - either through died, broken, or isolated - turned her from the sweet, gentle girl she was into someone angry and resentful.
Yoko was one of the first born in her generation; early enough to know the first Alloys, late enough to see them die off first, to see the worst of the experiments intended to test their limits. This provided the perfect environment to turn a shy, gentle girl into an angry, resentful teenager. She began to act out, bitter towards the endless cycle of testing, breeding, and dying so many of her fellow Alloys were trapped in, and blaming the scientists for all of it. The knowledge that she herself fell out of that cycle only served to make her more bitter, as she was subjected to numerous tests in attempt to "cure" her sterility. She is adamant about protecting younger Alloys from this same cycle, even if she can't technically "save" any of them.
Her results during ability tests were erratic; she was often too nervous to use her abilities, and the few occasions she did manage it, she almost broke the equipment. This resulted in increased pressure from the scientists, who observed she had the potential they wanted, but felt she lacked the drive to pursue it. They were frequently harder on her than the other Geos; harsher toward her failures, and more critical of her successes. The result was a perfectionist who could never achieve the standard she set herself, and she would often lash out during testing when she failed to get the desired result from her powers, even when the scientists considered it a resounding success.
It was cold in Watanabe's office. It always was back then, and maybe it still is. She hadn't really paid much attention in her more recent visits, scattered as they were. Or maybe she'd just stopped caring at some point. Back then, however, back when she was seventeen , with the old man staring down at her, surrounded by his assistants (what had been their names? Tatsumi had been there, and so had Hanamura, fresh out of grad school, but the others escaped her, both in name and number), it may as well have been the Arctic Circle in mid-Winter.
"How did she even get out?" Hanamura's voice, loud. Angry. Directed at Tatsumi, another reach-around attempt to blame him.
"Tunneled," he replied, amusement in his voice. The entire ordeal had been candy for him, she remembered that. He'd been smiling for weeks afterward - not the one he did during testing, either. A real one. "Went down and out. It was amazing!"
"Amazing?! She could've been-" Hanamura's rant had been silenced by a raised hand from Watanabe.
The man's face was pensive as he gazed at Yoko - or rather, at her shoulder. An angry red mark sat there like a brand, a beacon of her rebellion. Yoko's hand had moved to rub the fresh, aching tattoo, but she'd stopped herself and returned the extremity to her lap. The old man sighed and adjusted his glasses, a wire-rimmed pair different than the ones he would have a few years later. "Why?" he'd asked, eyes meeting her own.
"Why not?" had been her brilliant response.
"Listen, if this is about Aoi, you should know we-"
"It's not."
Another sigh, through his nose this time. Watanabe massaged his brow with his forefinger, eyes closed. "Yoko-"
"My name's Mora," she'd cut in, the picture of defiance.
He'd exchanged a look with the others then, an unspoken check if he'd confused her for another. Barely shaken heads confirmed he hadn't. "Mora."
"Aoi's death was an unavoidable accident." he'd begun, leaning over his desk. "I understand the two of you were close, but acting out, endangering yourself and this project for a feat of childish rebellion will not-"
"It's not about that!!" She'd felt her blood boiling, heard her heartbeat in her ears. The condescension, the dismissiveness of it all threatened to drive her over the edge. "It's not about that," she'd repeated, her voice lower, shaky. Her fingers had dug into the arms of the chair, creating long, parallel gashes that had remained each time she'd been in Watanabe's office over the next two years. It had ultimately been replaced, though she didn't know when.
Tatsumi had apparently been the first to find his voice. Creators or no, masters or no, they'd still retained some fear of an enraged Alloy. "Maybe Yoko- Mora here should return to her room," he'd suggested, placing his hand on the back of her chair. She hadn't been able to help but notice he'd refrained from touching her directly. "It's been a rather eventful day for her. For all of us."
She hadn't waited for permission, flying out of the chair and bolting out of the room.