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Erna Mari Mallory Durand

"I hold grudges and pack an M30. You don't wanna know more."

0 · 306 views · located in Known Space

a character in “After The Curtain Falls”, as played by Juular

Description

Image
Image

Name: Erna Mari Mallory Durand
Nickname(s)/Alias(es): Black Sunday
Age: 27
Gender: Female
Sexual Orientation: Bisexual

Height: 6'3''
Position: Pilot
Description: Slender, pale and fair in skin and countenance to many who first lay eye on Durand "Black Sunday." Her dark, styled hair - which is ever either in a mohawk or left down to one side or the other - is not an oddity in modern society, though it does give many reason to pause upon first glance. With her chilly-blue eyes and icy pallor in stark juxtaposition to her black hair and bleak clothing Durand proves a curiosity for most, especially in a day when stereotypes have shifted dramatically. Her fingers, long and graceful, can fly about the surface of terminals in a mad frenzy even without the aid of her implants, and despite her typically lethargic demeanor she can prove capable of blurring speed when needed. Her perceived "frailty" is oft the undoing of those who attempt to assault her. In a fight Durand is extraordinarily lithe and flexible, relying on her agility to get around and past her opponent's range of attack. A few tattoos mar the snowy porcelain of her skin: one on her stomach, and two on her upper back- all black.
Marks/Scars/Tattoos: The first on her stomach: the stylized emblem of Ecumene of Earth. A circle of crescents orbiting in a cluster - centered around her bellybutton - to form the shape of a world, wreathed on either side by thorny vines adorned with blooming roses; the vines come to a halt before the planet's zenith where the shape of what insinuates a mighty vessel lords over the world. Rays of what would amount to light from the sun shine out from behind the "eclipsed" silhouette. The final two on her back: two short passages from the Kama Sutra, written in their traditional tongue, adorn her back- one below each shoulder.

Birthplace: Earth, Ecumene
Citizenship: Ecumene of Earth
Religious Affiliation: Alasdairic Tantra
Family: Sullivan Durand (father), Aimee Durand (mother), Sox Durand, AKA "Bloody Sunday" (younger sister)
Friends: Few and far between; so few, in fact, it is hardly worth mentioning.
Spouse/Lover(s): Troy Caudillo (lover)

Intelligence: Incomplete college education; considered a brilliant programmer, software designer and technician.
Sense of Humor: Caustic
Personality: "Aloof" might do, in simplest terms. But that is not quite right. For the longest time Durand has not been one to mingle casually with others, not even showing simple courtesy. Her relationships with coworkers are generally cold and sometimes even borderline hostile. She judges the moment she meets, determining then and there what she think and how she feels about that particular individual. Once done it would take a mountainous effort to shift her opinion. For those she does not regard as a target for constant verbal lashings but just an annoyance she will typically regard them with bitter sarcasm and utter disdain. While seated in her chair aboard Gluttony she will seem quite the layabout, either slouched down, legs stretched out beneath the terminal and head reclined this way or that or curled up in some manner. Her eyes, even, will seem to glaze over - she calls this state "meditation." On the opposite end of the spectrum: in the gym she proves her physicality through endless cycles around the track, beating up sandbags or taking down practice dummies in combat. And although she claims to be religious, much in her own way, and in actuality does hold to some amount of spirituality, she hardly seems to take her beliefs seriously. At times she has even claimed that the main pretense for joining into the Alasdairic school of Tantra - founded in 4198 by one Alasdair MacAuley - was simply because of the added religious justification for sex intrinsic to Alasdairic dogma.
Personal Quote: "The ocean swells, but in the end returns - cold and wet - to the sea."

Equipment: M30 Telestai Pulsar (fully-automatic plasma pistol manufactured by the Telestai Family Inc.)

History: Durand was born April 19, 4295 in the Colorado Preserve on Earth, one of the few places truly restored to its former natural glory and retained as such after the cataclysmic War of Division that ravaged the planet's surface. Her father was a leading technician employed at the Truman Corporation Shipyards, and her mother a geneticist working for the Clandestine Company, a holding within the mighty Cathedral Firm. Early in her life her mother was moved to the Attica Branch of the Company. Even though travel to even somewhere as far-flung as Greece from Colorado would be simple and quick in their time, it still put a minor strain on the life of Durand and her sister, Sox. She discovered very early on her talent for programming, and her knack for augmenting other programs, fabricating new ones, and assembling fully functional holo-computers. At eighteen she received a scholarship to a prestigious university on Mars where her studies would be overseen by Yamato Industries, the leaders in computer technologies. She studied there for nearly four years, and for nearly four years she spiraled into a whirlpool of stagnation. She felt as if she were accomplishing nothing, and feared that where her life was going she would hardly have any life at all. She dropped out when she was twenty-three and applied for a position as a pilot on a cargo ship with TAF. Her father had taught her all about piloting spacecraft, and she had taken to it quickly- never losing her touch over the years. Impressed with her credentials (albeit rightly confused over why someone would give up a potentially very bright future within a mega-corp for a career as a pilot) they placed her on a roster to be reviewed by captains looking for someone to fill such a position. Many of the first captains to interview her turned her down because of her standoffish personality - she had decided outright with all of them that she did not like them. And then came one different from the rest. Someone with an air of power and authority about them; an aura of strength and honor. Someone who didn't take shit and didn't give it out. That she liked.

So begins...

Erna Mari Mallory Durand's Story

Setting

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Character Portrait: Troy Caudillo Character Portrait: Erna Mari Mallory Durand
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#, as written by Juular
Durand

Stardusting. The term, popularized in the late thirty-two hundreds, was derived from the new model FTL engines that had come into widespread utilization throughout the majority of human territory. Inspired in part by the concept of "crop dusting," though not quite within context, it referenced star-to-star jumps that many ships were now capable of because of the advancement. It remained popular, though its usage rose and fell as time went, even when new technologies came about and jumps could now cross many star systems at a time (depending, of course, on the size and power of the ship's engine- smaller vessels having far shorter jump scopes than, say, a Goliant-class EEDF Carrier) some would still, even if only in passing, refer to long-range jumps as "stardusting."

Inertial dampeners kicked in to compensate for the shift, and the bleak void of faster-than-light travel was left behind. Informal Gluttony slipped noiselessly, and without any of the drama typically associated with exiting subspace, into realspace. She seemed to glide, smoothly transitioning into casual flight through the glitter-ink. Sensors locked onto the nearest world and a trajectory was set by an automated program set up to save time and energy. Site Seven, Irkalla system. A dual-sun solar system with nine planets and nearly seventy moons in total. Seven, itself, had three. The stars were the only celestial bodies in-system to have been formally named thus far: Nergal and Ereshkigal. TAF, for the moment, owned this system. Though neither Jovia nor Ecumene had really expressed much interest in colonization, there had turned up a goldmine of artifacts for study. The entire system had been inhabited by what many theorized to have been a single species, Seven was thought to have been their homeworld. Now desert, but once believed to have been green and blue. Much like Mars before it was terraformed.

With less than the flick of a thought the holo-terminal came to life. A myriad of light-forged, three-dimensional displays bathed the gloom of the Bridge in a soft palette of lights that had the shadows dancing about with chaotic glee as the screens changed content, shrank, shifted, came to life or vanished altogether. She scanned them all, her neural lacings processing what she saw and what she gleaned from files and reports in the TAF sub-systems on-board. As far as she was concerned, if they wanted to put this information on a ship that she was basically the brain of then they could live with her doing some research of her own. No harm done and none intended. Of course not everyone was quite so sensible, but she could hardly care. She'd been apathetic as a child whenever her "elders" had admonished her for every fucking offense.

So far the journey had been typical. She enjoyed traveling, and managing the ship the way she did gave her something to focus on in a world where if you weren't content with basically just living then you were sorta kinda outta luck, really. Although maybe she was just pessimistic, anything was possible. Her posture sure as hell didn't seem to reflect any kind of optimism, much less even vigor. She was drooping like a wilting flower, her arm just barely propped into place enough to support her head. Not to mention the way her eyes were set: half-lidded and glazed over. She seemed dead or dead-tired. Either way it wasn't what most would enjoy seeing in their pilot, but Gluttony's crew was stuck with her, whether they liked it or not and whether she liked them or not.

A small note in the logs caught her attention. Her eyes widened, barely more than a fraction of an inch, and the tiny tidbit was read a second, third, fourth and even fifth time before she moved on. While all this was going on she made sure to monitor the ship's sensor array for any unforeseeable - actually "foreseeable" would be more accurate - complications. She considered briefly sending her captain a message regarding the note, but decided instead that all surprises are best when kept as secrets until fate decided the time had come. The files closed and she focused on flying the ship, sinking ever lower into her seat as her eyes drifted shut. Now she really looked unconscious.

As she angled the ship away from a cruising asteroid she sent her captain a voice message - without actually speaking, of course. "This is your wake-up call, daddy. Please move your ass."

Troy

He was at peace. Vast and ever expanding streams of knowledge flowed through his mind at once and he sensed all of it. He saw the radiant burst of gamma rays that blossomed outward from his point of entry, heard the x-rays and various signals that passed him every second. He could smell the dark matter excreted from his jump into system and could reach out and feel the solar winds flowing through him. He was more than human, bound by their limited senses as they were. He was the ship and he knew so much more.

Every sensor, every camera, every system and every function of the Gluttony was him and his. Everything within his domain was his to survey and without the whole of space was his to delve into. Nothing escaped him on here and no one could hide while within him and everything beyond his hull within sensor range was his to absorb. With barely a thought he could access every file stored on his data-cores or operate every system.

The captain is the god of his ship, as the old saying goes. Once figurative, now it was far more literal.

Smirking at the pet name his pilot used for him on occasion he quickly pulled out of his 'sleeping' state. On occasion, 'specially during jumps, he enjoyed delving his mind into the "shipscape" which involved him making the walls, floor and ceiling of his quarters- which doubled as the ships observation deck- completely transparent that gave him a complete view of the cosmos beyond, only marred by the furniture in his cabin. Though this was ultimately a small part of the process and was only for his 'waking' eyes. For the rest, he abandoned internal thought in favor of sinking his mind into the whole of the ship far more than usual. Watching everything. Seeing, hearing, knowing. Everything. Extending his mind, viewing the cosmos in so very many ways and feeling the "ecosystem" that surrounded him thrive. One would consider it an out of body experience if he wasn't so connected to the ship.

It was calming, it gave him peace. Meditation, as she called it.

Getting off his couch and without a single word uttered, "Aye, I realized," he replied and gave a mental chuckle, "Thank you though." He thought of asking her what she had read, or simply reading it himself, but considering her subtle facial expression and brainwave pattern, all seen by him through the ship's internal sensors, she wanted to keep it a secret from him for now. He'd oblige her, just another part of a game they enjoyed playing.

Opting to use the stairs he descended down unto third floor of the ship and headed up to the bridge. Without a word he stood behind his pilot and tactical officer in a casual parade rest position (centuries of military training and discipline dies hard), watching. After a minute or so he headed down to the second floor while monitoring the activity of his the rest of his crew: Davis, Keeling, Marker and Reeve was in the cargo hold. The two TAF Overseers moving about some foodstuffs while his Envoy and Adjutant Officer moved heavier supplies and equipment. The captain had been silently giving them a hand for the past fifteen minutes, controlling some of the mechanical arms within the hold- using the larger arms to move the truly heavy supplies and equipment and the smaller ones to place some of the delicate items on the second floor of the cargo bay. The Doc was in the med-bay as usual, sorting out some medical supplies and his engineers were roaming about the engine room.

Walking to one of the rail systems (meant to quicken the commute across the length of the ship) that was placed a little ways to the left and right of the crew quarters and mentally commanding it to bring him to the med bay. His destination was the engine room, but while the small rail platform could take him directly to the engine room he always stopped by the med-bay to say hello to the Doc in some form or fashion. After the five second ride from the head of the crew quarters to the med-bay Troy walked toured the engine room, nodding at Jones as he passed. With a long stride and a brisk pass he would be there in about a minute.

The reason for his small trip to the engine room was that secondary inertia dampener was off balance, causing small trimmers in the ship. While he was sure one of his engineers was already working to fix it he opted to come address it anyway. If for no other reason it was because he enjoyed giving the "captain's stare."

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Erna Mari Mallory Durand Character Portrait: Josh Hanlon
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#, as written by conor
A shadowy figure danced across Josh's mind. He was in a field, where he wasn't sure and in front of him was a young woman gracefully dancing through the lush green grass. It was warm. Very warm for that time of the year but no one was complaining. Everyone seemed so happy for a change, it wasn't dull dreary weather like he was used to. The happiness was contagious it seemed as no one could escape it. Josh was sitting there when suddenly the sky grew dark, the girl stopped dancing and was struck with fear. It quickly went from happiness to dread as the sunshine began to fade. The valley was filled with the shrieks of hundreds of people as a pillar of fire swept towards josh. He couldn't escape, scrambling to his feet he ran, not knowing where the girl had gone he stumbled over and landed on something. He pulled himself up and after a few seconds later he let out a bloodcurdling scream.

His eyes shot open and he took a deep breath. The noise of the flight deck slowly flooded into his mind as he began to regain awareness of his surroundings. "Damnit Josh another nightmare, really?" He shook his head and looked around. They were now in real space and he had a job to do. Immediately he set to work. A wave of information flooded into his brain as he began sifting through the many different defense sensors available to him. The proximity scanner showed no visible vessels in their trajectory that would be deemed a threat.

Josh pulled up information on the main armaments of the ship to make sure that all were responding. One by one he did some routine tests to put the weapons through some basic trials. Everything seemed in order and Josh began to relax once more. Then he turned his attention to Mari. "I take it we had an extremely interesting and exciting jump as usual then? "

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Erna Mari Mallory Durand Character Portrait: Allan Rho
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#, as written by Juular
Allan

Every morning of his entire life, for centuries, it had been the same. You wake with the others, and go out to meditate. On Welkin, where the sky was blue-green, the mountain air of the Ariel Monasteries crisp and cool, and the sun's rays bathed over the soldiers as they sat in silence, there had seemed no better place in all the Universe. Allan could imagine nowhere more perfectly suited for introspection and quiet repose, and he had never felt closer to himself, and to all creation, than high above the surface of his homeworld, capitol of the Magisterium. When he was shuffled out, as all Ariels eventually were, to serve time on a warship, they would try and replicate such scenic ideals in gardens throughout the mighty ships. It was never the same, though it did help make the tours more pleasant and eased, at least a little, the homesickness many would feel in the middle of the star-filled void.

His eyes opened wide, hand going to massage the bridge of his nose. It never helped to try, he'd found. Every time he settled down to think, as he once had, in the confinement of his quarters, the memories would come. Welkin burning; the mountains blackened and the skies choked with death. Alien monstrosities cruising over the atmosphere- twisted and ugly- unleashing their burning hailstorms of plasma. The feel of his nanoskin armor suffocating and imprisoning; tormented endlessly by the burning pain in his belly. He quelled the thoughts as fast as he could, dousing the fires before they could swallow him up all over again.

"Damned room feels smaller every cycle," he mumbled to the walls. He appreciated being able to do something to pass the time, but working on Gluttony just felt like a placebo. Deep down he was lost, purposeless, and felt lacking. Who he was, where he was going, and what he was to do were no longer answerable questions, here. In the Ariels he'd had those answers, and never once questioned his place in the Universe. He had been an Ariel, Brother-at-Arms of the Magisterium of Logos and Brother in the Society of Word and Wind. His purpose? Defense of the Seven Suns and the Lesser Stars; their planets, their moons, their people and the way of life of all Logoetics.

Now he was doing odd jobs on a cargo ship. Of course, he would never complain. The captain had seen fit to hire him on to his crew, and for that he was grateful. In a way it was also just one more thing he owed Troy for. He honored debts, but never really liked the feeling of being chained in such a way. Albeit he had another commitment; a promise, an obligation he'd made to someone else that he intended to keep as well.

Deciding he'd lounged about for too long, Allan prepared to go to work for the day.

::Present Time::

The familiar sensation of exiting the slipstream tickled at the base of his skull, the cortical stack's cold wash of info-feed passively alerting him that they were now within realspace. He made no sign that he even acknowledged this, though he did process and understand it. High up on a catwalk, synced to a terminal, Allan silently moved three of the large mechanical arms in the Hold to clear a specified area for the prioritized cargo they would be taking in on Site Seven. He had pondered, earlier, the reason for the christening of this particular system. Why Irkalla, of all names? Had they just run out of others, or was their a specific reason to name it after that particular Mesopotamian underworld? Perhaps someone had simply taken one look at the red supergiant and could think of no better name for it than the fiery plague god Nergal. As much as it piqued his curiosity, it was not so much a matter of great importance, at all, as it was a minor interest. It had long slipped from his mind, which was now void of all but that directly before him.

Sensing the captain's passing through the Hold, a part of Allan's mind decided that, as they would be landing soon, what was done would have to suffice. His link to the terminal was severed, and thought flooded back into his brain. He could almost feel the stack as it woke and returned to full processing capacity, his neural implants firing up in less than the space of a second and reacquainting him with his surroundings, updating him on who was nearby. His eyes traveled down to the Hold's lowest level where Tyler, Davis, Keeling, Patrick and now Reeve had gathered. Without complicating matters further, not wanting to butt in on anything, Allan silently excused himself from the Hold and headed for the Mess, the Bridge his intended destination from there.

Durand

They were in range of Outpost Seven's sensors, and a beacon lit up requesting identification. On impulse Durand gave them what they wanted, resisting the urge to send something else as an extra for disturbing her own murmuring thoughts. Her captain had been quite adamant about not doing that ever again. She slowed their approach, awaiting the base's reply. Several seconds too long, she growled inwardly. It was wasting her time, because it should have been instantaneous confirmation, unless some dumbass dickhead decided to hand the job off to a fucking maintenance construct, or something equally retarded! She requested docking clearance the moment they received a green light to continue on their course, not giving them even a moment's reprieve. Outward scanners detected fading energy traces from several DR9 Martyr Guns. Turrets, specially rigged to explode. The nasty little buggers were loaded with smart shrapnel, which could do ungodly damage to ships like Gluttony. Their warning shots could sting, but their "martyrdom" fallback was, quite literally, a serious clusterfuck. A path was highlighted to guide them in, and Gluttony shifted gently to accommodate.

She heard Josh's query, but was momentarily reluctant to reply. Such a question did not warrant an immediate response. With the main bulk of her job done, for now, she exited her torpid dormancy and slowly sat up. The viewer turned on, suddenly, painting the forward wall with the outside image of Seven slowly growing larger, the simulated golden strip of light tugging them along like a mine cart down a track. That is, if you were a miner currently high on mushrooms and seeing everything in pretty colors. The Outpost showed up in the middle of a white ring, superimposed in the corner of the viewer, docking station highlighted in blinking blue.

Leaning back gingerly, content that her work was done for now, she finally found her voice, "If you didn't piss around and sleep all the goddamned time then maybe you wouldn't have to ask, fuckhead!" Her expression barely changed, though her voice certainly rose to new heights. Settled comfortably in her seat she observed their descent, quietly minding the mental controls and alert for any changes.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Trey Keeling Character Portrait: Troy Caudillo Character Portrait: Lucia Samson Character Portrait: Erna Mari Mallory Durand Character Portrait: Ava Desilli Mia Character Portrait: Allan Rho
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#, as written by Juular
Allan

Allan entered the Mess, seeing that the captain, himself, was just heading onward toward the Bridge. Momentarily heeded by his own thoughts, he suddenly caught the appetizing aroma of something stewing. A smile slowly came to life, familiar creases showing around his eyes and mouth, and he moved further into the warm, lived-in room, hands stuffed casually into his pockets as he looked over the ship's two cooks. "Lucia," he greeted the first, nodding politely. His eyes darted to Ilia and back, his smile turning sly, "I hope she's not been making you do all the work by your lonesome," he remarked with as much concern as he could muster. "Dear Ilia can be quite the slouch, sometimes." He made a sharp tsk, waving to the subject of his jest with what amounted to an innocent mien. An implant, added some time ago so that he might better be aware of his charge, notified an increase in heart-rate.

Disturbed from her meditative state Ava replied, "You know I can just give you mush to eat while everyone else eats the gumbo, or poison your food." She grinned mischievously.

"Hm," Allan huffed, "Mush is better than synthetics. There's just something wrong about eating fake food." As he spoke he watched Din travel up his owner to wrap himself around her neck. Loosely, but protective as always. Oddity, that thing was. "Well, I won't let myself be a bother to you two any longer." He paused at the door, looking back and nodding once more in farewell, "Ladies." He ducked out, moving at a leisurely pace, which, for him, was faster than a stroll, but slower than a jog. He slipped noiselessly into the dark space, eyes adjusting appropriately to give him a clear view, and slowed to a halt just beyond the threshold, behind Trey. Choosing to remain in the more shadowed corners of the room, he ghosted along the wall into a corner.

"No problems to report, then, sir?" He queried softly, observing their destination on-screen.

Durand

People.

Durand. Hated. People. Always when she was calm and at peace - whatever that meant varied - they would interrupt with their insipidly stupid nonsense, thinking she could give a shit about what they had to say. As if it meant anything most of the time! A tremor shot through her. Proximity alert, someone.. no.. her captain. She eased a little, but only barely, and restrained her tongue from shooting something back at the Tactical Officer, choosing instead to work on calming her nerves.

She scoffed, "Tag along, huh? Can't say it crossed my mind." Her tone was bitter, but lighter than usual. Josh started to read off sensory feed, and she rolled her eyes. "Kiss-ass little-" Troy cleared his throat warningly. Durand turned in her seat, looking up and smiling acidly, "Bite me, sir." Her eyes leveled on the door as Trey stepped in. "Oh, goddammit!" She hissed. "Why do I get the feeling," she growled through clenched teeth, "that there's gonna be some kind of party in my Bridge!" Her proximity alarm went red-hot again, and her eyes narrowed viciously as Allan strode in with all the grace and silence of a cat on the prowl, sliding like a monster from a child's tale through the black recesses of the Bridge, where he opted to remain.

"No problems to report, then, sir?" He asked, not even acting like he acknowledged her.

Durand's knuckles turned white(er) on the edge of her seat, "Sonuvabitch, not this cock-maggot, too!" She wheeled back around, eyes fixating on the viewer.

Allan's jaw unhinged a fraction, and he looked up at Troy, "I always feel like I'm stepping into a haunted house every time I come in here. It really is incredible, sir."

"The only thing even remotely 'incredible' is your incessant gum flapping. Get the fuck off of my Bridge, you cock-biting shithead!"