Post by draken on Mar 27, 2012 7:30:14 GMT -5
Faction: Republic Military
Department: Special Ops.
Rank: Corporal
Name: Samuel "Sam/Greenhorn" Borreon
Race: human
Age: 19
Height: 6'1'' (ca. 1,85m)
Weight: 165 lbs (ca. 75 kg)
Birth place: Galactic City, Coruscant
Appearance:
in his uniform
in civil clothing
Sam is an average built young man of medium weight. His military training shows in slight muscles, but his real strength seems to be his agility. He is swift, almost catlike in his movements, a lightweight to those not able to read body language and compare him to his comrades, but an opponent to be reckoned with to the trained eye.
He is a rather handsome young man, which already gave him a lot of teasing by his comrades. Greyish blue eyes and a rather soft, almost female fine cut face, always clean shaved, he is a nice sight to the eye. His short, dark brown hair is tidied up when he is on duty, but off duty it often looks muzzled up, as if he just came out of bed, giving him an even more boyish look.
But looks can be deceiving, and although Sam looks very young, or, green, like his comrades call him, he is quite a capable young man.
His true nature is shown as soon as he takes off his shirt. He was lucky so far, and did not get injured very often, not being seriously disfigured yet.
He bears several scars, though. On his back one can see strange, long stripy scars, covering the whole back diagonally and all ending in a thick, reddish-blue mark on the left. These scars have brothers and sisters on his sides and upper arms - small, white, round things, looking as if something stung or burnt the young man repeatedly. They come from Sam being abused as a child by his own father - the long diagonal stripes with the thick mark at the end origin from a belt, the small white points from a cigarette. Sam, however, won't tell anything about them, and react to any question with ignoring the questioner.
There are two other scars on his body: A shot mark at his left thigh, where a blaster shot went obviously right through (so actually, there are two marks, one front and one at the back of the thigh), and something that looks like a long, clean cut at his right hip, crossing the pelvis in a diagonal, upward direction towards the belly. This wound mark looks rather dangerous, and however he got that one (see bio), it was surely a touch-and-go before the recovery.
Personality:
Sam is unlike most young men his age. At almost twenty, he is a calm young man, maybe even too calm. Sometimes his quiet behavior can have a menacing affect on his surroundings, since only his eyes show if he is angry about something, starting to glow in a deep, gray tone, that makes the nice summer blue almost completely vanish.
Most people don't know much about him, since he keeps a lot of thoughts in, only opening his mouth if he has something valuable to say. He does not lack humor, but that only shows to those who are close to him. Others might get the impression that that young guy never laughs, not even if it was for his mother's life. Only his close friends and the ones who have known him for years might sometimes see the joke behind a dry comment, or realize how his eyes start to sparkle after someone else made a sarcastic or cynical joke. For the most, basic fooleries, Sam will not even as much as curl a lip.
There are only few who have ever seen him smile. When he does, though, he seems like a whole lot different person. Suddenly his face lightens up, and most of those rare smiles are a bit lopsided to the left, making them an even more unique sight.
Behind his stoic mask, Sam is a warm, thoughtful person. He is a very good listener due to him saying not much, and strangely, people tend to start talking around him without him saying anything to make them. There are quite some comrades, for instance, who entrusted their problems or sorrows to him, talking about anything that strained them emotionally. Afterwards, they mostly feel better since they came to the one or other solution all on their own.
He also does not seem to have a problem to take up women, many girls will try to flirt with the handsome young man when he comes to a bar - as seldom as he does - with some other recruits. But as he rarely shows any interest, they mostly turn to another target after some time. For this, Sam is also often mocked by his comrades, but most don't seem to have any hard feelings towards him, it is just their way of treating the new boy.
At other times, he will act awkwardly towards pretty young women, making them even fall for him more easily, but he always recoils at those occasions and refuses to make a move. Some of his fellow recruits have already made fun of him, calling him a virgin, but they probably would not have thought they'd be correct calling him that.
Sam has yet never truly been in love, despite for a crush he once had, and he is too scared to actually dare put himself out there. He is not a coward person, but while he has never held back when it came to acting as a hero, he certainly has some inhibitions when it comes to the opposite sex.
Skills:
Computer Use, Maintenance of mechanical items, Stealth/Agility
Attributes:
Physical Strength: 5
Intelligence: 6
Speed: 7
Leadership: 4
Unarmed: 6
Melee Weapons: 6
Ranged Weapons: 5
Bio:
Early Childhood (Age 0-5)
To say that Sam's childhood was a sad cliché would probably be accurate. With a mother working full time and an unemployed drunk for a father, being born into the lower class was not a fun experience at all.
Sam grew up in the havoc of a one-room-apartment somewhere in the republic's capital, deep in the Under-levels of the city, in an area never even reached by daylight. His mother was a waitress in one of the local bars, while his father had lost an arm in an accident a few years past and because of that, was dependant on his wife.
Sam's father had some jobs from time to time, but most of the time he washed down his frustration with liquor.
When his father, Charles Borreon, was half sober, Sam was lucky. Charles ignored his son, whenever he was drunk, however, Sam had to be especially quick to get out of the way.
The older the boy grew, the lesser his mother was around, working extra shifts, and the more often his father got the opportunity to maltreat him. Charles lied to Sam's mother, Niara Borreon, about the injuries, claiming they came from accidents.
Today, Sam can't even remember how often he had a broken rip, or worse. But the scars on his back, and the burning marks on his arms and sides, show that the systematic torture happened to him quite regularly. In that dark part of his past lies the source to him being a rather gloomy, dark person, keeping things in rather than letting them out, as well as his stubborn drive to leave the slums for good.
As soon as he got old enough - at the age of five - he tried to run away six times, but he never succeeded. His father always found him again, and when his mother finally realized what was going on, and wanted to leave her husband, it was already too late. She became his victim as well, as her husband came after the fugitives. He found them in the little motel they had been hiding in, and with the help of some of his friends, he brought them home by force after beating his wife half-dead.
Sam then learned that his mother would never manage to get away as long as she had to look out for him, but also that she made no more attempts to save him from his brutal father, and he made one final attempt to get out of the home when she was at work. This time, he succeeded.
Late Childhood (Age 5-7)
Being a homeless child at the age of five was extremely hard, but Sam had always been a clever child. He became part of a small band of runaways, most of them far older than himself, and due to his naturally sweet, innocent look got them quite some profit when it came to begging. It was in this time, that his major skill - quickness and agility - developed even more. Formerly, he had only had to hide under furniture quick enough, but now he had to learn how to escape the local authorities and the crime lords both. At the age of seven, he was a particularly fast runner for his age, a dirty little street-rat like the others, but very resourceful compared to most of the gang members. His oldest friends are part of that time in his life, but there are not many of them left today. Most of them did not even reach their teens, and if they did, they surely did not grow out of them. They died in brawls, shootings, and went to prison for their minor as well as major offences.
Early Adolescence (Age 8-14)
One day, Sam tried to steal something from a scrap metal area, in order to sell it somewhere and get a little cash, but he got caught for the first time. Instead of reporting him to the locals, the owner of the scrap metal area, Warren McLane, took him in in order to have the boy work for him. Sam, for the first time in a while, had a safe place to sleep in, a sufficient amount of food in his belly, and he had to learn how to read and write in what was called his "free time", due to his employer's fear that he might be held responsible if it was discovered that his so-called "son" was actually no less than a child worker.
The work was hard, but it made Sam only strong, and the new order in his life was to his liking. Other than most kids, who would have tried to get back on the street instead of working every day, he was glad to have something to look forward to. He worked hard at the scrap metal area, but even harder in the lower class school he was going to. Getting into fights with the other kids at school was a regular, but as long as he did not get in trouble with the authorities, his "father" Warren did not care, not about his grades and not about his relationship to his classmates. The main reason for the other children bullying Sam were his often ragged, old clothes, his eagerness in class and the fact that he tended to stand up to the stronger children in order to help the weaker ones - even if it meant for him to be beaten up once more. The reasons he did this for were a strong sense of justice as well as the rush of adrenaline and the feeling of getting even with his former abuser by fighting his current abusers.
One day, though, Sam's teacher asked that Warren meet her for a consult. She told Sam's "father", that his "son" was extraordinarily skilled for his age, working harder than most of his classmates, and was being offered a scholarship if he wished to attend another school.
The scrap metal area owner realized, that he could have his young worker better trained without having to pay for it - and that his family could only benefit from having a skilled young worker that needed close to no payment besides the bed and food and a small amount of pocket money.
Warren send Sam to evening school, and handed him over to his brother Jackson, who had a mechanic workshop that was used to fix anything from small gliders to blaster guns. It was a seedy machine shop where many criminals could have their belongings repaired without questions.
Late Adolescence (Age 15-17)
During the following years, Sam completed all-round mechanical training in the workshop and a computer class in night school.
When he was not busy working for Jackson, he was hovering over one of the computers owned by his school, writing programs, doing hacking-duels with his classmates - one of them wrote a program, the others tried to hack it - and reading books on almost any topic.
He still had little to no friends apart from his co-workers, who talked to him, but found him awkward at times, especially when he started to talk back on a level of education they did not have. His main passion was gathering knowledge, and whenever he could, he tried to find a new book to read at night - a passion that soon brought him the nickname of "professor".
He did some research and found out, that his mother had left his father at about the same time as he had. Secretly, he started to look for her, and succeeded. He found her, and she offered him to come back to her, live with her, but he did not want to. His life was no longer linked with hers. He paid her several visits in secret, getting away from school early or risking to get back to the shop late, at least once a month, and they grew closer again, but a part of him never could accept or forgive that she had not helped him when he was a child, that she had not noticed what was happening to him for so long.
Although he knew that she had suffered too, he felt betrayed by her, left alone, left behind. He could not forgive her to neglect him like that. It was not even that she had neglected him, personally, he could not forgive her as a mother to neglect her small, helpless child. Although he never had had a normal family, he had quite the idea of what his mother should have behaved like.
But had she given it any effort? In his eyes, she had not; even when she had realized the abuse of her child, she had not been strong enough to protect him. Samuel had had to do it all on his own, deal with it on his own, and he had succeeded. It was not her merit, that he was still able to work, walk, or think; it was his, and alone the fact that she never even considered to ask him for forgiveness, now that he had found her again after all these years, now that they both had escaped Sam's father, hurt him even more.
Still, she was his mother, and he kept visiting her. She gave him his ID, and several things that once had belonged to him, but apart from his ID, he did not want anything. He hid his few personal belongings in the shop, under his matrass, and was lucky enough that none of the brothers Warren and Jackson ever searched his bed.
Sam was sure about one thing: his mother should keep his toys and baby clothes. He was no longer a baby, and those were her memories, not his. If she wanted, she should pretend to have been a good mother all she wanted, he knew for himself that she had not been and was not, still.
It was after his class at night school one night that he saw the first girl that was more to him than just that, a girl. Bessie Sollik was one year his elder, 17, and she already had a boyfriend. Dashing green eyes, fiery red hair, and a smile so wide it could easily have belonged to two people. Sam developed the first crush of his life, and since Bessie was not half as smart as him, he volunteered to help her with her homework.
She improved in her grades, and the more time they spend together, the more Sam fell for her - and he was sure she had feelings for him, too. But when it came to it that he told her how he felt, she laughed at him, calling him "just a little boy" and explaining that to her, he was no more than a little brother. Sam did not believe her, tried to convince her otherwise - and ended beaten up by her twenty year old boyfriend who did not think a tutor's crush on Bessie was half as funny as she had made it to be.
Here, Sam's trauma with women started. He was confused, angry even, especially since he was too smart to just buy that Bessie was not interested in him. The only reason she chose the other boy was that Sam did not own a new glider, or could take her out after school, or buy her pretty things. She was completely shallow, he learned that now, but it was too late. She had already managed to break his heart.
Sam came to the silent conclusion that women, be they your mother or your love interest, can't be trusted. They were mysterious, dashing creatures, but they were also a menace. They took from you what they wanted, and left you with nothing in return. He would never again be so stupid.
But something else entered his conscious mind with the start of adulthood, he realized something.
He was stuck in Jackson's shop, in the life of a lower class worker, and he would not get out of it. He was young, he still had his whole life before him, but it was not his own, not the one he would have chosen for himself. He saw that other teenagers his age were enjoying their lives, going out, making friends, experiencing their first love. None of this applied to him, he was different. If he ever wanted control over his own existence, he needed to change something. But yet, he had no idea how to do that. He felt lost, caged, hopeless without ever losing hope. There had never been hope.
Whenever the frustration over this injustice that was called his life came to his mind, there was but one thing that could help him. He started to run. Sam loved to run at night, just like he once had done as a child of the streets, swiftly, stealthily, jumping over or crouching under obstacles, climbing fences when they got in his way, and avoiding the authorities when he had crossed a boundary once more. He ran straight in one direction, with a body as swift as his thoughts.
When he ran, he felt free. When he climbed a wall, he finally proved a point. Nothing was as exhilaratingrating as jumping from one top of a building to the next one, this moment of flight, or as breathtaking as standing on top of a skyscraper, the wind tearing at his clothes, almost throwing him to his certain death. It was at these moments that he felt alive - the aching tremble of his muscles was the sweetest feeling he knew. He was addicted to the feeling, theart-racertrace, to the adrenalin.
Sam was but average strong for his age, though far more than average quick in mind and body. And naturally, he found a solution to his problems. He realized that there was one thing he could do, actively, to change who he was, how he was living. Of course, he could always just have left the workshop, find a new place to live and work, but to what end? No other than what he was living through right now.
If he joined the army, on the other hand, he could do something... change something... be someone... And be finally appreciated.
The thought grew stronger and stronger the older he got. He was sure this was what he wanted to do, a life of travelling and serving, a life with a meaning, but most of all - a life he had chosen, all by himself. He had to wait some more months before he finally became old enough to actually fulfill his plan, but then the day had come. His eighteenth birthday.
Military (Age 18-today)
In the early hours of his eighteenth birthday, Samuel left the workshop without a further word, all his belongings in a small bag, never to return. He had gone this through in his mind a thousand times at least, and his longing for frehonorhonour and meaning had lead him here.
He volunteered for the army, and was taken in due to his bodily and mental fitness.
Finally, he felt at home somewhere. Any training linked to agility came naturally to him, like did handling weapons and equipment. Using them, however, in a fighting simulation came much harder for him. Especially as a pilot, he had a hard time, but he made up for it in other areas, never giving up his hard work. His life had taught him so far that the harder you work, the further you get, and this lesson did not fail him now.
It was in the basic training that he met his best friend till today, Dean Foarrix. Dean was a natural pilot, having spent most of his young life in love with his glider, so to speak. They were a good team, because Dean excelled in the areas that Sam was weak and visa versa. Dean was a lady's man, and gave Sam many a lecture on women, trying to lure his friend out more. Dean had the notion that Sam needed to have some fun from time to time, and together with some others, he almost physically dragged Sam to the bars and parties that they were invited to. He did not succeed, but their friendship grew nevertheless.
After a year, Sam passed the basic training as one of the best in his year, and after some more tests was reassigned to the Special Forces unit, while his friend Dean and most of their circle were moved to the Navy.
For Sam, this new adjustment was a tough act to follow. He was younger than all other members of his team, and from the first minute on they started to refer to him as "Greenhorn", a name that did not change even after he proved himself in missions. To this day there will still be jokes at Sam's expense on a regular basis, although it now is more teasing than anything. In fact, he is a respected member of the group, but thanks to his aloofness and young age always make him the butt of jokes.
Thanks to his agility and quickness, he often gets the physically challenging parts of missions, while his comrades stand in the line of fire or cover him. His computer knowledge and mechanical skills also come in handy from time to time.
It was his third mission with his new team, a stealth mission in enemy territory. Sam was scouting a new area with another soldier, his job was to take over a watchtower and modify the computers there so that the rest of his team would be able to further approach their target.
They managed to get up to the last storey of the watchtower, when they were engaged by the enemy's onsite security force. It was a quick, but deadly fight, and since they had to silence their opponents as quickly as possible to avoid them giving alarm.
Sam and his teammate actually managed to get control over the watchtower, but in the struggle, Sam had been shot to the left thigh and was bleeding severly. His comrade secured the arteries by constriction, but their job was not done yet. Sam was the team's computer specialist, and he had to finish his work up here. He managed to pull himself together and make sure the rest of the team could finish the mission, then his comrade tried to get him back to their ship.
Unfortunatelly, they ran into some more trouble on their way back, and being only two of them, one of them wounded, they prepared to make their last stance, when their team got in just in time to have their backs and save them. Sam, however, was not as quick as he used to be. He was injured in a melee fight with an enemy soldier, who cut him diagonally over his pelvis towards the belly.
His comrades would not leave him although his chances of survival were slim at best, and so they took him back to their ship, getting out of there and to a med centre as quick as possible. When they arrived, Sam had lost a lot of blood and was in dire need of an operation. While he was being taken care of, his comrades had to get back, report, and then after a short while go to their next mission.
It took Sam several weeks to recover, but when he did, his team was still on duty somewhere else, so he was reassigned to another Special Forces Unit.
((My first post, preferably, would be on his first day of duty together with the new unit, getting on the first mission since he was wounded.))
Password: Bylgia
RP Sample: An evening in the bar (during his time in the basic training)
"Don't linger there, Sam, it's gonna be fun!" Dean gave him a hard punch towards the ribs, and, as Sam had not looked out for it, he was fully hit and groaned angrily, giving his friend a dark look, that most likely said something like Stop it, or regret it.
"Oh, lighten up, will ye? We 'ave all nigh' ahea' o' us, an' no one ter tell us wha' ter do or how ter behave..."[/colorgrimacedmassed. If it had been up to him, they would have spend the evening in their barracks, reading or studying, or, if Dean was not up to that, training at the firing range. He still had so much training to do there... but no. His friend was not half as ambitious as Sam, and although in training Sam often took the lead, Dean was the master when it came to their spare time.
He wanted to say something, but Deanpunchedunshed him again, less hard this time. "Look a' tha'..." Sam turned his gaze, and froze inwardly. There was a group of females. Human females. Young, human females. Even worse. Pretty, young human females. And from the way they were dressed and moving, they were certsignalingalling availability.
He hated this night already.
"Come on, Sam, maybe we'll be lucky... The ladies really dig them uniforms, righ'?" Sam nodded stiffly and followed Dean's lead. There was not much to be done here. Dean knew what he wanted, and he usually got it.
"Hey there, ladies. Which one would like to be my last memory, in case I die in action tomorrow?"
Dean looked over the group, and to Sam's surprise, some of them were already giggling. This had been the most stupid chat-up line of all times, even for Dstandardsndarts! How came they were still interested?
Deafocusingussing on a pretty blond now who already gave him lascivious glances and through back her head far more often than she would have had to. And then Sam's attention was turned away from his friend. "And who are you?" A nice, dark haired young girl stood directly next to him her drink in her hand, and the upward-smile she gave him was a clear sign. "Ehm... I..." Sam felt totally stupid. Why did he not know what to say in these situations? He had already forgotten her question, let alone his answer.
But, as always, Dean had his back. "Sam Borreon, the best man we have. He saved my life more often than I can count. A hero in battle, Monk monch when it comes to the beauties of life. But maybe you could change his mind, take it off the serious matters for once?" Dean winked at the girl, and she blushed. The look she gave Sam weakened his knees. She was definitely going to try...
Dean stepped in between them, as he received a refill from the barkeep, and silently mouthed into Sam's direction a "You're welcome".
Sam frowned, but his friend did not react. Moments later he was alone again with the pretty dark-haired girl. "Did you really save his life?" Her eyes were wide open with astonishment and admiration, but they also reminded him of someone else. Perfect green eyes... this faked attention... Bessie.
Suddenly, he was feeling angry. "I wouldn't phrase it that way. Although he might need someone to save him as soon as I get him in my fingers," he responded and took a deep sip of his drink. To his surprise, she laughed amused - or at least pretended to be amused.
"That is sooo cute..."
The vertical line on Sam's forehead deepened. He was not being cute. He did not want to be cute. That girl had no idea what he was capable of. All she judged was his outer appearance. And her giggling, this incessant giggling, was driving him crazy. Was she really that stupid, or was she just trying to keep upretenseetence?
"If you say so..." He turned halfway away from her, looking for someone, something, anything that could help him. He felt her gaze on him, and as she moved closer, as if the noise in the club were too loud to understand him otherwise, he could smell her perfume. Lilies. Nervously, his fingers twitched.
"My name is Paduja", she told him, trying to get his attention. As she leaned over to speak to his ear, he could feel her breath on his cheek, and felt even more awkward and displaced. "Nice to meet you, Paduja," he heard himself say, but he did not look to her. His gaze was still going over the room. "Do you want to dance, Sam?" Startled, he looked back to her. "Dance?" he echoed lamely. "Yes, dance. With me." She laughed again, and tried to pull him over tdance floorefloor.
Sam looked over to her destination. Four other pairscommittingitting something that they probably wouldlabeledlabled with dance, in his eyes it was a crime against movement itself. And it was nothing compared to what he would commit if he got ondance floorefloor. He always felt awkward around women. He could not even imagine holding her close and trying to move. "No, thanks." Stiffly he drew back his arm, trying to not sound too brisk, but obviously, he had been brisk enough. Not looking at her might have added something to that, too.
Pouting, the girl turned away and left, not even saying goodbye. She basically threw herself at me. What is wrong with me? Sam could already see her friends look over at him, point and whisper. He was that awkward little kid at school again, the one with teared, dirty clothes and no new schoolbag.
"Man, what did you do?" Dean came over to him, his arms wrapped around the blond girl tightly. "Where is she going?"
"Hopefully very far," Sam responded, and slid some credits over the bar towards the barkeep. "It's getting late, I'm out of here. Have fun."
"I will..." Dean looked after him, and then shook his head in disbelief. "One of these days, he's going to turn into a droid. I'm still waiting for it," he told his new acquaintance, who sighed, and dragged him back tdance floorefloor.
Sam stepped out of the club, breathing in the fresh,night airghtair. Finally, the tremor in his hands stopped. He was himself again. Young, self-assured, andependentendant on what this girl thought of him.
All alone, he started to walk back to the barracks, the first place where he had felt safe, at home, in his life. Everything was so simple in training. Everything was far clearer structured, hard, but fair. He was good with hard, but fair.
He had gotten hard all his life, was used to getting it. Getting fair, too, was the one thing he had always wanted. Nothing was as combat. Either you had it in you, or you didn't. Sam was determined to have it in him. Always.
Department: Special Ops.
Rank: Corporal
Name: Samuel "Sam/Greenhorn" Borreon
Race: human
Age: 19
Height: 6'1'' (ca. 1,85m)
Weight: 165 lbs (ca. 75 kg)
Birth place: Galactic City, Coruscant
Appearance:
in his uniform
in civil clothing
Sam is an average built young man of medium weight. His military training shows in slight muscles, but his real strength seems to be his agility. He is swift, almost catlike in his movements, a lightweight to those not able to read body language and compare him to his comrades, but an opponent to be reckoned with to the trained eye.
He is a rather handsome young man, which already gave him a lot of teasing by his comrades. Greyish blue eyes and a rather soft, almost female fine cut face, always clean shaved, he is a nice sight to the eye. His short, dark brown hair is tidied up when he is on duty, but off duty it often looks muzzled up, as if he just came out of bed, giving him an even more boyish look.
But looks can be deceiving, and although Sam looks very young, or, green, like his comrades call him, he is quite a capable young man.
His true nature is shown as soon as he takes off his shirt. He was lucky so far, and did not get injured very often, not being seriously disfigured yet.
He bears several scars, though. On his back one can see strange, long stripy scars, covering the whole back diagonally and all ending in a thick, reddish-blue mark on the left. These scars have brothers and sisters on his sides and upper arms - small, white, round things, looking as if something stung or burnt the young man repeatedly. They come from Sam being abused as a child by his own father - the long diagonal stripes with the thick mark at the end origin from a belt, the small white points from a cigarette. Sam, however, won't tell anything about them, and react to any question with ignoring the questioner.
There are two other scars on his body: A shot mark at his left thigh, where a blaster shot went obviously right through (so actually, there are two marks, one front and one at the back of the thigh), and something that looks like a long, clean cut at his right hip, crossing the pelvis in a diagonal, upward direction towards the belly. This wound mark looks rather dangerous, and however he got that one (see bio), it was surely a touch-and-go before the recovery.
Personality:
Sam is unlike most young men his age. At almost twenty, he is a calm young man, maybe even too calm. Sometimes his quiet behavior can have a menacing affect on his surroundings, since only his eyes show if he is angry about something, starting to glow in a deep, gray tone, that makes the nice summer blue almost completely vanish.
Most people don't know much about him, since he keeps a lot of thoughts in, only opening his mouth if he has something valuable to say. He does not lack humor, but that only shows to those who are close to him. Others might get the impression that that young guy never laughs, not even if it was for his mother's life. Only his close friends and the ones who have known him for years might sometimes see the joke behind a dry comment, or realize how his eyes start to sparkle after someone else made a sarcastic or cynical joke. For the most, basic fooleries, Sam will not even as much as curl a lip.
There are only few who have ever seen him smile. When he does, though, he seems like a whole lot different person. Suddenly his face lightens up, and most of those rare smiles are a bit lopsided to the left, making them an even more unique sight.
Behind his stoic mask, Sam is a warm, thoughtful person. He is a very good listener due to him saying not much, and strangely, people tend to start talking around him without him saying anything to make them. There are quite some comrades, for instance, who entrusted their problems or sorrows to him, talking about anything that strained them emotionally. Afterwards, they mostly feel better since they came to the one or other solution all on their own.
He also does not seem to have a problem to take up women, many girls will try to flirt with the handsome young man when he comes to a bar - as seldom as he does - with some other recruits. But as he rarely shows any interest, they mostly turn to another target after some time. For this, Sam is also often mocked by his comrades, but most don't seem to have any hard feelings towards him, it is just their way of treating the new boy.
At other times, he will act awkwardly towards pretty young women, making them even fall for him more easily, but he always recoils at those occasions and refuses to make a move. Some of his fellow recruits have already made fun of him, calling him a virgin, but they probably would not have thought they'd be correct calling him that.
Sam has yet never truly been in love, despite for a crush he once had, and he is too scared to actually dare put himself out there. He is not a coward person, but while he has never held back when it came to acting as a hero, he certainly has some inhibitions when it comes to the opposite sex.
Skills:
Computer Use, Maintenance of mechanical items, Stealth/Agility
Attributes:
Physical Strength: 5
Intelligence: 6
Speed: 7
Leadership: 4
Unarmed: 6
Melee Weapons: 6
Ranged Weapons: 5
Bio:
Early Childhood (Age 0-5)
To say that Sam's childhood was a sad cliché would probably be accurate. With a mother working full time and an unemployed drunk for a father, being born into the lower class was not a fun experience at all.
Sam grew up in the havoc of a one-room-apartment somewhere in the republic's capital, deep in the Under-levels of the city, in an area never even reached by daylight. His mother was a waitress in one of the local bars, while his father had lost an arm in an accident a few years past and because of that, was dependant on his wife.
Sam's father had some jobs from time to time, but most of the time he washed down his frustration with liquor.
When his father, Charles Borreon, was half sober, Sam was lucky. Charles ignored his son, whenever he was drunk, however, Sam had to be especially quick to get out of the way.
The older the boy grew, the lesser his mother was around, working extra shifts, and the more often his father got the opportunity to maltreat him. Charles lied to Sam's mother, Niara Borreon, about the injuries, claiming they came from accidents.
Today, Sam can't even remember how often he had a broken rip, or worse. But the scars on his back, and the burning marks on his arms and sides, show that the systematic torture happened to him quite regularly. In that dark part of his past lies the source to him being a rather gloomy, dark person, keeping things in rather than letting them out, as well as his stubborn drive to leave the slums for good.
As soon as he got old enough - at the age of five - he tried to run away six times, but he never succeeded. His father always found him again, and when his mother finally realized what was going on, and wanted to leave her husband, it was already too late. She became his victim as well, as her husband came after the fugitives. He found them in the little motel they had been hiding in, and with the help of some of his friends, he brought them home by force after beating his wife half-dead.
Sam then learned that his mother would never manage to get away as long as she had to look out for him, but also that she made no more attempts to save him from his brutal father, and he made one final attempt to get out of the home when she was at work. This time, he succeeded.
Late Childhood (Age 5-7)
Being a homeless child at the age of five was extremely hard, but Sam had always been a clever child. He became part of a small band of runaways, most of them far older than himself, and due to his naturally sweet, innocent look got them quite some profit when it came to begging. It was in this time, that his major skill - quickness and agility - developed even more. Formerly, he had only had to hide under furniture quick enough, but now he had to learn how to escape the local authorities and the crime lords both. At the age of seven, he was a particularly fast runner for his age, a dirty little street-rat like the others, but very resourceful compared to most of the gang members. His oldest friends are part of that time in his life, but there are not many of them left today. Most of them did not even reach their teens, and if they did, they surely did not grow out of them. They died in brawls, shootings, and went to prison for their minor as well as major offences.
Early Adolescence (Age 8-14)
One day, Sam tried to steal something from a scrap metal area, in order to sell it somewhere and get a little cash, but he got caught for the first time. Instead of reporting him to the locals, the owner of the scrap metal area, Warren McLane, took him in in order to have the boy work for him. Sam, for the first time in a while, had a safe place to sleep in, a sufficient amount of food in his belly, and he had to learn how to read and write in what was called his "free time", due to his employer's fear that he might be held responsible if it was discovered that his so-called "son" was actually no less than a child worker.
The work was hard, but it made Sam only strong, and the new order in his life was to his liking. Other than most kids, who would have tried to get back on the street instead of working every day, he was glad to have something to look forward to. He worked hard at the scrap metal area, but even harder in the lower class school he was going to. Getting into fights with the other kids at school was a regular, but as long as he did not get in trouble with the authorities, his "father" Warren did not care, not about his grades and not about his relationship to his classmates. The main reason for the other children bullying Sam were his often ragged, old clothes, his eagerness in class and the fact that he tended to stand up to the stronger children in order to help the weaker ones - even if it meant for him to be beaten up once more. The reasons he did this for were a strong sense of justice as well as the rush of adrenaline and the feeling of getting even with his former abuser by fighting his current abusers.
One day, though, Sam's teacher asked that Warren meet her for a consult. She told Sam's "father", that his "son" was extraordinarily skilled for his age, working harder than most of his classmates, and was being offered a scholarship if he wished to attend another school.
The scrap metal area owner realized, that he could have his young worker better trained without having to pay for it - and that his family could only benefit from having a skilled young worker that needed close to no payment besides the bed and food and a small amount of pocket money.
Warren send Sam to evening school, and handed him over to his brother Jackson, who had a mechanic workshop that was used to fix anything from small gliders to blaster guns. It was a seedy machine shop where many criminals could have their belongings repaired without questions.
Late Adolescence (Age 15-17)
During the following years, Sam completed all-round mechanical training in the workshop and a computer class in night school.
When he was not busy working for Jackson, he was hovering over one of the computers owned by his school, writing programs, doing hacking-duels with his classmates - one of them wrote a program, the others tried to hack it - and reading books on almost any topic.
He still had little to no friends apart from his co-workers, who talked to him, but found him awkward at times, especially when he started to talk back on a level of education they did not have. His main passion was gathering knowledge, and whenever he could, he tried to find a new book to read at night - a passion that soon brought him the nickname of "professor".
He did some research and found out, that his mother had left his father at about the same time as he had. Secretly, he started to look for her, and succeeded. He found her, and she offered him to come back to her, live with her, but he did not want to. His life was no longer linked with hers. He paid her several visits in secret, getting away from school early or risking to get back to the shop late, at least once a month, and they grew closer again, but a part of him never could accept or forgive that she had not helped him when he was a child, that she had not noticed what was happening to him for so long.
Although he knew that she had suffered too, he felt betrayed by her, left alone, left behind. He could not forgive her to neglect him like that. It was not even that she had neglected him, personally, he could not forgive her as a mother to neglect her small, helpless child. Although he never had had a normal family, he had quite the idea of what his mother should have behaved like.
But had she given it any effort? In his eyes, she had not; even when she had realized the abuse of her child, she had not been strong enough to protect him. Samuel had had to do it all on his own, deal with it on his own, and he had succeeded. It was not her merit, that he was still able to work, walk, or think; it was his, and alone the fact that she never even considered to ask him for forgiveness, now that he had found her again after all these years, now that they both had escaped Sam's father, hurt him even more.
Still, she was his mother, and he kept visiting her. She gave him his ID, and several things that once had belonged to him, but apart from his ID, he did not want anything. He hid his few personal belongings in the shop, under his matrass, and was lucky enough that none of the brothers Warren and Jackson ever searched his bed.
Sam was sure about one thing: his mother should keep his toys and baby clothes. He was no longer a baby, and those were her memories, not his. If she wanted, she should pretend to have been a good mother all she wanted, he knew for himself that she had not been and was not, still.
It was after his class at night school one night that he saw the first girl that was more to him than just that, a girl. Bessie Sollik was one year his elder, 17, and she already had a boyfriend. Dashing green eyes, fiery red hair, and a smile so wide it could easily have belonged to two people. Sam developed the first crush of his life, and since Bessie was not half as smart as him, he volunteered to help her with her homework.
She improved in her grades, and the more time they spend together, the more Sam fell for her - and he was sure she had feelings for him, too. But when it came to it that he told her how he felt, she laughed at him, calling him "just a little boy" and explaining that to her, he was no more than a little brother. Sam did not believe her, tried to convince her otherwise - and ended beaten up by her twenty year old boyfriend who did not think a tutor's crush on Bessie was half as funny as she had made it to be.
Here, Sam's trauma with women started. He was confused, angry even, especially since he was too smart to just buy that Bessie was not interested in him. The only reason she chose the other boy was that Sam did not own a new glider, or could take her out after school, or buy her pretty things. She was completely shallow, he learned that now, but it was too late. She had already managed to break his heart.
Sam came to the silent conclusion that women, be they your mother or your love interest, can't be trusted. They were mysterious, dashing creatures, but they were also a menace. They took from you what they wanted, and left you with nothing in return. He would never again be so stupid.
But something else entered his conscious mind with the start of adulthood, he realized something.
He was stuck in Jackson's shop, in the life of a lower class worker, and he would not get out of it. He was young, he still had his whole life before him, but it was not his own, not the one he would have chosen for himself. He saw that other teenagers his age were enjoying their lives, going out, making friends, experiencing their first love. None of this applied to him, he was different. If he ever wanted control over his own existence, he needed to change something. But yet, he had no idea how to do that. He felt lost, caged, hopeless without ever losing hope. There had never been hope.
Whenever the frustration over this injustice that was called his life came to his mind, there was but one thing that could help him. He started to run. Sam loved to run at night, just like he once had done as a child of the streets, swiftly, stealthily, jumping over or crouching under obstacles, climbing fences when they got in his way, and avoiding the authorities when he had crossed a boundary once more. He ran straight in one direction, with a body as swift as his thoughts.
When he ran, he felt free. When he climbed a wall, he finally proved a point. Nothing was as exhilaratingrating as jumping from one top of a building to the next one, this moment of flight, or as breathtaking as standing on top of a skyscraper, the wind tearing at his clothes, almost throwing him to his certain death. It was at these moments that he felt alive - the aching tremble of his muscles was the sweetest feeling he knew. He was addicted to the feeling, theart-racertrace, to the adrenalin.
Sam was but average strong for his age, though far more than average quick in mind and body. And naturally, he found a solution to his problems. He realized that there was one thing he could do, actively, to change who he was, how he was living. Of course, he could always just have left the workshop, find a new place to live and work, but to what end? No other than what he was living through right now.
If he joined the army, on the other hand, he could do something... change something... be someone... And be finally appreciated.
The thought grew stronger and stronger the older he got. He was sure this was what he wanted to do, a life of travelling and serving, a life with a meaning, but most of all - a life he had chosen, all by himself. He had to wait some more months before he finally became old enough to actually fulfill his plan, but then the day had come. His eighteenth birthday.
Military (Age 18-today)
In the early hours of his eighteenth birthday, Samuel left the workshop without a further word, all his belongings in a small bag, never to return. He had gone this through in his mind a thousand times at least, and his longing for frehonorhonour and meaning had lead him here.
He volunteered for the army, and was taken in due to his bodily and mental fitness.
Finally, he felt at home somewhere. Any training linked to agility came naturally to him, like did handling weapons and equipment. Using them, however, in a fighting simulation came much harder for him. Especially as a pilot, he had a hard time, but he made up for it in other areas, never giving up his hard work. His life had taught him so far that the harder you work, the further you get, and this lesson did not fail him now.
It was in the basic training that he met his best friend till today, Dean Foarrix. Dean was a natural pilot, having spent most of his young life in love with his glider, so to speak. They were a good team, because Dean excelled in the areas that Sam was weak and visa versa. Dean was a lady's man, and gave Sam many a lecture on women, trying to lure his friend out more. Dean had the notion that Sam needed to have some fun from time to time, and together with some others, he almost physically dragged Sam to the bars and parties that they were invited to. He did not succeed, but their friendship grew nevertheless.
After a year, Sam passed the basic training as one of the best in his year, and after some more tests was reassigned to the Special Forces unit, while his friend Dean and most of their circle were moved to the Navy.
For Sam, this new adjustment was a tough act to follow. He was younger than all other members of his team, and from the first minute on they started to refer to him as "Greenhorn", a name that did not change even after he proved himself in missions. To this day there will still be jokes at Sam's expense on a regular basis, although it now is more teasing than anything. In fact, he is a respected member of the group, but thanks to his aloofness and young age always make him the butt of jokes.
Thanks to his agility and quickness, he often gets the physically challenging parts of missions, while his comrades stand in the line of fire or cover him. His computer knowledge and mechanical skills also come in handy from time to time.
It was his third mission with his new team, a stealth mission in enemy territory. Sam was scouting a new area with another soldier, his job was to take over a watchtower and modify the computers there so that the rest of his team would be able to further approach their target.
They managed to get up to the last storey of the watchtower, when they were engaged by the enemy's onsite security force. It was a quick, but deadly fight, and since they had to silence their opponents as quickly as possible to avoid them giving alarm.
Sam and his teammate actually managed to get control over the watchtower, but in the struggle, Sam had been shot to the left thigh and was bleeding severly. His comrade secured the arteries by constriction, but their job was not done yet. Sam was the team's computer specialist, and he had to finish his work up here. He managed to pull himself together and make sure the rest of the team could finish the mission, then his comrade tried to get him back to their ship.
Unfortunatelly, they ran into some more trouble on their way back, and being only two of them, one of them wounded, they prepared to make their last stance, when their team got in just in time to have their backs and save them. Sam, however, was not as quick as he used to be. He was injured in a melee fight with an enemy soldier, who cut him diagonally over his pelvis towards the belly.
His comrades would not leave him although his chances of survival were slim at best, and so they took him back to their ship, getting out of there and to a med centre as quick as possible. When they arrived, Sam had lost a lot of blood and was in dire need of an operation. While he was being taken care of, his comrades had to get back, report, and then after a short while go to their next mission.
It took Sam several weeks to recover, but when he did, his team was still on duty somewhere else, so he was reassigned to another Special Forces Unit.
((My first post, preferably, would be on his first day of duty together with the new unit, getting on the first mission since he was wounded.))
Password: Bylgia
RP Sample: An evening in the bar (during his time in the basic training)
"Don't linger there, Sam, it's gonna be fun!" Dean gave him a hard punch towards the ribs, and, as Sam had not looked out for it, he was fully hit and groaned angrily, giving his friend a dark look, that most likely said something like Stop it, or regret it.
"Oh, lighten up, will ye? We 'ave all nigh' ahea' o' us, an' no one ter tell us wha' ter do or how ter behave..."[/colorgrimacedmassed. If it had been up to him, they would have spend the evening in their barracks, reading or studying, or, if Dean was not up to that, training at the firing range. He still had so much training to do there... but no. His friend was not half as ambitious as Sam, and although in training Sam often took the lead, Dean was the master when it came to their spare time.
He wanted to say something, but Deanpunchedunshed him again, less hard this time. "Look a' tha'..." Sam turned his gaze, and froze inwardly. There was a group of females. Human females. Young, human females. Even worse. Pretty, young human females. And from the way they were dressed and moving, they were certsignalingalling availability.
He hated this night already.
"Come on, Sam, maybe we'll be lucky... The ladies really dig them uniforms, righ'?" Sam nodded stiffly and followed Dean's lead. There was not much to be done here. Dean knew what he wanted, and he usually got it.
"Hey there, ladies. Which one would like to be my last memory, in case I die in action tomorrow?"
Dean looked over the group, and to Sam's surprise, some of them were already giggling. This had been the most stupid chat-up line of all times, even for Dstandardsndarts! How came they were still interested?
Deafocusingussing on a pretty blond now who already gave him lascivious glances and through back her head far more often than she would have had to. And then Sam's attention was turned away from his friend. "And who are you?" A nice, dark haired young girl stood directly next to him her drink in her hand, and the upward-smile she gave him was a clear sign. "Ehm... I..." Sam felt totally stupid. Why did he not know what to say in these situations? He had already forgotten her question, let alone his answer.
But, as always, Dean had his back. "Sam Borreon, the best man we have. He saved my life more often than I can count. A hero in battle, Monk monch when it comes to the beauties of life. But maybe you could change his mind, take it off the serious matters for once?" Dean winked at the girl, and she blushed. The look she gave Sam weakened his knees. She was definitely going to try...
Dean stepped in between them, as he received a refill from the barkeep, and silently mouthed into Sam's direction a "You're welcome".
Sam frowned, but his friend did not react. Moments later he was alone again with the pretty dark-haired girl. "Did you really save his life?" Her eyes were wide open with astonishment and admiration, but they also reminded him of someone else. Perfect green eyes... this faked attention... Bessie.
Suddenly, he was feeling angry. "I wouldn't phrase it that way. Although he might need someone to save him as soon as I get him in my fingers," he responded and took a deep sip of his drink. To his surprise, she laughed amused - or at least pretended to be amused.
"That is sooo cute..."
The vertical line on Sam's forehead deepened. He was not being cute. He did not want to be cute. That girl had no idea what he was capable of. All she judged was his outer appearance. And her giggling, this incessant giggling, was driving him crazy. Was she really that stupid, or was she just trying to keep upretenseetence?
"If you say so..." He turned halfway away from her, looking for someone, something, anything that could help him. He felt her gaze on him, and as she moved closer, as if the noise in the club were too loud to understand him otherwise, he could smell her perfume. Lilies. Nervously, his fingers twitched.
"My name is Paduja", she told him, trying to get his attention. As she leaned over to speak to his ear, he could feel her breath on his cheek, and felt even more awkward and displaced. "Nice to meet you, Paduja," he heard himself say, but he did not look to her. His gaze was still going over the room. "Do you want to dance, Sam?" Startled, he looked back to her. "Dance?" he echoed lamely. "Yes, dance. With me." She laughed again, and tried to pull him over tdance floorefloor.
Sam looked over to her destination. Four other pairscommittingitting something that they probably wouldlabeledlabled with dance, in his eyes it was a crime against movement itself. And it was nothing compared to what he would commit if he got ondance floorefloor. He always felt awkward around women. He could not even imagine holding her close and trying to move. "No, thanks." Stiffly he drew back his arm, trying to not sound too brisk, but obviously, he had been brisk enough. Not looking at her might have added something to that, too.
Pouting, the girl turned away and left, not even saying goodbye. She basically threw herself at me. What is wrong with me? Sam could already see her friends look over at him, point and whisper. He was that awkward little kid at school again, the one with teared, dirty clothes and no new schoolbag.
"Man, what did you do?" Dean came over to him, his arms wrapped around the blond girl tightly. "Where is she going?"
"Hopefully very far," Sam responded, and slid some credits over the bar towards the barkeep. "It's getting late, I'm out of here. Have fun."
"I will..." Dean looked after him, and then shook his head in disbelief. "One of these days, he's going to turn into a droid. I'm still waiting for it," he told his new acquaintance, who sighed, and dragged him back tdance floorefloor.
Sam stepped out of the club, breathing in the fresh,night airghtair. Finally, the tremor in his hands stopped. He was himself again. Young, self-assured, andependentendant on what this girl thought of him.
All alone, he started to walk back to the barracks, the first place where he had felt safe, at home, in his life. Everything was so simple in training. Everything was far clearer structured, hard, but fair. He was good with hard, but fair.
He had gotten hard all his life, was used to getting it. Getting fair, too, was the one thing he had always wanted. Nothing was as combat. Either you had it in you, or you didn't. Sam was determined to have it in him. Always.
. Now, I'm not a mod, so some of my advice might be wrong, so keep that in mind. My edits will be in Red
