\APPLICATION/
PLAYER INFORMATION-
Name/Nickname: Nini
AIM/E-mail/Contact: AIM: LadyIverin; e-mail: sharkinaditch ATTO gmail
LJ: iverin
CHARACTER INFORMATION-
Canon Character and Series: Olivier Mira Armstrong, Fullmetal Alchemist
In-Game Name: Captain Olivier Mira Armstrong (retired)
Age: 37
Gender: Female
Position & Ship (first and second choice for position please): Strategist, Convoy; Second choice: Helmsman
Appearance: Olivier is of average height (rounding out the 5'8" range), though not as tall as most of her family; she has a regal bearing that she accentuates by always, always carrying her shoulders high and even, and by wearing her old blue Ivonian military jacket draped over her shoulders. Her long, blonde hair rests at the middle of her back, and is straight as a board save for one curly forelock. It is always parted very particularly at one side of her head. She has incredibly fair skin that is darkened only by the work she does outdoors, and wears little makeup to enhance her natural (genetically gifted) beauty. Other than her perpetual scowl--made all the more amusing by the fullness of her lips--her most notable feature is the eternal presence of a sword at her side. It's largely ceremonial, or so she claims. And, hey, it's been in the Armstrong family for generations! Beware of her smile--it's said to frighten even the most stalwart of men.
Personality: There are many words others have used to describe Olivier. The term accepted by the general populace of the military is "Ice cold bitch", followed closely by "ice queen" and "The northern wall". She is, as these suggest, immovable, distant, cold, and calculating at times.
She’s voiced a preference to deal with things in black and white, and her concepts of right and wrong, as well as her ideals, are strongly expressed in her speech and actions. However, as with most people, she has a bundle of contradictions going on, as well.
Her credo in life is “survival of the fittest”, and she doesn’t believe in crap like karma or cosmic comeuppance. Everyone makes their own way, forges it, and fights for it. One wouldn’t think a little rich girl from classy parts of Ivona would think that way, but… one perhaps has not met Olivier.
To Olivier, the most important and precious people are those who have pledged loyalty to her. They put faith in her credo and in her leadership; in return, she will go to amazing lengths to protect them-both from nearby and at a distance. Usually, this is restricted to her using amazing and morally ambiguous tactics of subversion, total lies, and sweet-talking. Occasionally, though, it involves glorious small-scale violence. Her family is also immensely important to her, and they would be the last to see her fear, while simultaneously being the first to fall under her protection. They gave her the tools, the foundation for what she became, and she is eternally grateful and indebted.
Frankly, though, Olivier hasn’t been scared of violence for a moment in her life. In fact, the only thing that frightens her is living an entire life under someone else’s questionable rule. She’ll continue to fight that particular situation whenever she’s in it, even if it means killing someone who is morally corrupt and not worthy of being followed, in her mind. Let it not be said that she has a hero complex: she would much rather talk and earn her way into positions. Killing is a last resort, and one she hesitates to use unless it is, in her mind, the only way. But she has done it.
That said… A woman in a man's world, Olivier is out for blood. She’s got a nasty reputation for stabbing people through the wrist; she generally does it to people who undesirably touch her. It must be noted that the wrist is an awfully small target, and she likes to do the slice right between the bones. It's a gesture of hatred meeting control, and not really out of self-defense at all. Although she is almost always immaculately in control, when she decides to let her more violent side out, someone is probably going to die from a wrist-related injury.
Abilities/Weapons: Olivier has above-average strength due to excellent hereditary traits and her drive to be the beast she's become known as. She's slightly vicious in combat, aiming for smaller, more demeaning areas whenever she can. An eye for an eye applies to her battle theory, and she's carefully honed her fencing skills to ensure success in that regard. She’s highly skilled in all standard martial and naval disciplines, though ship-to-ship combat and a fondness for large machines have only been cultivated over the last six years or so.
She has natural leadership skills which really fall under this category. With a “tough love” approach, she manages to turn some misfits and castoffs into mighty fine soldiers. It’s really too bad she’s retired…
How well can your character hack?: Easy-medium at best, though she has the brain power to figure out how to do more. She needs a slight amount of skill in this due to the covert nature of her assignment, and, if permissible, I would like to develop this skill as she progresses. Canonly, Olivier is quite good at covert operations, and has a relatively firm grasp of the technology around her; this is just an extrapolation.
Weaknesses: Olivier’s biggest weakness is her loyalty to her subordinates and family. She actually removes herself from them to avoid close and obvious connections, ones that could be easily exploited. Her pride is also a bit of a weakness, but she usually doesn’t let that one slip very far. Her tactical mind will take over and preserve her before her mouth gets her into trouble.
History:
Olivier is the eldest child of five in the venerable Armstrong family of Ivona. Her parents are quite wealthy (read: ridiculously so) with a large (read: holy crap) mansion and several vacation homes. Historically, they are a military family. Olivier, rather than leave the job up to her three sisters and little brother, took up the mantle of war from a young age. While other girls played with dolls, Olivier played with model ships and horses, tiny toy soldiers and a little wooden sword.
The metal sword she received for her tenth birthday, and the accompanying fencing and riding lessons, solidified her desire to become a soldier. She would be the big important generalissimo of her generation, come hell or high water. She didn’t care that it wasn’t what girls do, or that she should curl her hair and wear frilly dresses. After all, there were going to be other little girls mommy and daddy could marry off, have lavish weddings for, and celebrate. At the tender age of ten, standing upon a chair in front of a flaming birthday cake, sword brandished, she declared her intent to protect the Armstrong name until the day she died.
Her cold demeanor developed as she entered her teens, a weapon to be brandished against suitors and mean girls alike. She was never the ruler of her boarding school, but she was certainly never bullied for more than two minutes. Her first-and last-boyfriend has never spoken of the ordeal, or the strange and rumor-ridden days surrounding their breakup. The most persistent rumor-the one that sometimes followed her around still in the military academy-was of a two-day-long bonfire at the Armstrong manor subsequent to the affair.
The rule: Don’t mess with Armstrong.
It followed her to the academy, where she excelled in all areas; she was especially talented at defensive strategy, and while her teachers questioned her morals and tactics from time to time, they never dared give her less than full marks in the subject. She was undefeated in fencing in her years there, and received every award she could possibly have obtained, even ones designated specifically for male students. No one dared deny her the titles.
Along the way, though, she must have pissed someone off. She was shipped off to a remote military base in the frozen north, along with a crew of misfits. Big mistake. Not only did she quickly win the hearts of the men by fighting them into submission and/or beating them senseless, she also earned the respect and admiration of her superiors. When one of the men in charge died mysteriously (following the suspicious demise of a dozen or so soldiers in a botched offensive against some refugees from the Badlands, Olivier saw a swift series of promotions that eventually landed her directly at the top of the food chain in the base.
Her misfits were soon known across Ivona as some of the most talented, most disciplined, and most fearsome soldiers the nation had to offer. Despite her love for them, and her unending loyalty to each and every one of their pointed little heads, she wanted more. Ever ambitious, she turned her sights on the sky ships, and on an entirely different branch of the military. Through various connections, she came to know several Navy brass, and perfected her own brand of schmoozing. Relations between herself and the Navy could not have been better, and she and her men were often invited to Naval soirees and dedication ceremonies.
It was around that time that she met King Bradley. She’d never wanted anyone dead from the moment their eyes met, but Bradley became an incredible exception. Everything about him irked her, and she wanted his head as much as she wanted his job. A sudden reassignment back to Bellicus, quite near Bradley himself, made her all the more wary. She may or may not have dispatched a few of his friends on her way up… Did he know? Was he seeking retribution?
Instead, Bradley was scouting talent. Olivier, it seemed, was ripe for a transfer into the Navy: The intelligence-oriented divisions, to be precise. She was to be placed aboard a seemingly neutral ship to observe the crew and report back to the government on the activities of said ship.
Olivier was to become a spy.
Infuriated, but unwilling to give up on her goals, she now serves as a sort of double-agent. Her master is her own agenda, no matter what information she seems to send to Bradley and his cohorts. Her loyalties are within her own heart, mind, and blood, and he’s got no place in them.
For now, like the hunter she has proven herself to be, she waits…
SAMPLES-
Third Person (roleplay):
Well.
Calling that meeting a slap to the face would have been an understatement. The look in Bradley’s eyes-eye?-had been pure mirth, edged with the slightest hint of malcontent. What was he thinking? Her fists clenched and unclenched at her sides, though her face remained completely placid.
Olivier’s mind raced. How could she combat it? How could she turn everything she’d been forced into right upon his head? Bradley, as far as she knew, thought her loyal. He knew nothing of her aspirations, other than that she was driven, ruthless, and somehow legendary in the north. Running everything down, from the way he addressed her to the sort of jokes he told, there was no way he knew.
She, Olivier Mira Armstrong, wanted his head on a silver platter, severed by her own heirloom blade. His philosophies annoyed her, and it was all she could do to not sneer each time they exchanged pleasantries. All she wanted to do was throw this request back in his face and walk away from all of it.
Ah.
Aha. There it was. The idea she’d waited for formed slowly in her mind, drop by drop, the way all her best plans did. With this idea, she could avoid disgrace if discovered, serve with little worry, and possibly, maybe, if she got the resources, turn it directly back upon him like the point of her blade. She could practically smell the freedom of the open air again. Confidently, shouldering aside the door guard, she re-entered King Bradley’s office.
“I’ll do it,” she announced, shoulders rolling back, head held high with pride. “If you’ll accept my retirement.”
First Person (journal):
[A remittance to a pen pal aboard another ship; Filtered to that person:]
Joseph Falls' magnificent beard, as they say, has nothing on this ship. It’s grandiose, and sparse enough to suit my tastes. We’ve been out of port for a few weeks, and it’s been all the usual sights. The ship itself, though, is a far cry from your own Amestris. Have all our old friends seen the ship already? I’d say I’m jealous, but you don’t like it when I lie.
I’m on the better ship, by far, and at least I’m not bored throwing parties for dignitaries and elbow-greasers. We’ll see real battle, and maybe do something worth writing to you about.
This is just to tell you I’m still alive. And I’m not going back to the military, so don’t ask.
Regards,
Capt. Olivier Mira Armstrong, ret.