But rumors in Aix Mazarine always made it back to the deck: that the wild, blonde daughter of Lennox Bercator had run off to avoid her marriage and that the reward for information about her whereabouts was hefty. In the end, it was Roman himself who turned her back in; at twenty-one years old she'd laid with him in the rigging, wondering if someday it'd be quite possible to get their own fleet and just sail; considered whether or not they should jump ship and take off with another one of the caravans to the far East, whether they could simply disappear.
It was three years ago, and rumor has it that Lennox had to threaten Hollis with putting Roman to death for kidnapping to get her to stay put. That or the network of contacts she'd made internationally in various illict trades was valuable enough to repurchase her place in the family; whatever the deal that was made, Hollis hardly ever speaks of that time or their bargain. The benefit of it all, she jokes, is that while she was away her would-be husband married someone else, and so, for the time being, at least, Hollis Bercator is back on the market, stubborn as ever, wild as the sea. None of the relationships she's been in since have been quite so serious; and, at any rate, she's played them close to the chest, and kept her various dalliances a secret with great care and at some expense.
She moved back the Nettle's Nest and began to take a more active role in her father's interests in the port; having met, in prior years, a number of sailors and traders, it was easy to know whom were the best to procure for his businesses. This was a role she could settle comfortably into; overseeing trade and building a fleet underneath the family's name, and she did it well, with a dangerous, wild sharpness and a temper which warned plenty of merchants that like her father, Hollis Bercatour wasn't one to cross. Father and daughter seemed to have met agreement, finally, in this; if anything, he was coolly pleased by the progress. It allowed him, perhaps, to turn his ambitions elsewhere, to a target which he'd long set his sights on.
Lennox certainly benefited from the strange deaths of his brother and all his children, and now, Hollis has packed up her bags, saddled the horses, and ridden into the capitol along with the rest of her recently-promoted family.
History, Lennox Bercator would say, is written by the victors.
Personality: Bullheaded and stubborn, Hollis is reckless, headstrong, and vaguely impatient; any softness in her personality tends to only arise after a crisis, and, generally speaking, only if people are bleeding or weeping. Profusely. And sometimes even the latter doesn't count. She's got zero tolerance for what she determines is nonsense, but that doesn't prevent her from being a bit more whimsical and prone to dream than even she knows, as though there is no space which can actually hold her or ever will. More high-strung than she realizes, Hollis tends to get angry quickly. Most of the time she cools down -- she knows it's in the best interests of various businesses to do so, and generally speaking, she's not actually a consistently angry person -- but sometimes her anger persists, and when it does, those grudges can get vicious and violent. Underneath the layer of general impertinence she presents to society is an intense, competitive core, which, once it knows what it wants, will stop at virtually nothing to get it.
She adheres to her own definitions of morality; underneath it all is a person who is generally 'good' -- but whose goodness is often expressed in a chaotic manner. Though a onetime runaway, Hollis is extremely loyal to whatever members of her family she's deemed aren't idiots, and while she doesn't have enough booksmarts to qualify for judging people as intellectuals, she's got a plethora of streetsmarts that make her a pretty crack judge when it comes to the competencies of others.
Those closest to her may notice her mood improves during bad weather. Especially thunderstorms.
Appearance: Hollis has a long and narrow build; she's lanky and lean, a trait inherited from her father. She's got sharp hazel eyes and bronze skin which, in conjunction with sunbleached hair, suggests she's spent far too much time out of doors. Hollis' hair is still in the same razored cut it was put into years ago when she first ran away from home; for whatever reason, she's never grown it out. Honestly, this might be for the best, as it has a wild, unruly quality that makes her generally look as though she's just walked in from the middle of a tornado, irregardless of whether or not wind is actually present. Though her hands have a feminine shape, they are not the hands of a lady; they are rough from years of climbing, the nails are short, and her palms bear the callouses of fencing practice and archery. Her arms have several scars from the snap of the bow in the years before she took to wearing leather bracers.
Her attire might best be described as eccentric: it rarely adheres to current standards of fashion, and always bears the influence of her experience of other cultures. Most frequently she can be found in wide-legged pants or trousers and tunics; she wears a particular type of glove with the fingers torn off, and prefers long, hooded cloaks which usually cover whatever oddity she's wearing anyway. It could be called avant-garde, but that would mean she was honestly trying to be ahead of fashion. Like any smuggler, her favorite footwear is a well-worn pair of boots; preferrably of the sort that make as little noise as possible. For formal affairs and when otherwise appropriate she can force herself to shirk these habits, but generally speaking, don't hold your breath. Besides this, her left ear is pierced and bears a dangling piece of ebony in a tribal design, and she wears, around her neck, a red string with a jade monkey charm. The inside of her right wrist bears the number '9,' tattooed in Farsi. People unfamiliar the long history of tattoos in other regions have regularly assumed this to be some sort of curse burned into her skin by an other, which Hollis always laughs and says is not, actually, too far off the mark.
She's got a number of scars from her adventures: her arms have small, faint stripes from archery practice; a look across her shoulders would indicate she's taken at least one lashing, and she bear's a climber's badges: scrapes on both knees and elbows, as well as her right hip.
Skills: Parkour, Climbing, Tying Knots, Archery, Knife-fighting, Hand-to-Hand, Horse-riding, Falconry, Swimming, Sailing, Navigation (via astronomy), Smuggling, and merchant exchanges. Has her ear to the ground when it comes to the Bercator family's trade network; as it were, they have spies everywhere, and most of them knew her before she was their de-facto boss, when she spent time in their world as a mere mortal rather than some high-bred noble. That makes it worse for everyone else: most of them like her.
Strengths: Possesses excellent intuition; is a survivor, reslient. Has strong eyesight and good reflexes and is a natural when it comes to the bow. She can fight, and sometimes her temper results in her getting into fights, but generally speaking it's not her preferred skill. Like any smuggler or streetrat, Hollis prefers to make it through challenges unseen. Her prior lines of work have given her some fencing experience, but she's better with knives and shortswords.
Don't ever let her throw one of the former at you.
She gets on well with animals; people say the wild things understand each other.
Weaknesses: Hollis completely lacks talent at the indoor arts: she makes no pretenses at being an artist or a musician, she's not well-read; she's got atrocious handwriting. Even as a fencer she prefers improvisation, and thus rarely participates in matches which require a certain form or play by particular rules. Her style as a fighter bears the influences of other cultures, particularly those in the East.
Hollis has serious temper problems and a real impatience for people who don't get the job done quickly and correctly. Sentimental, weepy, romantic types rub her the wrong way, and there's an outward cynicism in her that is offputting to optimists and to the naive. Underneath all her bravado is a resentment for the traditional female role and a dread of the possibility of becoming a married housewife: she thinks to herself that if she needed a pair of balls to be better than any man on the planet, she would've had them. Those who do succeed in becoming her friends she cares about a great deal more than she'd ever let on; generally speaking, she'll go to great lengths to secure their safety or their happiness, even at the expense of her own.
It was three years ago, and rumor has it that Lennox had to threaten Hollis with putting Roman to death for kidnapping to get her to stay put. That or the network of contacts she'd made internationally in various illict trades was valuable enough to repurchase her place in the family; whatever the deal that was made, Hollis hardly ever speaks of that time or their bargain. The benefit of it all, she jokes, is that while she was away her would-be husband married someone else, and so, for the time being, at least, Hollis Bercator is back on the market, stubborn as ever, wild as the sea. None of the relationships she's been in since have been quite so serious; and, at any rate, she's played them close to the chest, and kept her various dalliances a secret with great care and at some expense.
She moved back the Nettle's Nest and began to take a more active role in her father's interests in the port; having met, in prior years, a number of sailors and traders, it was easy to know whom were the best to procure for his businesses. This was a role she could settle comfortably into; overseeing trade and building a fleet underneath the family's name, and she did it well, with a dangerous, wild sharpness and a temper which warned plenty of merchants that like her father, Hollis Bercatour wasn't one to cross. Father and daughter seemed to have met agreement, finally, in this; if anything, he was coolly pleased by the progress. It allowed him, perhaps, to turn his ambitions elsewhere, to a target which he'd long set his sights on.
Lennox certainly benefited from the strange deaths of his brother and all his children, and now, Hollis has packed up her bags, saddled the horses, and ridden into the capitol along with the rest of her recently-promoted family.
History, Lennox Bercator would say, is written by the victors.
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She adheres to her own definitions of morality; underneath it all is a person who is generally 'good' -- but whose goodness is often expressed in a chaotic manner. Though a onetime runaway, Hollis is extremely loyal to whatever members of her family she's deemed aren't idiots, and while she doesn't have enough booksmarts to qualify for judging people as intellectuals, she's got a plethora of streetsmarts that make her a pretty crack judge when it comes to the competencies of others.
Those closest to her may notice her mood improves during bad weather. Especially thunderstorms.
Personality Keywords: Fearless, headstrong, brazen, sardonic, impertinent
Appearance: Hollis has a long and narrow build; she's lanky and lean, a trait inherited from her father. She's got sharp hazel eyes and bronze skin which, in conjunction with sunbleached hair, suggests she's spent far too much time out of doors. Hollis' hair is still in the same razored cut it was put into years ago when she first ran away from home; for whatever reason, she's never grown it out. Honestly, this might be for the best, as it has a wild, unruly quality that makes her generally look as though she's just walked in from the middle of a tornado, irregardless of whether or not wind is actually present. Though her hands have a feminine shape, they are not the hands of a lady; they are rough from years of climbing, the nails are short, and her palms bear the callouses of fencing practice and archery. Her arms have several scars from the snap of the bow in the years before she took to wearing leather bracers.
Her attire might best be described as eccentric: it rarely adheres to current standards of fashion, and always bears the influence of her experience of other cultures. Most frequently she can be found in wide-legged pants or trousers and tunics; she wears a particular type of glove with the fingers torn off, and prefers long, hooded cloaks which usually cover whatever oddity she's wearing anyway. It could be called avant-garde, but that would mean she was honestly trying to be ahead of fashion. Like any smuggler, her favorite footwear is a well-worn pair of boots; preferrably of the sort that make as little noise as possible. For formal affairs and when otherwise appropriate she can force herself to shirk these habits, but generally speaking, don't hold your breath. Besides this, her left ear is pierced and bears a dangling piece of ebony in a tribal design, and she wears, around her neck, a red string with a jade monkey charm. The inside of her right wrist bears the number '9,' tattooed in Farsi. People unfamiliar the long history of tattoos in other regions have regularly assumed this to be some sort of curse burned into her skin by an other, which Hollis always laughs and says is not, actually, too far off the mark.
She's got a number of scars from her adventures: her arms have small, faint stripes from archery practice; a look across her shoulders would indicate she's taken at least one lashing, and she bear's a climber's badges: scrapes on both knees and elbows, as well as her right hip.
Languages Known: Farsi, Arabic, French, Spanish
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Strengths: Possesses excellent intuition; is a survivor, reslient. Has strong eyesight and good reflexes and is a natural when it comes to the bow. She can fight, and sometimes her temper results in her getting into fights, but generally speaking it's not her preferred skill. Like any smuggler or streetrat, Hollis prefers to make it through challenges unseen. Her prior lines of work have given her some fencing experience, but she's better with knives and shortswords.
Don't ever let her throw one of the former at you.
She gets on well with animals; people say the wild things understand each other.
Weaknesses: Hollis completely lacks talent at the indoor arts: she makes no pretenses at being an artist or a musician, she's not well-read; she's got atrocious handwriting. Even as a fencer she prefers improvisation, and thus rarely participates in matches which require a certain form or play by particular rules. Her style as a fighter bears the influences of other cultures, particularly those in the East.
Hollis has serious temper problems and a real impatience for people who don't get the job done quickly and correctly. Sentimental, weepy, romantic types rub her the wrong way, and there's an outward cynicism in her that is offputting to optimists and to the naive. Underneath all her bravado is a resentment for the traditional female role and a dread of the possibility of becoming a married housewife: she thinks to herself that if she needed a pair of balls to be better than any man on the planet, she would've had them. Those who do succeed in becoming her friends she cares about a great deal more than she'd ever let on; generally speaking, she'll go to great lengths to secure their safety or their happiness, even at the expense of her own.
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