Post by Xara Shawcross on Aug 5, 2014 9:57:33 GMT -5
Name: Xara Shawcross
Rank: Private First Class
Assignment: Infantryman
Section: First Squad
Age: 24
Height: 5’8”
Weight: 148 lbs
Years of Service: 4
Injuries Received in the line of Duty: N/A
Character's Kit: A21 Tactical "Marauder" Armor, M1 Personal Defense Weapon, M27A1 Carbine.
Frame: Xara stands at 5’8”; her build is lithe and muscular – a result of her PT designation. She has long black hair and shares the same sharp, angular features of her family. However, these are softened by over plump lips and striking green eyes.
Personality: Xara sees herself as a go-getter and high achiever. She perhaps sees her privileged background as a handicap and is at pains to prove herself to be “as good as the rest.” But of course, her privileged background has actually afforded the opportunity to have the finest education money can buy, the opportunity to pick and choose a career and enough material wealth never to have to worry about her finances.
Xara would claim she’s confident, others would claim she’s arrogant. She’s certainly spoiled, wilful and stubborn, but at least these negative traits have helped bullhead her way through situations she would – and perhaps should - have baulked at.
She’s very upper-class; people of her own social standing can relate to her and she to them. She has good friends, she’s working hard at her profession and is extremely dedicated.
History: Lady Xara Shawcross is the daughter of the King of England’s third cousin, the Duke of Kent – making her 54th in line for the throne.
Xara was a precocious child, erring towards the tomboyish behaviour and wilfulness that – to the chagrin of her parents – would come to define her in later life. Not for her the acceptable sports of Real Tennis, Dressage and Croquet; Xara erred towards the more laddish pursuits favoured by her older brother, Oliver. Karate, judo, swimming, shooting and fox hunting were her passions. Clearly, she was in awe of him, inspired by him, idolised him and was desperate for his approval.
Approval that she could not win from her parents. They wanted a Lady after all, and Xara did not fit the criterion. How, they wondered, would the girl ever become an ambassador and fulfill a useful function?
Xara was initially home educated – as is customary – by a governess. She moved on the very exclusive and very expensive Brenenden School and completed her education with Hons at Edinburgh University.
It was at this time her brother Oliver was killed on exercises service with Royal Navy.
His death rocked Xara to her core and was the root cause of her applying to – and being accepted by – the Royal Marines.
The Royal Marines had begun accepting women in the mid-twenty-first century, but Xara was the first royal to join. It caused a minor kerfuffle in the press, but the story was small and went away as Xara knuckled down and set her mind to passing the arduous and exacting Royal Marines Commando Course at Lympstone.
Her parents took a dim view, but at least the girl was fulfilling her duty of public service and there was little enough to be done about it.
To the surprise of some (and the glee of the press), she passed the course and was commissioned as Lieutenant. The British Armed forces were, are and always will be at pains to make it known that they do not treat the Royal family differently to any man, woman or officer in their ranks. The truth is, of course, that whilst Royals are posted on active service, the vast majority are sent to Green Zones and their combat missions are supported heavily.
In Xara's case, she was kept at the RMTC as a PT and Unarmed Combat instructor - after her brother's accidental death, they wanted her kept as safe as possible.
This lack of true active service left Xara craving excitement and adventure; she threw herself into her martial arts training and was, in due course, selected to represent Great Britain at the Olympics in Full-Contact Karate - where she brought home the Gold.
The British Tabloid press went into overdrive. It was a story. Young, beautiful, athletic and a winner, moreover a royal and warrior to boot, she became the poster girl for Armed Forces recruitment. The Poster Girl for British success.
However, lack of attention to her titular responsibilities in her formative years was to return to haunt her.
Xara was a soldier; she had won gold with her team-mates. She did what every 20 something Officer and Lady would do in her situation. She, some of team-mates and Officer girlfriends went on holiday and – to put it mildly – over-indulged.
At a pool-party on the exclusive Hod Hotel, she and her friends were photographed in various stages of undress, some of the girls engaging questionable antics. The truth was simply that they were a bunch of drunken soldier girls having a great time. The media seized upon it, but rather paint Xara as a demoness, they promoted her to sex symbol. “Breast of British” screamed “The Sun”, a huge double-page spread of a topless Xara chugging expensive red from a bottle. “Beat the Japs, show us yer paps!” laughed “The Mirror.” There was much of the same.
All good fun, but Xara was horrified, sickened, ashamed and worst of all, betrayed. Someone had released the pictures after – someone she trusted. It was an officer or someone on the team and it continues to anger her that she will never know who it was.
Whilst Xara was the popular saucy heroine, the military took a dimmer view. It was decided that Lady of the Hour should be sent on active service to reward her for her Olympic feats… somewhere out of the way where it would take years for her to get there… enough time for the story to die down and for a welcome return to Business as Usual…
Sample Roleplay:
HMS Avenger, Portsmouth, UK, January 14th, 3358, 1500 hrs, GMT
It was the call Xara had been dreading. The call she knew would come. But for all that, there was nothing to be done about it but get into her dress uniform, pin her service medals on and face the fucking music.
She sat outside the CiC’s office, narked that the WREN was probably looking at her tits on her i-tablet. The WREN looked up and grinned.
“Colonel Mountbatten will see you now.”
Xara sighed and rose to her feet. Squaring her shoulders, she marched to the door to the “Inner Sanctum” and – just at the right moment – it slid open, enabling her not to break stride.
Mountbatten - iron hard and bled battleship grey (and her Great Uncle) and a UCHD Officer (Bryll-Creamed, sexually confident and gym honed) sat at the far end of the room – and the march to meet them felt as though it was Beau Geste proportions to Xara. She halted, snapped to attention and saluted.
Mountbatten sighed and began tossing newspapers onto the desk in front of him. One after the other, the evidence of her embarrassment piled up.
“Bloody poor show, Lieutenant Shawcross.”
“Sir.” She acknowledged.
“Is that all you have to say for yourself, Lieutenant?”
“Sir, it was high-jinks. Tits out, trousers down. Off duty, sir. Plenty of liquor, nothing untowards.” She paused. “We didn’t know someone would do this, sir.”
“Do what, Lieutenant?”
“Sell the fucking pictures. Sir.”
Mountbatten slammed his palm onto the desk, making her flinch. “Damn it all, Shawcross, you’re a member of the fucking Royal family! You won gold at Olympics! Did it not enter your skull that you – of all people – would be a prime target?”
“No, sir.”
“No, sir,” Mountbatten repeated. “No, sir indeed. This is embarrassing, Lieutenant.”
“Yes, sir.”
“However, it is diversity and inclusion policy that you will be afforded the same rights as any other serving member of His Majesty’s Armed Forces – your peerage withstanding. As such, I cannot find you at fault. You were off duty engaging in legal activity. As such, no formal reprimand can be issued and your record will not reflect this… incident.”
“Thank you, sir.” It was more than she could have hoped for.
“However,” Mountbatten continued, crushing the rising hopes before they’d worked up a crest. “the reality is somewhat different. You’ve been good press, Lieutenant. But that press has gone bad. We can only thank God that the tabloids have gone with “high-jinks” as opposed to “depraved, drunk, lesbian sex orgy.”
Xara resisted the urge to grin – she’d seen same movie and there was no way Mountbatten could have made that title up. “Yes sir. Small mercies, sir.”
“This,” he indicated the officer, “is Marcus Tandy. He’s from the UCM. Media Operations”
Tandy inclined his head. “Lieutenant Shawcross.”
“Captain Tandy.”
“I’ll cut through the fat,” he said. “Your people have reached out to my people. They feel that in the spirit of co-operation and to continually cement Great Britain’s Special Relationship with the UCM, a British Observer should be seconded to the UCHD detachment. Exchange training ideas… best guns… that sort of thing.”
“Seconded?” Xara frowned. “As far as I know, UCHD is a multi-system force.”
“Which means you’re no longer a Royal Marine, yes,” Tandy was impatient. “Look, before you start, strings have been pulled. You’ve got some connections… My Lady and everyone feels its best that you are kept out of the news for a spell.” He finished that with an oily grin that made her want to punch him in the face.
Something inside of Xara fell over. She realised that she was being side-lined, sent to career hell. Off-Earth, probably to some stinking hell hole at the ring-piece of the galaxy. She looked at Mountbatten, but he cut her off before she could start.
“My hands are tied,” he said. “Believe me, I’d rather have you flying a desk, Shawcross – but the decision has been made.”
“What about my commission?” she addressed the question to Tandy.
His grin became even more shit-eating. “I don’t know. That’ll be up to your new C/O. I mean, I’ve heard that they don’t do service-people’s favours in the UCHD.”
“That’s a pity,” Xara snapped. “I hear your Mrs does, though.”
Mountbatten slammed his hand down on the desk. “Lieutenant Shawcross!”
Xara had been taught to keep her emotions in check – even a minor member of the Royal Family had to present a stiff upper lip at all times; but the cords that held her temper in place frayed and snapped. “What, is it Uncle Louis?” she asked. “If the Captain here is to be believed, I’m no longer RMC. So I can speak to him as I bloody well please.”
“You’re RMC till you’re transferred,” Mountbatten controlled himself. “Here,” he handed her a chit. “These are your orders and your travel pass.” Xara took them from him, keeping her mouth clamped shut. She was seething with fury and knew that it would only take one word from her to start a torrent. She saluted and stood to attention. Mountbatten sighed. “You’re dismissed.”
And that was that. At the stroke of a key, her entire life had been turned upside down.
Xara really hated the press.
Rank: Private First Class
Assignment: Infantryman
Section: First Squad
Age: 24
Height: 5’8”
Weight: 148 lbs
Years of Service: 4
Injuries Received in the line of Duty: N/A
Character's Kit: A21 Tactical "Marauder" Armor, M1 Personal Defense Weapon, M27A1 Carbine.
Frame: Xara stands at 5’8”; her build is lithe and muscular – a result of her PT designation. She has long black hair and shares the same sharp, angular features of her family. However, these are softened by over plump lips and striking green eyes.
Personality: Xara sees herself as a go-getter and high achiever. She perhaps sees her privileged background as a handicap and is at pains to prove herself to be “as good as the rest.” But of course, her privileged background has actually afforded the opportunity to have the finest education money can buy, the opportunity to pick and choose a career and enough material wealth never to have to worry about her finances.
Xara would claim she’s confident, others would claim she’s arrogant. She’s certainly spoiled, wilful and stubborn, but at least these negative traits have helped bullhead her way through situations she would – and perhaps should - have baulked at.
She’s very upper-class; people of her own social standing can relate to her and she to them. She has good friends, she’s working hard at her profession and is extremely dedicated.
History: Lady Xara Shawcross is the daughter of the King of England’s third cousin, the Duke of Kent – making her 54th in line for the throne.
Xara was a precocious child, erring towards the tomboyish behaviour and wilfulness that – to the chagrin of her parents – would come to define her in later life. Not for her the acceptable sports of Real Tennis, Dressage and Croquet; Xara erred towards the more laddish pursuits favoured by her older brother, Oliver. Karate, judo, swimming, shooting and fox hunting were her passions. Clearly, she was in awe of him, inspired by him, idolised him and was desperate for his approval.
Approval that she could not win from her parents. They wanted a Lady after all, and Xara did not fit the criterion. How, they wondered, would the girl ever become an ambassador and fulfill a useful function?
Xara was initially home educated – as is customary – by a governess. She moved on the very exclusive and very expensive Brenenden School and completed her education with Hons at Edinburgh University.
It was at this time her brother Oliver was killed on exercises service with Royal Navy.
His death rocked Xara to her core and was the root cause of her applying to – and being accepted by – the Royal Marines.
The Royal Marines had begun accepting women in the mid-twenty-first century, but Xara was the first royal to join. It caused a minor kerfuffle in the press, but the story was small and went away as Xara knuckled down and set her mind to passing the arduous and exacting Royal Marines Commando Course at Lympstone.
Her parents took a dim view, but at least the girl was fulfilling her duty of public service and there was little enough to be done about it.
To the surprise of some (and the glee of the press), she passed the course and was commissioned as Lieutenant. The British Armed forces were, are and always will be at pains to make it known that they do not treat the Royal family differently to any man, woman or officer in their ranks. The truth is, of course, that whilst Royals are posted on active service, the vast majority are sent to Green Zones and their combat missions are supported heavily.
In Xara's case, she was kept at the RMTC as a PT and Unarmed Combat instructor - after her brother's accidental death, they wanted her kept as safe as possible.
This lack of true active service left Xara craving excitement and adventure; she threw herself into her martial arts training and was, in due course, selected to represent Great Britain at the Olympics in Full-Contact Karate - where she brought home the Gold.
The British Tabloid press went into overdrive. It was a story. Young, beautiful, athletic and a winner, moreover a royal and warrior to boot, she became the poster girl for Armed Forces recruitment. The Poster Girl for British success.
However, lack of attention to her titular responsibilities in her formative years was to return to haunt her.
Xara was a soldier; she had won gold with her team-mates. She did what every 20 something Officer and Lady would do in her situation. She, some of team-mates and Officer girlfriends went on holiday and – to put it mildly – over-indulged.
At a pool-party on the exclusive Hod Hotel, she and her friends were photographed in various stages of undress, some of the girls engaging questionable antics. The truth was simply that they were a bunch of drunken soldier girls having a great time. The media seized upon it, but rather paint Xara as a demoness, they promoted her to sex symbol. “Breast of British” screamed “The Sun”, a huge double-page spread of a topless Xara chugging expensive red from a bottle. “Beat the Japs, show us yer paps!” laughed “The Mirror.” There was much of the same.
All good fun, but Xara was horrified, sickened, ashamed and worst of all, betrayed. Someone had released the pictures after – someone she trusted. It was an officer or someone on the team and it continues to anger her that she will never know who it was.
Whilst Xara was the popular saucy heroine, the military took a dimmer view. It was decided that Lady of the Hour should be sent on active service to reward her for her Olympic feats… somewhere out of the way where it would take years for her to get there… enough time for the story to die down and for a welcome return to Business as Usual…
Sample Roleplay:
HMS Avenger, Portsmouth, UK, January 14th, 3358, 1500 hrs, GMT
It was the call Xara had been dreading. The call she knew would come. But for all that, there was nothing to be done about it but get into her dress uniform, pin her service medals on and face the fucking music.
She sat outside the CiC’s office, narked that the WREN was probably looking at her tits on her i-tablet. The WREN looked up and grinned.
“Colonel Mountbatten will see you now.”
Xara sighed and rose to her feet. Squaring her shoulders, she marched to the door to the “Inner Sanctum” and – just at the right moment – it slid open, enabling her not to break stride.
Mountbatten - iron hard and bled battleship grey (and her Great Uncle) and a UCHD Officer (Bryll-Creamed, sexually confident and gym honed) sat at the far end of the room – and the march to meet them felt as though it was Beau Geste proportions to Xara. She halted, snapped to attention and saluted.
Mountbatten sighed and began tossing newspapers onto the desk in front of him. One after the other, the evidence of her embarrassment piled up.
“Bloody poor show, Lieutenant Shawcross.”
“Sir.” She acknowledged.
“Is that all you have to say for yourself, Lieutenant?”
“Sir, it was high-jinks. Tits out, trousers down. Off duty, sir. Plenty of liquor, nothing untowards.” She paused. “We didn’t know someone would do this, sir.”
“Do what, Lieutenant?”
“Sell the fucking pictures. Sir.”
Mountbatten slammed his palm onto the desk, making her flinch. “Damn it all, Shawcross, you’re a member of the fucking Royal family! You won gold at Olympics! Did it not enter your skull that you – of all people – would be a prime target?”
“No, sir.”
“No, sir,” Mountbatten repeated. “No, sir indeed. This is embarrassing, Lieutenant.”
“Yes, sir.”
“However, it is diversity and inclusion policy that you will be afforded the same rights as any other serving member of His Majesty’s Armed Forces – your peerage withstanding. As such, I cannot find you at fault. You were off duty engaging in legal activity. As such, no formal reprimand can be issued and your record will not reflect this… incident.”
“Thank you, sir.” It was more than she could have hoped for.
“However,” Mountbatten continued, crushing the rising hopes before they’d worked up a crest. “the reality is somewhat different. You’ve been good press, Lieutenant. But that press has gone bad. We can only thank God that the tabloids have gone with “high-jinks” as opposed to “depraved, drunk, lesbian sex orgy.”
Xara resisted the urge to grin – she’d seen same movie and there was no way Mountbatten could have made that title up. “Yes sir. Small mercies, sir.”
“This,” he indicated the officer, “is Marcus Tandy. He’s from the UCM. Media Operations”
Tandy inclined his head. “Lieutenant Shawcross.”
“Captain Tandy.”
“I’ll cut through the fat,” he said. “Your people have reached out to my people. They feel that in the spirit of co-operation and to continually cement Great Britain’s Special Relationship with the UCM, a British Observer should be seconded to the UCHD detachment. Exchange training ideas… best guns… that sort of thing.”
“Seconded?” Xara frowned. “As far as I know, UCHD is a multi-system force.”
“Which means you’re no longer a Royal Marine, yes,” Tandy was impatient. “Look, before you start, strings have been pulled. You’ve got some connections… My Lady and everyone feels its best that you are kept out of the news for a spell.” He finished that with an oily grin that made her want to punch him in the face.
Something inside of Xara fell over. She realised that she was being side-lined, sent to career hell. Off-Earth, probably to some stinking hell hole at the ring-piece of the galaxy. She looked at Mountbatten, but he cut her off before she could start.
“My hands are tied,” he said. “Believe me, I’d rather have you flying a desk, Shawcross – but the decision has been made.”
“What about my commission?” she addressed the question to Tandy.
His grin became even more shit-eating. “I don’t know. That’ll be up to your new C/O. I mean, I’ve heard that they don’t do service-people’s favours in the UCHD.”
“That’s a pity,” Xara snapped. “I hear your Mrs does, though.”
Mountbatten slammed his hand down on the desk. “Lieutenant Shawcross!”
Xara had been taught to keep her emotions in check – even a minor member of the Royal Family had to present a stiff upper lip at all times; but the cords that held her temper in place frayed and snapped. “What, is it Uncle Louis?” she asked. “If the Captain here is to be believed, I’m no longer RMC. So I can speak to him as I bloody well please.”
“You’re RMC till you’re transferred,” Mountbatten controlled himself. “Here,” he handed her a chit. “These are your orders and your travel pass.” Xara took them from him, keeping her mouth clamped shut. She was seething with fury and knew that it would only take one word from her to start a torrent. She saluted and stood to attention. Mountbatten sighed. “You’re dismissed.”
And that was that. At the stroke of a key, her entire life had been turned upside down.
Xara really hated the press.
