Zver'via

Zver'via was dragged, screaming and kicking, to the shuttle. She stills remembers the fear on her wife's face, the way she begged to let her go. To let them all die together if they could not escape together. Her hands slammed against the pod glass as others rushed away around her. People began flooding into the bay, desperate to find escape pods of their own as the place filled with smoke, ash and debris from the emergency launches.

She wishes the last view of her home was it's beauty. It is, instead, burned in her memory as a hellscape of flame. The gamma ray was silent, wiping the face of the planet clean. Buildings fell, infrastructure collapsed, and what remained was not near enough. In a blinding white flash, the surface was wiped cleaned, a celestial rapture. Zver'via is thrown to the cold arms of space, throat hoarse, tears floating all around her. She cannot hear the sirens and beeps of the shuttle over her own begging.

It's so bright outside.

To say Zver'via's very stance is threatening would be a fair assessment. She stands tall and proud, posture almost too steady, too exact. Her eyes remain in a fierce glare, jowls downturned. Every part of her is worn with age, a testament to the extremes of space. A strong Roman nose and upright ears complete her frightful look. Her fur is tawny, spotted much like Earth's cheetahs - with dark tear-lines and eyespots to match. Slick and smooth tendrils lay smooth across her head and wrap tightly in twos for her tail. The sensitivty of these tendrils is likely connected to her minor psychic ability.

Her outfit is on the outer edge of Federation standard, but her rank has more than earned such freedoms. Still sporting the Atta stripe, overtop is a cropped jacket that proudly shows her rank. Cuffed pants are adorned with matching red pouches on both hips, one holding an old-style phaser. To support and protect her feline-raptorian feet, she wears firm braces. Embedded deep into her back and carefully threaded through slits in her uniform, are a pair of small mechanical wings. Outdated by today's standards, but very much active and useful. To top it all off, a simple black eyepatch to hide the marring of her top right eye.

Stoic and colder than space itself. Cares little for festivities and jest, and is a clean-cut woman of facts and hard truths. Zver'via is very well learned and skilled beyond her years - and will be sure to let you know it, should you step out of line. Expects things to be run by the book, to the letter, and truly is not afraid to reprimand knowing mistakes.

As frightening as her icy stare and tone make her out to be, truly Zver'via simply wants what is best for her crew - and what is best, is what is safe. Her tight rein of the Atta is not based in cruelty, but an intense desire to assure no undue harm comes to her, her ship or her beloved crew. Note that she punishes only mistakes made mindfully - she is stern, but tragedy has made her a good teacher. Cracks a smile when she is truly proud, which is more than one may think at first. Is not prone to outbursts much anymore.

Once a very high-ranking officer on her home planet, having gone through many trials and trainings to be considered for such a role. A tactical expert, always alert and always prepared - even she could not expect the silent killer that was the gamma ray. It rang out millions of years before she was born, before any Vela ever walked the surface of that beautiful planet. A stray light, a burst of energy unfathomably powerful, ripped through the universe for eons before it met her. Zver'via was doomed from the start.

She had married young, to another Vela that was more beautiful than any planet she'd had the pleasure to explore. Together, they raised a baby boy, in a home of their own making. Explorers through and through, though it would be her downfall. When the radars finally picked up the rogue burst, it was already far too late. There was no stopping it. Zver'via was one of few fighting to tell the others, prying open the doors of the military facility so that more of the public could be saved. Those above her screamed and shouted that the best of them would be saved first, the ones that could rebuild, recover what they would lose.

The best of them, the engineers, the tactitians and the architects, great minds of math and science were loaded into escape pods. Most willingly, almost too peaceful - but not Zver'via. She clawed, and bit, thrashed in the arms of the officers that overpowered her. The brightest star of a generation, reduced to wailing as deep scaed swallowed her up. Shells of escape pods littered the horizon, everywhere she looked. She does not remember how long she drifted there, and prays that she never will.

After she was rescued by the Federation, Zver'via would do her best to regain some semblance of herself. The work was a distraction, even she will admit, but it gave her a kind of peace. The idea that her sacrifice and loss was not for nothing, but that perhaps, she could prevent it from ever happening again. Considering her experience, Zver'via clawed and climbed quickly through the ranks and was granted the honor of being captain of the Federation's most prized project - the U.S.S. Atta.

• Left hand is extremely scarred and missing three fingers - caused by her attempting to block a phaser shot with her hand in her youth.
• Wings are not a typical feature of her species, and hers are completely mechanical and implanted into scar tissue on her back. Their feathers are extremely sharp and razor-like.
• Her tendrils are highly sensitive to temperature and touch, especially her 'hair'. They may shift in tone slightly as blood circulates through them. Her tail tendrils are full mobile, her hair only slightly so.
• Carries a photo of her late wife and child in her side holster.
• Enjoys small delicacies such as wine, star-gazing or treats far more than she may let on.

Oxalaia - One of very few that understands the profound loss she has suffered. A kind and intense soul, full of life and wisdom. Respects her wit and her mind, and is most fond of her. As beautiful as any star she's ever had the pleasure of watching...

Limai - The daughter of Oxalaia, equally as intelligent and kind. Finds her confidence charming and admirable, and knows the likeness of a captain when she sees it. Knows that her encouragement of others will get her far, and couldn't be more proud.

Ant - Her second-in-command, who she trusts without a doubt - but often finds rather over-bearing. Perhaps a bit too talkative and rambling for her taste, but she knows his skillset well and would never suggest that he would fail her. Well aware of how strict he is about rules, and appreciates his exact knowledge of statute.

Sublime - A bit of a troublemaker once, one she didn't get along with considering he was a stowaway. Though, they have since settled their differences and she can recognize her youth in him - once so reckless and desperate to prove herself. She understands him now, even if she doesn't always agree with him. Say what she will, he has been graced with her smile before - and she is rather proud of him, too.

Memento - A trusted companion, a fellow psychic that offers her much peace both in body and mind. Knows no one else as dedicated to his role as him and is deeply thankful for all he does, as well as all he says - which, while it may not seem like much, is more than enough. They seem to both appreciate how succinct the other is.