Post by xDameon Ropalski on Jan 4, 2010 13:16:22 GMT -8
Character's Name: Dameon Rapolski
Age: 36
Gender: Male
Race: Human
Physical Profile: Standing at six feet, four inches, gaunt, lean, with a pallid complexion, offset by oddly vibrant, almost manic eyes, Dameon cuts an unimposing figure, almost minor in comparison to many others. This, however, is offset by his very large personality, and tendency to gesture broadly with his long, slender hands, dexterous fingers speaking almost as quickly as his mouth. Bright white teeth blaze out from between thin, pale lips, a broad grin splitting his face at the slightest inclination.
Birthplace: Earth
Preferred rank: Civilian
Department: Contracted to Research and Development
Personality: A genial genius, with a secretive streak, Dameon Rapolski carries himself with exuberance and ebullience, his mostly out-going manner engaging, even if one usually can't understand anything he says; He speaks primarily in Engineering and Scientific terms, theoretical and well-proven technologies spilling from his thin lips side by side. He does not appear to be fluent in Layman's terms outside of Officer's quarters.
Background and History: A son of a family prominent in the Infantry Equipment field, Dameon has learned a great deal with regards to arming and armoring Starfleet's infantry. Thanks to his family's connections, a place within the fleet was essentially guaranteed - Thanks to his particular aptitude, R&D was a natural choice. Charged with a secret mission by Starfleet, he set out from DS9, where he had been working, and arrived at Utopia Planitia in 2402 to prepare for an upcoming mission. The details of this mission are, as much in his background, highly classified. Large gaps in his personal history between his entry into Starfleet Command R&D and his current assignment point to an active interest in the practical end of his theoretical work.
Name of Celebrity: Cody Rowl (Not a Celeb)
Link to Avatar:
Sample Roleplay:
Dameon reviewed 'his' troops with a practiced eye, taking in what experimental equipment each bore. Despite the danger of the mission, he knew something they did not - Any action they saw, no matter how heroic, was leaving the space between their ears. The mission was Top Secret - Then again, most everything he did was. It simply didn't do to declassify Starfleet tech, not anymore. Some things it's just not safe to share.
The actual Squad leader was Garron Welles, a brutish, squat man, armed with an aged, but well-maintained Phaser rifle. Two of his nine men, however, carried what were most definitely not old weapons. In fact, this would mark the first occasion these weapons were ever used outside of a laboratory.
Dameon privately hoped that their simulations had been accurate enough.
During the past six months of training and preparation, he had grown attached to each of these men. The two carrying his experimental weapons were especially well-known. Lieutenant Varden bore a long, slender rifle, with a bulky projectile magazine connected just behind the handgrip and trigger. The weapon's sleek form, and matte-black finish glowed dully in the reflected artificial light, seeming strangely alien against his functional, but un-aesthetic BDUs. Lieutenant JG Kavin held a squat, short weapon, with two side-by-side barrels, and a drum magazine slung underneath.
The two seemed a strange pair. Varden, a tall, narrow man, matched his weapon in characteristics; Lean, like a knife's edge, tall, and slender. Kavin, too reflected his weapon well. Short, stocky, with a slight gut that was more due to his posture than any excess weight, his arms, covered in slabs of muscle, easily hefting the heavy weapon.
Finally, the shuttle's InterComm chimed, "Landing in thirty seconds. Repeat, landing in thirty seconds."
No one glanced up. No one spoke. This was far from their first infiltration, but for some, their last.
Dameon locked eyes with the Squad leader, and simply inclined his head slightly. "Ready?"
Garron returned his gaze, cold and steely, and nodded marginally, and murmured quietly, his voice a growl, "I just hope your tech works."
"Trust me," he laughed in return. "Me, too." He hefted his own weapon, a long, cylindrical weapon, with an odd firing chamber assembly, strobing runes flickering down its' length, pulsing lights shifting together throughout the visible light spectrum, as the weapon adjusted its' frequency. He nudged the safety into place, and closed his eyes, mouthing something between a prayer for safety, and a plea for forgiveness.
With the odds they were going up against, he knew there would be more than one letter going home.
But these were Marines. Starfleet Marines.
They live for this crap, he smiled to himself grimly, locking the firing chamber and power pack assembly tightly into place, and bracing himself into his seat.
Age: 36
Gender: Male
Race: Human
Physical Profile: Standing at six feet, four inches, gaunt, lean, with a pallid complexion, offset by oddly vibrant, almost manic eyes, Dameon cuts an unimposing figure, almost minor in comparison to many others. This, however, is offset by his very large personality, and tendency to gesture broadly with his long, slender hands, dexterous fingers speaking almost as quickly as his mouth. Bright white teeth blaze out from between thin, pale lips, a broad grin splitting his face at the slightest inclination.
Birthplace: Earth
Preferred rank: Civilian
Department: Contracted to Research and Development
Personality: A genial genius, with a secretive streak, Dameon Rapolski carries himself with exuberance and ebullience, his mostly out-going manner engaging, even if one usually can't understand anything he says; He speaks primarily in Engineering and Scientific terms, theoretical and well-proven technologies spilling from his thin lips side by side. He does not appear to be fluent in Layman's terms outside of Officer's quarters.
Background and History: A son of a family prominent in the Infantry Equipment field, Dameon has learned a great deal with regards to arming and armoring Starfleet's infantry. Thanks to his family's connections, a place within the fleet was essentially guaranteed - Thanks to his particular aptitude, R&D was a natural choice. Charged with a secret mission by Starfleet, he set out from DS9, where he had been working, and arrived at Utopia Planitia in 2402 to prepare for an upcoming mission. The details of this mission are, as much in his background, highly classified. Large gaps in his personal history between his entry into Starfleet Command R&D and his current assignment point to an active interest in the practical end of his theoretical work.
Name of Celebrity: Cody Rowl (Not a Celeb)
Link to Avatar:
Sample Roleplay:
Dameon reviewed 'his' troops with a practiced eye, taking in what experimental equipment each bore. Despite the danger of the mission, he knew something they did not - Any action they saw, no matter how heroic, was leaving the space between their ears. The mission was Top Secret - Then again, most everything he did was. It simply didn't do to declassify Starfleet tech, not anymore. Some things it's just not safe to share.
The actual Squad leader was Garron Welles, a brutish, squat man, armed with an aged, but well-maintained Phaser rifle. Two of his nine men, however, carried what were most definitely not old weapons. In fact, this would mark the first occasion these weapons were ever used outside of a laboratory.
Dameon privately hoped that their simulations had been accurate enough.
During the past six months of training and preparation, he had grown attached to each of these men. The two carrying his experimental weapons were especially well-known. Lieutenant Varden bore a long, slender rifle, with a bulky projectile magazine connected just behind the handgrip and trigger. The weapon's sleek form, and matte-black finish glowed dully in the reflected artificial light, seeming strangely alien against his functional, but un-aesthetic BDUs. Lieutenant JG Kavin held a squat, short weapon, with two side-by-side barrels, and a drum magazine slung underneath.
The two seemed a strange pair. Varden, a tall, narrow man, matched his weapon in characteristics; Lean, like a knife's edge, tall, and slender. Kavin, too reflected his weapon well. Short, stocky, with a slight gut that was more due to his posture than any excess weight, his arms, covered in slabs of muscle, easily hefting the heavy weapon.
Finally, the shuttle's InterComm chimed, "Landing in thirty seconds. Repeat, landing in thirty seconds."
No one glanced up. No one spoke. This was far from their first infiltration, but for some, their last.
Dameon locked eyes with the Squad leader, and simply inclined his head slightly. "Ready?"
Garron returned his gaze, cold and steely, and nodded marginally, and murmured quietly, his voice a growl, "I just hope your tech works."
"Trust me," he laughed in return. "Me, too." He hefted his own weapon, a long, cylindrical weapon, with an odd firing chamber assembly, strobing runes flickering down its' length, pulsing lights shifting together throughout the visible light spectrum, as the weapon adjusted its' frequency. He nudged the safety into place, and closed his eyes, mouthing something between a prayer for safety, and a plea for forgiveness.
With the odds they were going up against, he knew there would be more than one letter going home.
But these were Marines. Starfleet Marines.
They live for this crap, he smiled to himself grimly, locking the firing chamber and power pack assembly tightly into place, and bracing himself into his seat.