Date: 2008-12-30 12:16 Subject: App for britannia_ny: Security: Public Mood: sore Tags: .ooc, app

Player Name: Nanni
Player Age: 23
Contact Info: autumnoxchild @ gmail.com – Available for gtalk if you need me.
Time Zone: Central US

Character: Jean Tiernay
Based on: Gawain of Orkney
Age: 48
Occupation: Structural/Topographical Engineer – Major in the Army Corps of Engineers.

Bio: > Gawain was the eldest son of King Lot of Orkney and Lothian and Morgause. He grew up on the Orkney islands with his brothers and half brother, Mordred, and was sent to his uncle King Arthur’s court in his early teens. He took to Arthur’s ideals of chivalry and justice easily and fiercely, and adored his uncle, who was the first family member he’d ever met who he instinctively understood.

Gawain was one of the major knights of his uncle’s court, fairly close to unbeatable in a protracted fight, due to supernatural strength that rose and fell with the sun. He routinely got himself into scrapes that should have been impossible to get out of (like a beheading game with a woodland spirit) but somehow tumbled back out again, humble and good humored and courteous as ever. He married a fey lady named Ragnell to pay a debt of Arthur’s, and luckily he and she were an excellent match; he broke the enchantment she suffered under, and they had a somewhat indecorously passionate romance. It was a good and productive life – until everything fell apart, and Lancelot killed all his brothers save Mordred, who, when Gawain came home with Arthur to find Mordred in revolt, killed him.

Jean Tiernay entered Westpoint in 1978, intent upon, as she very earnestly put it: defending and serving her country. She displayed an aptitude for engineering and topography, and was steered towards the Corps of Engineers. To do that, of course, she had to be smarter and stronger and more disciplined and braver and firmer in command than any of the men in her class – and take their jibes while she was at it, too. Some of the jokes came nearer to assault, but nothing deterred Tiernay, who wanted to be of use.

Engineering school was similar, except that there was no one to hold her discipline, and she could have beaten all the boys into the dust. She had to hold herself to discipline for herself. Luckily, discipline is not something any Tiernay has ever lacked.

At forty-eight she’s a well respected officer and has a reputation as a fine engineer, known both for the meticulous excellence of her work and her knack for managing mixed commands of civilians and soldiers. She’s an excellent boxer, despite being tiny (at four feet ten inches she barely squeaked past the army’s height requirement), a reliable shot, a strong swimmer, an avid jogger and runner, and a very good practical mechanic.

Currently, she’s on medical leave while she does the PT that will hopefully get her left arm and shoulder back in order, post an unfortunate run in with the general lack of actual front lines in Afghanistan. Tiernay’s old enough now that healing up isn’t as easy as it used to be, and she considers doing everything she can to facilitate the process to be her current duty. So she visits the psych, and she does the assigned physical therapy, and she jogs around Britannia in the early mornings, every day, and to keep her hand in and stop herself going crazy with boredom, she keeps up long distance consults and works on her pet side project: a battle ready topographical analysis of Britannia and environs. For the novelty, she’s doing it by foot, and she’s got a list of scenarios with her recommendations and analysis for each. If the Saxons ever invade, she’ll be ready.

Personality: Tiernay is patient and cheery and nearly all her jokes are directed primarily at herself (though some of them are also veiled jabs at the prejudices of other people). No amount of stupidity exhausts her, no rudeness faces her, no exhaustion or frustration is ever allowed to ruffle her authoritative courtesy. She will not accept challenges to her place in command, and responds to any insubordination promptly and firmly and with utter politeness.

She is reasonable and fair, always –

Until her temper cracks, and then she is very like another person completely. She will hear no arguments to sway her from whatever course she has decided on: not that she yells or argues or in any way attempts to prevent people from presenting alternate, often more rational, responses, it is more as if she does not even hear the dissension. It does not exist. There is only the choice she has made, and no other.

The way she handles her boundaries is much the same. A person may ask anything of her, push and push and push, encountering no resistance at all, or any hint that they many not have more, until, with no real warning, they come to the limits for Tiernay’s tolerance, and find themselves shut out, explanations not forthcoming.

Sample Post: Left foot, right foot, left foot, right foot, keep the stride steady, keep the pace even, left foot, right foot. Tiernay finally concedes that she’s still not up to her usual level of endurance in front of the courthouse, and hops over the decorative picket fence and narrow tulip bed onto the lawn.

Mistake. She winces at the pain the jostling of the impact wakes in her shoulder, grits her teeth against it, and drops to the grass, into a stretch. She’s not recovered yet, and she knows it, but it’s hard sometimes to keep it in mind.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five… Tiernay holds the stretch, feeling herself loosen back up again, open up. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten. Eleven. Twelve. Thirteen. Fourteen. Fifteen.

And another stretch. She has a phantom weight on her mind, body memory she can’t possibly have. Fencing was one sport she never picked up, and the drill she finds herself wanting to run through isn’t even a fencing drill, she knows that. It’s something for a real weapon, a heavy weapon, a real fight, and with the early sun beginning to settle on her back, she’s having trouble remembering that she’s injured, the physiotherapist would kill her if she pulled an exercise like that with this shoulder now, she doesn’t own a sword, she’s never owned a sword in her life, she doesn’t know the proper balance, the proper weight, all the little cues that tell you – yes, yes, yes, that stroke would have punctured a lung. Yes, yes, yes, that stroke would have broken a limb.

Journal: hawkofmay
Played By: Charlotte Rampling

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