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Doctor Jordan Greyson
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  • littleknives@livejournal.com
Character name: Jordan Greyson; Doctor Greyson.
Age: 64
Sex: Female.
Position: Medic. Medics know where to stabby! :D
Height/Weight (or build): Very tall and wirey; she's skinny and looks essentially like a beanpole.
Appearance: As stated above, she looks rather unhealthy; too tall, too skinny, too tired. Her once wheat-colored red hair is starting to gray prematurely at her temples, and she seems worn a little too thin. Her eyes are roughly the same color as storm clouds, but just as sharp as they were in med school. But Jordan is a woman of comfort. She enjoys sweatpants and sweaters, and has a rather eclectic collection of scarves (stripped, hot pink, yellow and orange polkadots, et cetera). She does have her respectable moments, however. She owns a few crisp and neat work suits, which come in handy when she's trying to masquerade as an upstanding doctor (and it happens more often than not, actually).
Personality: Rather weak and unhealthy, but still quite unshakeable. She's got a frightening level of intelligence and is quite skilled at lingustics. Her general outlook on life is rather upbeat, but every know and then she's known to sink into unparralelled depression. See traits.
Skills and Work Experience: Jordan used to be a surgeon, and is a licensed doctor by the Allience. She's worked in a multitude of places, ranging from the hospitals in Ariel, a free clinic on Hera during the war, and for Companions in case of... work-related injuries.
Home Planet: Ariel
Background: Jordan was mentored at an early age by a gentleman named Foster Walker. Not to get too deep into things, he had started speculating on the Pax. He kept this hidden from his protege, and when he turned up dead one day, poisoned, Jordan was infuriated. She knew he had been working on something devious involving the Alliance, and just couldn't wrap her brain around it. She immediately withdrew from Ariel and moved out into the Rim, where she started to mindlessly pour through his notebooks and work. A good fifteen years later, she's finally put them aside and decided to continue on with her life, even though she tosses and turns about it still at night. Recently, she joined up with Gin's crew. Jordan was having a quiet drink when Gin and her first mate ended up in a rather loud bar fight on Triumph. It annoyed Jordan. After the fight, she and Virginia exchanged some choice (read: crude) words with each other, and clicked almost immediately, do to similarities in character and immense dislike for the Alliance. Gin, seeing the need for someone who would be regularly available for patchings (and do it for little to no pay), invited Jordan onboard, and having nothing particularly more exciting to do, she accepted. And that's where we start our RP. 8D

Additional Notes: HOW 'BOUT TRAITS? 8D
Minor Hero Worship; Foster was just about the coolest person evar. EVAR.
Minor Friends in High Places; Jordan's from Ariel. She's a celibrated surgeon and has quite a few rich and important friends, who have stood by her with her disappearance from the Alliance's radar.
Minor Moneyed Individual: can we say surgeon? Really.
Minor Natural Lingustics: Jordan's got a knack for languages, that's just how it is.
Minor Intimidatin' Manor: You do not want to cross a middle-aged surgeon; she knows where to shove a scalpel.
Minor Highly Educated: again... surgeon?
Minor Crude because she will tell you what she thinks, probably with a few colorful words. Despite this, she's somewhat shy in social situations, it comes from being a resident.
Minor Scrawny and unhealthy. :c
Major Allergy; don't give her shellfish. D: DEATHLY POISONOUS.
Minor Credo: Jordan is rather stubborn. She won't lay a paw on a murderer if he's been shot up in a gun fight. A rapist? Never.
Minor Prejudice against Alliance doctors and their retarded Hipocratic Oath. D8
3rd Person RP Sample: Jordan Greyson was a woman of many faces. She was shy, she was bold, she was crass, and she was funny. But for a moment, a very brief moment, Jordan was terrified. If had been three days after Foster had disappeared, and she was starting to believe that she would never lay eyes on him again. For the past forty-eight hours, she had been pouring over his notebooks. Medical journals, published works, letters that he had sent her. And she couldn't find a gorram thing.

But suddenly there was something. A quick notation scrawled in a notebook, ink not yet faded. She pushed her glasses up her nose and peered at it intentily. "G-23 Paxilon Hydrochlorate = Pax" it read. What the hell is Pax? Jordan thought, slightly irritated. She removed her glasses and rubbed at the bridge of her nose. This is crazy. Get ahold of yourself, Jordan. It has nothing to do with you.