<div class="floatleft">(http://i.imgur.com/eoKhCkc.png)(http://i.imgur.com/eeJFLwk.jpg)</div><strong>Name:</strong>Seriline “Ser” Calisol (true name: Evangeline “Eve” Sauper)<br/><strong>Gender:</strong>Female masquerading as male<br/><strong>Rank:</strong>Private 1st Class (E-2)<br/><strong>Location:</strong>Zeon GAW Carrier Crash Site<br/><strong>Vehicle:</strong>ZMT-15 Tactical Support APC "Galuf"<br/><strong>Tagged:</strong>Jac, Open<br/><hr/><em>Fake it ‘til you make it</em>, the former noble now known as “Seriline” thought to herself. The grease, from the left rear hoverpod of the support truck she was stationed to, refused to fully come off her hands. Those hands had once been delicate, but after only a few months of war, the calluses were making themselves at home. Seriline suspected that was more from scrubbing them after a dirty job than from the jobs themselves. The industrial grease that Zeonic preferred to use was meant to last.<br/><br/>It wasn’t just her hands, either. The sun’s radiation was taking its toll on her once porcelain skin, burning away its carefully tended perfection to reveal the sandy, uneven beige that she had come to realize was normal down here, on Gaia. In the colonies, skin color was just a matter of personal preference, since the artificial suns didn’t provide enough ultraviolet radiation to damage skin, since vitamins and minerals were fully covered by meals. Down here, your skin was whatever color you allowed it to be by going outside.<em>The Earth has a mind of its own. It’s not surprising that those who call this home feel bound to it.</em><br/><br/>The uncrafted nature of Earth gave it a special beauty. In orbit, everything was manmade, so no matter how beautiful it was, it was still impossible to prevent oneself from analyzing it. These mountains and forests and oceans had made themselves, and however influenced by mankind they might be, they had been here before<em>homo sapiens</em>and would be here long after.<em>I should leave this sort of philosophizing to greater minds than mine. I’m the genius who put on a binder and tried to be Garma Zabi, and here I am, scrubbing grease off my hands.</em><br/><br/>Seriline sighed and gave up, turning off the water and drying her hands that were now a solid gray. It was better than jet black, though not by much. At least she had gotten the engine back to full power. She had just started to unzip her overalls when the ship shook, hard. Ser’s legs buckled beneath her to absorb the turbulence and she found herself collapsed in a heap on the corrugated steel floor. Sure that no one was nearby, Ser let out a girly groan. “What now?” The klaxon told her.<em>Oh. Time to abandon ship. Lovely.</em><br/><br/>The washroom was attached to the Gaw’s hangar, so it was no time before Seriline was back at the truck. The ship’s shaking had knocked it slightly out of its moor, but it wasn’t difficult to clamber into it. Sergeant Marx was nowhere to be seen, and the evacuation order had been immediate. “Sorry boss,” she muttered, brushing the dyed-lavender hair out of her face and gunning the truck’s engines. A horrible screech accompanied the truck freeing itself from the docking clamps, replaced by a pleasant basso hum as it found hovering equilibrium.<br/><br/>The truck was sturdy, but it wouldn’t survive a kilometer drop even at full repulsor power. The altimeter said the plane was going down fast, but the repulsors kept it fairly pleasant for Seriline as Zaku after Zaku abandoned ship. When the meter read 200m, Ser slammed the throttle, sending the truck shooting from the hangar bay like a rocket, as far as an outside observer could tell, but the acceleration of the truck accounted for only some of the ship’s velocity, resulting in the truck landing butt first and skidding backwards along the forest floor.<br/><br/>Dazed from the repeated sudden changes of momentum, Seriline pawed at the comm. “Private Calisol here. Did anybody survive the crash? I got the Galuf out in one piece. If anybody needs pickup, let me know.”