Belssa Tarrn, Maverick-Three.

Name: Belssa Tarrn.

Nicknames/Aliases: Bel, Bella, Maverick-Three.

Species: Human - Talusian (Correlian).

Gender: Female.

Age: 22,

Homeworld: Talus, Corellia System.





Height: 5'8".

Weight: 138lbs.

Eye Color: Deep Blue.

Hair Style: Smooth, silky and just-passed-shoulder-length. The hair naturally falls quite well as bangs, although she'll clip her fringe back over her head and tie the rest up in a bun to shove it all unceremoniously into her helmet.

Hair Color: Strawberry Blonde.

Facial Hair: N/A.

Skin Color: Fair skinned, tanned recently from exposure to Daca's wonderful light.

Build: Doesn't have much body fat to her, tends to keep herself 'lean and mean'. Wouldn't make a good meal for a Rancor, but fits snuggly into her Flight Suit.

Distinguishing Features: Fits snuggly into her flight suit not good enough? Has a few blade scars on her upper arms, a blaster scar on the right side of her upper back.

Apparel: S'got a lovely set of New Republic Flight Gear, including helmet. When off-duty, likes to wear a cropped light grey 'leather' jacket over typical spacer clothing - light coloured button-less v-necked shirt, short sleaves and pants that either match the shirt or really, really don't. Depends which shirt and how she feels.

Weaponry: 1 T-6 "Thunderer" Heavy Blaster Pistol, 1 DH-17 Blaster Pistol, 1 Vibroknife.

Equipment: Whatever's in her Fighter at the time, usually some standard survival kits and such.





Profession: Republic Starfighter Pilot.

Skills: Knows a fair bit about piloting and navigating, also a mean shot with a blaster or a mounted turret. Knows some droid repair and starfighter upkeep too, although tends to leave the more technical stuff to her R3 unit. Has minor experience with explosives.

Force-Sensitive: About as Sensitive as a Rancor at a Funeral.

Training: Trained by the New Republic Star Fighter School, passed with flying ships colours. Was being trained how to Agro (farming and such), which is a good retirement option.

Vehicle: N/A.

Starship: Reluctantly flies an X-Wing. Really wants an E-Wing for Life Day.

Other Possessions: Does keep, and sometimes wear, a medallion that is her family's heirloom. Calls it her 'charm'. Has a datapad, likes to take pictures of sunrises and beaches with it. Has a wrist-mounted Holo Communicator.

Companions: An aging R3 droid, affectionately named "Rusty", that barely passed it's last check up. Bel expects it to be going to a lovely retirement home, soon.





Factional Affiliation: New Republic.

Rank: Flight Officer.

Sexual Preference: Bisexual.

Relationship Status: Single, single, single.

Personality: You know that old saying, "Don't Tell a Corellian the Odds of Success"? it's pretty spot on. Bel will go above and beyond her calling to get a job done, just to say "I told you I could do it!" which might have been her first words. She's typically arrogant and sarcastic, covering herself in a thin sheen of "you can't touch this, I'm awesome", that helps protect her gentler compassionate nature. Passionate about things she believes in and falls for, she'll fight you to the death if you insult the E-wing or one of her friends or squadmates (equally, often not exclusive: will fight her friends). Believes she's the best thing since Ryshcate, likes to tell you.





The Corellian System, not just spacers and pilots y'know. They have to eat, too. Farmers make a healthy living on the backwater sections of the system, Talus has a few of these places. They didn't get out much, these people, and the affairs of their governments often only served to piss them off, not affect them in any manner. It was to two of these lovely, slightly xenophobic, people that Belssa Tarrn was born. The Tarrn family had been big, once, her Father used to tell her. But for some reason, they weren't anymore. They'd come out here and become farmers, all of a sudden. The only thing Bel had from those by-gone days was an heirloom medallion passed down from the family. She'd long assumed it was some trinket from their days at the top of society.

But, that was beyond her then. She was going to be a farmer, the best damn farmer this side of that Drell's Field. If she could keep her eyes on the dirt, and not the ships that would regularly fly over from the nearby space port. Several times a day, Bella would get a thwack over the ear for staring too long at passing fighters, freighters and even a Star Destroyer or two. Her two sisters didn't show much interest in them, which just made her fascination fester. She'd sneak away from the farm, get close to the port to get a better look. White Men would shove her home, forcing her away before she could really see what was inside. She'd go home, tell her parents about what she'd seen and they'd feign interest. Her Father would take her out in one of the Dusters, flying high over the fields with fertilisers. He'd even taught her how to fly one, but they were sluggish and slow - not at all like the ships near the Spaceport.

She'd do this often, visit the Spaceport, throughout her teenage years. She'd stolen a pair of binoculars and would try to identify the ships as they passed. They came in patterns, she eventually noticed, shipping routes that varied very little. She even got to first-name basis with several of the White Men, whom she found were called 'Stormtroopers', that kept forcing her away. That was, of course, until the Revolt swept through the System. She was 18, and a criminal.

Her average afternoon, spent lay in the grass under a shadey tree, watching the TIEs roll in. They came for her, the Stormtroopers, people she'd known and thought of almost as aquentences. They dragged her away, seemed to find something offensive in her medallion. 'Spy' they called her, 'Rebel Scum' - was she a bad thing, now? A rebel, as they'd said? She pleaded with them, screamed that she'd only been watching the ships because she liked them. Then her screams went from fear to pain. They mistreated her, in the Spaceport. Tortured her to reveal things she didn't even know existed, cut her arms with blades and locked her in coldness, darkness.

It wasn't a Spaceport, it was a Military Compound.

She spent a good few months in the darkness, worried for herself... Her family. She'd tried to escape once, in the one moment of compassion her jailors had given her. A walk, they'd said. She ran, so they shot her. That hurt, so she didn't run - they didn't even walk her after that anyway. Her salvation came when the Resistence, CorSec, the Republic, turned their eyes to Talus. They bombed the compound, her darkness became pitch-black emptyness for a long few hours, until people stormed the prisons and rescued her. She fell into their arms, her Father's arms.

"I knew we'd find you, I knew you'd make it."

It took her awhile to recover from her ordeal, but she'd found a new respect for her fellow Corellians, for the Republic - for the new ships that graced her skies every morning. E-Wings, in particular, she had a thing for - but they were rare. This time her father would accompany her to see the ships, in a real Spaceport. Then she asked, "Pop, can I fly them?" No, but she could learn how to. Her Family didn't quite trust CorSec - they'd never had the interest of the Twins in their heart, and the equivelant TralSec was crippled and largely absorbed into their 'liberators'. They seemed quite, angry at how long it had taken the Corellians to act... So they did the next best thing.

A tearful farewell later and Bella was off to the New Republic.

She'd never missed those fields as much as when she found herself on Coruscant. Space was cool, and all - pretty, mind-blowing and amazing to her 19-year-old mind, that didn't have dirt. But Coruscant felt... Sick. There was no Life here, just people. Everything was artificial, even the sunlight, she eventually discovered wasn't entirely natural. But she had to stick through it, she just had to.

Training was brutal, she didn't know starfighters could turn as quickly as they could. And experiencing the pain of death over and over and over again in sims for a good year or so made her really not want to die, ever. So she stopped dieing, started pulling her weight and actually got quite good at what she was doing. Her trainers said she had a 'natural flair', must be 'the Corellian in you'.

That 'natural flair' got her through training, got her some pretty fine scores too. She got put into a Squadron that defended part of Coruscant for a few months, too. That was easy work, flying around in her X-Wing, looking 'tough'. Even got to shoot at a smuggler once - warning shots, of course (they managed to work). Her scores eventually got her an invite to a real Squadron, one she hadn't really heard of - a new one, something about 'fresh blood doing veteren work' was mentioned in passing once. Maverick Squadron. She found out much too late that the trials for application were rigorous, dangerous even - she wasn't even sure these sims had safety features in place. But she pushed herself, not in part because her superior was a legend she'd heard lots about in the Academy. She'd managed to get shortlisted for trials by this absolute badass, but that wasn't enough. She had to show him everything she wanted to be.

Miraculously, she got through. She wasn't even the worst one there, apparantly.

That was nice.