Maryl Marly is a curious woman. While very few records paint a picture of her life, the way she talks-- and the things she talks of! --imply a certain level of experience with the 'verse, and how it works.
The woman seems friendly enough that, in most ordinary situations, a complete stranger could strike up a conversation with her, and she'd respond as though talking to a long-time friend. Even further, it's a rare sight for her temper to be lost; a quick smile and an apology will usually be promptly delivered to anyone she's slighted, or who have attacked her, provided her antagonist does likewise.
At five feet and nine inches, Maryl might not be a giantess amongst women, but she's not quite the ittiest bittiest little critter, either. In fact, save for a few small details, she doesn't quite stray too far from the median in just about any regards: she's fairly fit, but certainly no young adonis; she's got a certain beauty about her, but would never compete with Venus. What few traits might set her apart from any of her peers seem fluid and unpredictable, as though they could easily be changed from one day to the next like some strange style of fashion.
First and foremost might be the bob of snow white hair that hides her ears, the blightish shock that barely manages to touch her shoulders; far from translucence or even excess of blonde, the locks and strands that crown the woman's head look almost to be that strange bleached color that's most often associated with the elderly. Furthermore, a small, glittering purple earring pierces her right earlobe; its multi-pronged design looking almost deadly, poisonous in a strange sort of way. Which is appropriate, for sure, being that the six curving points superimposed over a circle form one of those universally avoided symbols-- that of the biohazard.
Who is Maryl? A farmer, a pilot, an escort, a gunhand-- and too many other things to count. One might find a shorter list in their hands by asking who she isn't. Suffice to say, an appropriately enigmatic term one might use to describe the woman would be "social chameleon;" it certainly seems to fit the way Maryl tends to flit from persona and identity to the next, depending on what the situation demands. That beautiful woman with a heady French accent, in that oh-so-short dress? That's Maryl. The young artist with messy hair and a tendancy to flake out on big projects? Maryl. The Valkryie leaping through a window, a gun in each hand and a snarl on her lips?
Whether these different attitudes are simply acts demanded by the situation, or simply an innate flexibility that belies a strangely fluid character is up to interpretation. That being said, there are some quirks that tend to follow the woman no matter what "alias" she takes on. They're subtle-- and not even necessarily worth listing --but the perceptive people might take note of such things.
What is most certainly worth pointing out is the woman's sharp brasp of linguistics and syntax; while she might hide it most of the time under the guise of a stereotypically "stupid" or "redneck" slur, she's proven adept at picking up languages in a remarkably short time-- as well as noticing subtle vocal cues and accents that might otherwise be lost on a less observant listener. This most certainly adds to her tendancy to create aliases-- when the shop worker with has a heavy accent that's wildly different from the security personal's light lilt, rarely will people connect the two.
But a few weeks after the woman's eighteenth birthday, she quite simply...disappeared, never having given the place a chance to put her up for a charity job.
Eleven years later, a young woman matching Maryl's description put out an advertisement on the Cortex-- mentioning a recently burned down farm, and a desire to escape the dangerous world of Three Hills.
While solid proof regarding the woman's ventures is difficult (at best) to obtain, she's been suspected to have a part in a variety of less-than-ethical activities:
- The assassination of a minor member of the House of Nobles (Pre-Grid history)
- The hacking of an Alliance Database
- The joining and subsequent defection from the Pirate Commonwealth.
- Maryl is always on the lookout for a new "proxy" for the cortex-- a person who knows how to keep their mouth shut, knows their way around a computer, and knows they wouldn't last more than a few hours if they had any "personal conversations" with the Alliance. A good way to prove you're an expert at computers? Find out about Maryl's life and her last "proxy."
- Have a "job"? Maryl can't do it, no matter how much you ask her. That being said, a number of aliases would be more than happy to take care of your little problem-- for a price.
- Has a mysterious figure done a terrible terrible thing to you or your family? Does Maryl seem strangely familiar to you for some odd reason? Might not hurt to find out a little more about her...
An End To The Madness
As the lights come on, Nike is revealed in full 'glory.' A black mechanical mask covers her eyes (likely night vision goggles), and blood taints her grinning lips-- making her look somewhat like 'Lady Justice' (provided the noble statue were 'reimagined' by Marvel). One shaking hand lifts and levels a gun at Caitlyn, very carefully positioning it to send hot lead through Caitlyn; it would, after all, make for a most satisfying splatter. "I am Azrael; I am your death. Come to my domain, you stupid little cu--"
Now if /that's/ not a naughty word, I'm not sure what is. Whatever her final curse was (be it Cuttlefish or Cripple), it dies on her lips, as one of Elric's shots digs into the joint between her shoulders, sunders her spine with a sickening crack that rivals most gun shots. The woman's smile doesn't go away, nor does her hand drop-- but still she lays. <English>