(no subject)

[sniperbitch]

Player Information ;
Your Nickname: Brig
OOC Journal: twopoinsettias@lj
Under 18? n
Email/IM: twopoinsettias@gmail.com / brigantinefranke
Characters Played at Singularity: Tex, Omega, Arbiter

Character Information ;
Name: Private O'Brien
Name of Canon: Halo Legends: The Babysitter
Canon/AU/Other Game CR: Canon
Reference: http://halo.wikia.com/wiki/O%27Brien_%28The_Babysitter%29
Canon Point: post episode
Setting: Do I really need to go into more Halo background. Specifically, ODSTs (Orbital Drop Shock Troopers) are the closest thing in the UNSCDF to SPARTAN supersoldiers without the surgical augmentations. They are the Badass Normal marines of the Halo universe, and this is their business.
Personality:

One word: the Jerk Ass. O'Brien is a young, cocky, loudmouth brat of a soldier who must be the best damn sniper in UNSC space to not have been already drummed out of his unit for his backtalk. He's part of the 105th Marine Expeditionary Unit, aka the Helljumpers, which is considered the best and most brutal Marine unit, and whose members have an intense rivalry with the SPARTANs. When Master Chief was still a young rookie he was cornered and set upon by Marines of the 105th, and though Chief was never told that some of them died from their injuries in that fight, the rest of the Marines undoubtedly knew. While the rest of O'Brien's squad seems perfectly capable of stowing their distrust of the SPARTAN assigned to their mission, O'Brien is still the one bitching and moaning about how he was passed over and that he can snipe just as well or better than a goddamn freak of nature. O'Brien's episode, The Babysitter, is of course the story of him being forced to finally see past his blind antagonism and rivalry, but it's likely that his attitude towards SPARTANs was either never checked or perhaps even encouraged by his peers and superiors. O'Brien proves himself to be a mouthy, ungrateful little shit, even after his life is saved several times by SPARTAN-141, and endangers the mission through his own un-professionalism before finally manning up in the last five minutes to complete the mission objective. That said, he's undoubtedly a skilled and competent soldier to have even become a Helljumper, but he lets his emotions get the better of him and seems to have a serious problem keeping his mouth shut and his temper leashed. He also seems to be the youngest of his squad and that might be part of his bitchiness, being the baby of the team and desperately craving respect from his older comrades.

At the end of the episode, however, O'Brien and the rest of his squad experience a change of heart about SPARTANs in general and Cal-141 in specific, as she sacrifices her life to save O'Brien's and unhesitatingly entrusts the mission, assassinating a Covenant Prophet, to O'Brien when her injuries prevent her from the taking the all important shot. O'Brien may have never before seen a SPARTAN without a helmet, or might never have seen a female SPARTAN, as he stands dumbstruck when Cal's face is revealed.

Change of heart or not, however, O'Brien is still a goddamn brat, as his prejudices probably run too deep to be completely shed after one incident. He's still wrestling with his feelings about Cal, so he'll tag after any SPARTANs in Sing like a puppy and alternately bitch constantly or be over-protective and generally make a nuisance of himself.

Abilities and Weaknesses:
Boy is a sniper and apparently awesome at it, not so awesome at sneaking up on enemy bases undetected. He's courageous/reckless, can handle himself around various types of weapons, but is otherwise a non-augmented ordinary human soldier. His weaknesses are his temper and his own immaturity, and he's kind of a skinny little brat, too.

Inventory:
- Sniper rifle
- Submachine gun
- ODST armor
- ammo, some other battlefield supplies

Appearance:
http://images4.wikia.nocookie.net/__cb20090921124123/halo/images/thumb/1/12/Legends_marine.png/300px-Legends_marine.png

And in armor: http://images2.wikia.nocookie.net/__cb20080930212124/halo/images/thumb/e/ee/1_318340723l.jpg/130px-1_318340723l.jpg

Age: unknown, probably in his early twenties.

OC/AU Justification ;
If AU, How is Your Version Different From Canon, and How Will That Come Across?

The only AU/headcanon I'm utilizing is O'Brien's first name, since he isn't given one in canon. His English voice actor is Blake Shepard, so O'Brien's first name will be Blake. He'll probably insist on being called Spike as a cool nickname, however, as a nod towards his striking resemblance to the protagonist of Cowboy Bebop.

For the sake of lulz, no one ever uses this nickname no matter how much he whines.

If OC, Did You Run Your Character Through a Mary-Sue Litmus Test?
And What Did You Score?

Samples ;
Log Sample:

The aftermath of the assassination was audible even from their location. Elites and Grunts and Brutes screaming their rage and confusion in unison, the noise echoing over Heian's valleys.

It seemed very far away and too close at the same time. O'Brien tried not to flinch, tried not to clench his hands on the gun, tried not to be the one to break the stillness that had fallen over his unit.

The SPARTAN (the girl, the woman, how could she be a girl, how could she tower so far over him, how could she have carried him as easily as a child) soldier's unsettling golden eyes had closed, the blood slowly soaking the ground underneath her, and still Cortez hadn't moved from her side. Her pale hair was turning red. Drops fell, one by one, from the corner of her parted lips.

O'Brien stood there and tried not to scream behind his helmet. What the fuck had she been thinking, shoving him out of the way like that and catching a Gravity Hammer with her face. Weren't SPARTANs supposed to be better than that. How the hell had the Brute found them. Why hadn't they noticed a huge fucking sasquatch monster sneaking up on them. Why had it gone after him.

Why had he frozen, while Dutch and Cortez tackled the behemoth and blew its brains out all over the rocks.

"We have to take her with us," Cortez said finally, tucking the chip that she'd given to him away on his armor. He didn't look at O'Brien.

Dutch did, and crossed his arms. "Gonna be a bitch to carry to the evac site."

"Carry the body?" O'Brien recognized that disbelieving tone as his own. "How the fuck are we supposed to do that? That armor alone probably weighs a ton."

"We don't leave men behind," Cortez said quietly, and his brown eyes were as forgiving as granite. "Besides--"

O'Brien didn't want to hear it.

"--she was the one that carried you."

Fuck Cortez. Fuck all of them. O'Brien bit his lip so hard it drew blood and said nothing, looking away. There wasn't anything of Checkman's corpse to even bring back. The white coats were the ones who wanted the body and armor of any SPARTAN recovered, not because they had family somewhere that would want to bury what was left of their son or daughter or sibling. Things grown in labs didn't have family.

They made him carry the sniper rifle and her helmet, still slick with red and sparking, and all the extra supplies that his strength could hold. Dutch and Cortez were both bigger than him. But even between the two of them they could hardly manage the SPARTAN's body, and finally resorted to a crude travois to drag her over the uneven ground. It was slow going. What had taken them a day's march to reach from the original drop site took them three to get to the evac area, an almost equal distance but in the opposite direction.

They were lucky. The Covenant patrols were scattered and disorganized, so zealously combing terrain near to their base that they didn't cover much ground. It was a testament to the SPARTAN's skill and also O'Brien's that they'd been able to take the shot from such a distance.

The armor was supposed to seal itself, keep the corpse from rotting naturally. O'Brien stood the watches at night without being asked, sitting next to her, the only indication that she'd died being the wreck of her helmet and the blood on her armor. He'd had to braid her hair to fit it back inside the helmet, the white strands silky and uncooperative under his fumbling fingers.

Dutch talked. Cortez didn't, except to the radio. O'Brien sat with the sniper rifle across his knees, hugging it like a security blanket, and Cal-141's dead body sat propped next to him, helmeted head inclined towards him as if to speak. When a Covenant patrol passed over them in the black of the night he had to lay next to her under the camouflage netting, pressed close to the cold shell of her armor.

It was a long fucking three days.





Network Sample:

[ derp derp punching buttons and swearing ]

--the fucking fuck, I don't need thi-- oh.

[ angrily, ]

This is Private O'Brien of the 105th. Whatever cocksucker is responsible for this, I've got a bullet with your name on it. I want to hear some fucking answers, so fess up and don't make me come find you.