FEDOTOVA, LT. DINAH

[LT. DINAH FEDOTOVA]

DINAH FEDOTOVA

BASICS
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FULL NAME: Dinah Fedotova
RACE: Human
AGE: Twenty-five
BIRTHPLACE: Earth, France

EXPERIENCE
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STARFLEET GRADUATE: Yes
STARFLEET RANK: Lieutenant
DIVISION: Operations
JOB TITLE: Engineer
OTHER: Unwilling mole/spy

PERSONAL
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PERSONALITY:

Like any respectable 'human', she is naturally curious; even if it isn't in the route of inquiry, and more of a tinkering one. Meaning? Dismantling and repairing; figuring out how things work, how to make them better, and if necessary, how to completely fuck something up. Of course, it is slightly different when it comes to being curious about people - she likes to pick up on quirks: when they are likely to come about, and, what can trigger them. Not at all a quiet bluebird, she's fairly loud in her own right, but is adamant in keeping it away from places where it would be less then appreciated. Not that it happens all the time, though, isn't it the thought that counts? A bit of a silly woman when the time calls for it, and more then capable of holding her liquor with the best of the guys, she's hard to scare away with a bit of a drinking game or a hard night of poker. There's a bit of a daredevil in her as well, when the time or challenge calls for it; although she does have...some semblance of limits (and morals), there's a fire in her that likes to prove others wrong, and succeed.

Although having a pretty damn good tough-cookie appearance and actions to back it up, she certainly isn't without cracks in the armor; in certain situations, she can cave under pressure, become incredibly submissive, and become riddled with guilt and shame. This is a part of her that is new, and as such, it isn't a sure thing to happen each and every time there's a threat or a dire situation, but, a bit of her armor chips off each time it does occur. Over time, it is likely she'll become less confident, and more susceptible to influence, if it doesn't come to an end. However, despite a bout of oppression, her resolve to resist the overwhelming shadow of doubt and manipulation isn't completely gone; and, for the most part, she is still the same person she is at her core: honest, kind, generous, and quirky.

quirks:
• high-pitch sneezing
• scrunching her nose
• cracking her knuckles
• chewing on straws
• laughs easily

HISTORY:

Unlike many, Dinah wasn't born to a happy, even somewhat loving, family; almost immediately after her birth, she was given up to an adoption agency in Paris, France. It was there that she lived for the majority of her childhood and early adult life, watching as friends were adopted over the years one after the another, and yet she remained. The ladies who ran the organization became the closest thing to parental figures she had, but there was just somethings even they could not teach her. Only one thing remained constant in her life - her adoration for dismantling and repairing things; figuring them out, and after much trial and error, finding out ways to help them run more efficiently.

Unsurprisingly, the growing sadness and general social rejection she felt from never being adopted into a family - like she so longed for - did not have the best impact on her work ethic in school. By no means was she incapable, or not intelligent, but, her grades certainly reflected otherwise; just barely did she manage to graduate high school, after managing to pull herself together in her senior year to ensure she would get enough credits and the minimum grade-point average. At the age of seventeen she was already working at a dead-end, minimum wage job that was going nowhere, and working her to the bone.

As a bit of a side-job, she managed to coax a technician to mentor her, as far as mechanical technology went. The hours were long, and between that and her job, very little sleep was to be had; however, there seemed to be more then just a bit of a niche for her in this industry. At least, that was how it appeared. Over time she became more then efficient at taking things apart, resembling them, and trouble-shooting under pressure. A bit off-offhandedly, he recommended looking into a career field based solely on engineering, and technology. Her 'natural' talent would not be enough for this, of course; she ditched her job, and used the money she saved to put herself through a summer technical course - it compressed a year's worth of work into three months. Frankly, it was nearly impossible, but, at the time, it was her only choice.

With an impressive amount of determination, caffeine and motivation, she managed to pass the course with the top ten percent; of course, she was the bottom of that ten percent, but considering how far she came, and the little knowledge she knew about it, she was more then proud of herself.

...Now what?

She got a sort of 'associates degree', and an engineering license; which was fantastic, but, Dinah wasn't sure in exactly which field she wished to work in. By mere happenstance, she stumbled Starfleet - it was...intimidating; the thought of applying was both fearful, and exciting. Naturally, she'd seen the things they were capable of, and it was beautiful and righteous, in her own mind.

Since her high school grades were a poor reflection of her skills, and she did succeed in the summer technical course, she was required to take both an aptitude test, and demonstrate her engineering abilities in a timed simulation.

The aptitude test was, in general, of a slightly above average in grading, as far as all of the components combined; however, her highest score was in the technical portion of it. This, combined with how well she performed in the live test, was enough get her inside the academy - she was warned, though, that they would not tolerate anything less then her absolute best, or else she would be at great risk of being kicked out.

Not wanting to blow her chances, she completely dove into the curriculum head-on, immersing herself in the work-flow and the challenge of it all. It was anything but easy, and after many sleepless, stressful nights, the final exams were around the corner. Though many good things had come from her hard-work in the academy, not everything was perfect. Not by a long shot. Along the way, she had befriended a boy who, at the time, seemed genuine, and very sweet; by her second year, she realized he was not all he had seemed. Through clever manipulation and blackmail, he had turned her into a spy for his own; intending to sell important Starfleet information to the enemies of the peacekeeping armada - such as the Orion Syndicate, and anyone else who would bid for the information.

The man, by the name of Thomas, was holding her at 'gunpoint' so to speak; he had a good reputation around the school, and, if she did not cooperate, he would claim foul play on her final exam scores, plant evidence and proof, to get her kicked off a ship, and out of Starfleet, for good. Since being in Starfleet was the best thing that had ever happened to her, begrudgingly, she agreed.

OUT OF CHARACTER
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NAME/ALIAS: shai
HOW LONG YOU HAVE BEEN RPING: Long time, over six years.
WHERE DID YOU FIND US: Used to be on the board before it died this last time, and got the email that it was coming back.
DID YOU READ THE RULES: huzzah! batman's mustache pleases me, you pilgrim!
FACE CLAIM: Mila Kuis
RP SAMPLE: Dimmed fluorescent lighting in the hallway signified the graveyard watch wouldn't be long from beginning, the shift that most of the guards looked forward to the most. After all, the patients were usually locked up tight and cozy in their little cells, drugged up enough to prevent them from getting any ideas of a moonlight romp through the halls.

No exception in the form of being drugged, the Joker was lying stretched out on the too-short bed that he called his, slipper-ed feet hanging over the edge. The ten-by-ten space was designed for functionality, not comfort, and the Clown Prince of Crime was FAR from comfortable. Head still swimming from an earlier dose of 10 mg of Diazepam, the knowledge of life outside of his little cell was foreign. Even the typical ambient sounds of groans, whimpering and the occasional scream went largely unacknowledged.

Perceived patterns in the ceiling proved to have a rather hypnotic effect even on his short attention span, keeping his focus turned upwards. Usually, his nightly entertainment took the form of taunting and attempting to scare the night guards patrolling the halls, specifically the ones that didn't have clearance to actually interact with the patients on that cell block. A select few knew to ignore it, but there was always the occasional jumpy or overall nervous individual - and the euphoria that came from making those types piss their pants had made it into a nightly challenge.

Recent stints testing the effects of various sedatives and tranquilizers had stopped the fun in its tracks, however, and the clown's recent subdued state had prompted ceasing the use of the straitjacket. This was on a trial basis, and thankfully for the Joker's sake, the interrogation sessions hadn't started up again - yet. There were those that still wanted to crack into his brain and find out what made him tick, and probably always would be a handful of those.

Approaching footsteps also went unnoticed, up until there was a significant amount of noise at the door - one of the orderlies arguing with a guard, the latter obviously not wanting the clown let loose. "-don't care who this fuckin' woman is, he's not gonna be taken out of here!"

"Trying to act on the authority of the higher ups now, are you? Your job is to guard this hallway, mine is to do what I'm told. I was told to be sure he's sedated so you can take him to the visitor's lounge to see that psychiatrist." In spite of a certain size deficiency on his part, the young orderly wasn't going to be bullied easily. "We can keep arguing this half the night, or we can get this over with and both get back to our jobs. Pick one and kindly shut the hell up."

There was a decidedly tense moment where the two men stared each other down, but the guard was the one to relent. "Shit..screw this. Check 'im. He'd better be outta his head or you can escort him around yourself."

Ignoring the comment, the orderly slid his pass-card through the reader, eyes going to the bed where the Joker was sprawled out on his back still. "Joker! You know how this goes, stay where you are and no sudden moves." No response or reaction was forthcoming, so it was with a lot of trust in the power of drugs that the man walked in and over to the bed. Even a preliminary glance told him everything he needed to know, and the required check of several reactions told him that the Diazepam was still in effect. "Get up, you're going on a little trip. There's a visitor here for you."

Reaction to the order a bit delayed, the clown stood up on slightly wavering feet and didn't need to be told to walk to the opposite wall before doing it. Being cracked across the back and head with a baton around a dozen times each had made that lesson sink in. Pressing his back firmly against the stone wall, he held out both hands in front of him, wrists only a few inches apart. At this point, the guard came in and placed the handcuffs on his wrists a little tighter than he should have - which earned a pointed look from the orderly. "Are you going to-"

"Shut your damn yap, I'm doin' my job. You did yours, so back off." Firmly gripping the Joker's upper arm, the guard marched him out of the cell and down the hall, being none too careful about how he handled the clown. Few would fault him for being rough with such a difficult patient, even if said patient was drugged out of his mind. The trek down to the visitor's lounge took a whole of five minutes, all due to passing a few other guards that had to make a point of being sure that the clown was supposed to be out of his cell and that this wasn't some sort of attempt at breaking the lunatic out.

Patience level down into the abysmal depths by the time the lounge was in sight, the guard jerked his current source of frustration around - stopping in the hallway to get a point across. "One move I don't like in there, you fuckin' freak, and I'll drag you out of there so fast and back to your hidey-hole so fast that your crazy head will spin. Got it?"

"One flew East, one flew West, and one flew over the cuckoo's nest." Voice falsetto and the pitch signifying the impending laughter, the clown fixed a surprisingly unwavering gaze on his captor in a moment of odd clarity. Seeing the veins pulsating fit to burst in the man's temple was very satisfying, and he knew were it not for the proximity to the visitor's lounge that he would be slammed up against the wall and knocked around while unable to fight back. Recalling a name mentioned in passing by one of the other guards, the Joker decided to get another comment in before being dragged again. "Tsk, tsk, Evans..so impatient with us loonies. Mommy never teach you compassion? Too busy whoring around?"

"Shut UP, you worthless piece of shit!" Evans snarled, grabbing the handcuffs by the connecting chain and giving them a sharp pull, afterward pushing the clown's shoulder to slam him up against the nearest wall. Temper got the better of many of the men that worked the halls of the asylum, and this one was no more immune to it than any of the others. "Oh, how I wish I could knock your teeth down your throat right now-"

"Dooooo iiiiiiit.." The crooning gave way to laughter, and the Joker literally shook with mirth. Pushing buttons was his specialty, and he kept getting better at it from observing everyone forced to come in contact with him. Head snapped back against the wall when his throat was grasped in a pointed warning, he saw a flash of light and grimaced, non-concealed scars twisting up a bit from the facial motion.

Jerked away from the wall a moment later, he was marched forcibly into the back room that held the patients securely away from those that might come to see them. Evans let go and gave him a sharp shove, retreating after a pointed warning of, "I'll be watching, you freak."

Left alone in the room as the door slammed shut, the Joker found the correct booth - as the red-head on the other side was the only other living soul present. Sitting down and gingerly rubbing his neck with a cuffed hand, he focused on the face on the other side of the glass - and the corner of his mouth twitched. Psychiatrist, indeed. Leaning towards the open speaker in the booth, he rested his cuffed hands on the small metal ledge just below the glass level.

"Lemme guess here..you wanna psychoanalyze me like everyone else, yeeeees?" The last word trailed off in what could only be called a soft giggle, but in contrast to the soft sound, the Joker's expression was blank - and in spite of drugs in his system, he was very much aware of what was going on here..

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