| Ensign Davis Hathor |
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| Sara Rue as Davis Hathor |
| Personal |
| Alias: | Spuds |
| Age: | 24 |
| Features: | Strawberry Shortcake all growed up |
| Colony: | Picon |
| Professional |
| Rank: | Ensign |
| Department: | Tactical |
| Position: | Junior Intel Officer |
Background
Incredibly Enthusiastic Optimist
Ensign Davis Hathor, Picon Space Guards, was not always such. Things change, circumstances evolve, and the best laid plans are laid to waste with the simple introduction of an 8 pound 6 ounce baby girl.
The daughter of a married PSG Captain and his much younger mistress, Davis grew up believing she was the namesake of the godfather, the PSG Colonel (by then) who came by occasionally and never missed a birthday party. She idolised her hard-working mother, and took to sewing like a fish to water. Very little in her wardrobe went without some personalised modification - above and beyond the repairs that handmedowns and second-hand-shop clothes always need. By the age of fourteen, she was doing cheap tailoring for her mother's friends.
Davis had been taking in a bridesmaid's dress when her mother dropped the phone and screamed a string of invective profanity like none the girl had heard before. While mother stormed off, Davis picked up the phone, intent to hang it up… but something called her to say hello. That's when she heard the sales pitch: Picon Military Academy for Ladies. A boarding school that taught exceptional students the things she lacked. Confidence, social skills, the strength in body and spirit to be a leader instead of a follower. Just as important, they also had horses. Davis begged her mother to let her go. She never knew that begging was unnecessary: For her mother's silence, her father had signed a contract promising child support and unspecified provisions for her education. She was still repulsed that he would use the privilege of his rank to put their daughter into a boarding school for juvenile delinquents.
P-MAL was a shocker for young Davis. The chapel was a monument to modernist architecture, and the Cadettes cared for the songbirds that nested within. The culture was that of gynic warriors; not amazons, but refined ladies… at arms. The girls were Cadettes, not Cadets. The cadre of instructors were the Queen's Own Dragoons, hearkening back to an ancient age, and had their own female ranks. Leftenante, Captienne, and Majorenne replaced the more common, masculine ranks for the female instructors. (The handful of males had their traditional rank titles.) And yes, there were horses.
Among the Cadettes were a number of "at-risk" girls, but also future doctors, lawyers, and mathematicians. It was not always easy to discern just who was whom, but Davis navigated these varied and treacherous waters with an effervescent enthusiasm all but devoid of shame. It isn't that all people in all groups came to love her - no, this isn't one of those stories. What did come to pass, socially, is that to everybody, friend or foe, teacher or classmate she became "Our Davis."
Upon graduation, Davis was offered a university scholarship through P-MAL. She would be a Leftenante-Auxiliaire in the Dragoons, who sponsored ROTC programmes at smaller universities across Picon. Leftenante-Auxiliaires rotate month-long stints, first as Flight Leftenantes (in charge of flights of Cadettes between classes and overnight in the dormitories) and working their way as talent, major, and manning needs require to Leftenante-Instructors, -Quartermasters, -Nurses, and so-on providing residency credits for teaching, medical, and other majors which require it.
Among the requirements was basic military training, which Davis attended days after P-MAL graduation. Passing through boot camp as guidon bearer (the cadet who carries the unit flag during parade), Davis then completed aptitude evaluations with marks that earned her reservation for flight school. This of course required an additional four year commitment due to the age and education minimums for aviators - but the promise of being able to fly like the songbirds she'd raised at P-MAL was enough for Davis to heartily extend her commitment to eight years.
Once more in Fleet Reserve just as in P-MAL as a student, Davis' enthusiasm and spirit brought good and bad attention alike, but not in like quantity. With the memory of the Cylon war fast fading and the various colonial insurrections almost never exceeding the scope of a large police operation, those joining the Fleet had changed in character. All too often it was taken as just another job, just another scholarship programme, just another school. To get a spirited, enthusiastic recruit with the energy and idealism to throw the book at people was taken as a rare blessing… even if "the book" literally meant the regulation manual on wear of the uniform, and "people" meant field grade officers inspecting the recruits at the end of boot camp.
For the next four years Davis studied for her Film and Theatre degree and teacher certification, taught and mentored the girls at P-MAL, and performed administrative work in the Headquarters of the Picon Space Guards while awaiting her flight school date. Organizing the operation, maintenance, and readiness of the squadrons takes more than pilots and mechanics, after all: "Someone has to pay the bills," as they say. And call in work orders for facilities… and track annual training… and administer the networks, write award/decoration packages, approve and submit packages for training, retirement, separations, ROTC applications such as her own, process legal matters - the list goes on.
Leveraging her position as a Leftenante-Auxiliaire and PSG cadet, Davis was able to win approval for a workstudy programme for P-MAL Cadettes to perform office duties for the Picon Space Guards. As a P-MAL student she had made it a personal goal to tailor her classmates' uniforms, using and honing the skills her frugal mother had taught her. After graduation she continued to do so, ensuring her charges and squadron mates alike had fitted and flattering uniforms. She also proved invaluable in less tangible ways. A constant bright smile, eagerness on the darkest of days, willingness to dress up in a mascot outfit and get donors for the charity marathon… it all made her stand out as not just a member of the corps of PSG cadets, but as the life of them.
For her constant dedication and innovation she was rewarded first informally by the pilots of the squadron putting her through civilian flight school. Many of the pilots and retired PSG members were licenced flight instructors; by the time she was twenty Davis had her aviation licence, over a hundred hours in the cockpit, and two solo long-distance flights. By the time she was rewarded formally, she had been doubled-up in a Viper cockpit outside the atmosphere, unofficially, learning the ropes in the few hours here or there at the end of drill weeks.
For a formal reward, Davis was granted a waiver allowing her to enter flight school based on the written recommendation of the former Picon Space Guards Commandant (her "godfather") and several current and former PSG members. It was only three months of leniency, and she had to be the last student to fly in order to meet the immutable age minimum for flight of a military craft, but without the waiver Davis would have been waiting an additional half year for the next opening.
Able to skip IFT due to her civilian flight experience, Davis still wouldn't seem, on the surface, to fit the role of an aviator, especially not of a space fighter. First is the fact that every year she became a fitness junkie for the month before physical fitness tests. The other eleven months, tailoring and cinching undergarments gave her the appearance of fitness. Flight School PT and API survival training made glaring those deficiencies that were easily ignored in garrison duty. Second, and foremost, is the pattern of her entire life wherein she accepted whatever path was placed before her. How could someone like this, a passive backseat passenger of a person who hates exercise and loves comfort, not wash out of flight school? Not only that, but how does she get selected as a fighter pilot?
The same way the chubby crybaby got through basic training and flight school: She is only those things when allowed to be. Davis may have won leniency for her bad habits for so long that she is convinced that's the real her too, but the fact of the matter is that when forced to be decisive, she is. The perceptive will note that trait in her social dealings; in fact, she is LESS comfortable around people than she is in the cockpit, the ring, or a drunken brawl. That's why she tries so hard to be useful, likable, and accepted. The girl just doesn't realize it. Social situations are easier for her, because she has more exposure to them.
Upon graduation from Flight School she was assigned to the VSP-101 Snow Petrels, just in time to join their drill week at the commissioning of the Battlestar Cerberus. Then Warday came, and Davis showed promise in the air… until on or about PHD034, when she hit mine on CAP in the Parnassus Sector. Just over a week later, when she was returning to duty, the clankers breached the hull. Davis was among the injured, with a serious head wound. Against all odds and triage statistics, she survived. And continued to survive, despite a minimum of medical supplies and a lack of specialized doctors and equipment. It took two months (most of it unconscious) on minimal rations, and a metal plate in her head, but the girl had spent over a week conscious and lucid. Still stricken from the flight roster, and with much physical and mental therapy still required, she was ready for light duty before June.
For the next two months Davis served as Yeoman to Captain Sitka (and the Air Wing at large, especially after Petrels were folded into the Black Knights), performing clerical and administrative duties while therapy. A certain set of conditions in the cockpit stemming from the trauma to her mind and brain alike kept her out of the cockpit; after Sitka's death two months later, the Ensign resolved to find a meaningful way to contribute in the short term. Leveraging her knowledge of procedure and operations, Davis plead her case to the CAG and TACCO:
With no more Fleet HQ, they were lacking the ability to call upon a bureau of former pilots providing analysis of enemy tactics and capabilities. As the only Viper pilot who was unable to be put in the cockpit, she was the only one who could be spared to begin providing that sort of specialized perspective… and as an Ensign, in other words, someone still honing the basics, she would take far less time to train to a proper skill level in her new role.
Major Hahn, the CAG, was convinced. Captain Nikeropheros, TACCO, was nonplussed… but acquiesced on account of the idea's future potential. Or perhaps just the inevitability of having no reason to oppose the transfer in when Air Wing could show positive reason to support the transfer out. The night of 21 October 2041, Ensign Davis Hathor removed the fresh Black Knights patches from her uniform and replaced them with the Intelligence Section's insignia.
The night of the 22nd, she was moving her bunk to the Fleet officer berths.
The nights following would be filled with intense studies easily as frustrating for her as for the ones providing tutelage.
Immediate Family
Stacey Hathor: Mother
Service Jacket
Physical Features
Wearing her hair in a tussled pixie cut brings a levity to the redhead's expressions which usually is more than just illusion. Laugh lines mark the corner of her mouth, upturned nose and blue-green eyes, lingering signs of the rapid weight loss from rationing and radiation that the entire crew has undergone. With little to no time planetside, her skin has been left with a pasty, nearly translucent quality.
The smart tailoring common among Fleet officers has become increasingly irrelevant as ration and radiation change the bodies beneath. The change is subtle, perhaps humanising the brass now that their uniforms fit no better than the ratings' do. That would make the impeccable cut of the Ensign's uniform all the more remarkable. The top two of the double-breasted jacket's buttons are undone creating a line from collar to the cusp of her bust. Both buttons and seams proceed downward in curving lines around her generous figure and continue down the slacks, the fit so athletic across her abdomen and hips that the fabric is stretched taut.
Beyond the cut of her blues making them more fashion than uniform, certain other details stand out. The lapel is held open with a set of flight qualification wings. Their brassy colour is matched by the buttons and buckle of her belt, a rare expense—or, depending on who was asked, a rare arrogance. On her left sleeve is the Battlestar Cerberus patch, the silver in it matching her piping and rank devices, as well as the little stud earrings: A pair of silver-leaf roses wrapped around the tiniest of rubies.
On the Grid
Journal Snippets
25 May 2041:
I LOST ONE STONE AND NINE POUNDS!! :D
But I can't remember how! It's right in the back of my head, I know what I was doing, I just can't think of it. What was it? If I was in my room I'd cuddle Mr Snacks and Tigerstuffing and I'd remember. But nooo, I'm in some stupid infirmary. I think I passed out on a run, I hate running.
Whatever, not important, what have I been eating that helped, I think there was a tea? No, not tea… Swimming? No, close, it's not swimming but it's like swimming. No, wait, it feels like swimming. Damn, that doesn't help. This is like trying to remember a dream. But I can feel it, it's this headachey thing right in the back of my skull. It's like an itch in my brain, it'll come to me.
Shit. Fingers head bleeding, BRB
28 June 2041
Wanted: My hair back. :(
28 June 2041
PS: Somebody wrote in this already. I left the page there. Wonder who it is, we'd be good friends aside from the bleeding head problem. Might get jealous though, her handwriting's better than mine. And she probably has long hair instead of this mop thing I've got now.
I really want my hair back. :( :(
Known Associates
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Captain Ibrahim "Bossman" Sitka: My boss! I <3 him, he's like the sober uncle I never had. |
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Majorenne Cidra "Big Boss Lady" Hahn: The CAG. She's really smart and good at remembering stuff. She's got really boring hair though, obviously a lifer. Not that I want her to get hurt, but she'd look really cool with an eyepatch. Like some kind of sweaty pirate queen. ARRRRGH!! |
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Lieutenant, junior grade, Evandreus "Flatline" Doe: He's cute, but then, everybody is when they're all helpless and like almost in a coma but not really. But he looks good with sparkly lipliner, even through an oxygen mask. |
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OMFG!!: I have no friends! T_T |
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