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| Qadr; Recovering Terrorist/Medical person | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Mar 30 2009, 11:28 PM (179 Views) | |
| Qadr | Mar 30 2009, 11:28 PM Post #1 |
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Name: Qadr Lamya el Duhar Goes by: “Q” Race/Specie/Ethnicity/Bloodline/Beinghood: Human, Saudi Arabian. Age/DOB: 26, 10-2-1983 Gender: Female. Home Planet: Earth. Height: 5'7” Weight/Shape: 119 lbs Slender Hair/Scales/Plumage/Dangly Parts: Black, long, straight. Eyes or other important sensory apparati: Black. Skin: Mocha, humanoid, soft. Other Important Features: None Physical Description: Q is a warrior and she looks like one. On either side of her lips, extending to her chin are scars that make her look like a marionette. There are matching scars across her arms and wrapping around her wrists, but they have faded to an old white. A newer, more shiny scar dots her left palm, large from her burn. Q looks exotic, and its not merely her scars that set her apart; no, it's the lifetime of breeding that she is attempting to break out of. Personality: Q tends to be a bit quiet, often appearing lost in thought unless you have become an object of interest to her. Then she tends to shift her personality to fit what that person expects of her. In her core, she knows that she knows she will never see paradise, so she does whatever she can to insure that others of her faith will return to the bosom of Allah. However, do to the mistakes in her past, she is attempting to be more open and more trusting and not to contain her hate and anger so much. Now Q is trying to be who she is rather then the puppet that she mirrors in appearance. Interests: Bombs, metaphysics, reading, shooting guns, learning how to sew a perfect stitch, being perfectly silent in movement. Likes: Likes: Spicy food, smoking, people who underestimate her, getting an A, anytime the West suffers, the sense that the end of the war will come sooner rather then later. Dislikes: People who talk about Arabs as if they are scum, people who blame them for everything, people who have no understanding of Arab culture, the so-called "War on Terror" Americans who think they have the right to rule the world, stupid people, Christians who feel the need to shove their religion down people's throats, or feel that there's is the right one. Of course infidels will not know paradise, but there's no reason to doubly punish them. Abilities, Powers, Skills, Weaknesses: Explosives training, car boosting, small guns, hand to hand combat, third year medical training Home/History: It was 1979 when the fate of the el Duhar family had shifted towards something that would save them all from the brink of poverty. Oil was discovered literally in their backyard, and the substance would set the stage for the rest of their black and gold coated days. The finding had created a sort of new feudalism in a place where the surf concept of class had never really gone out of style. There was no thought of love for the el Duhar family; Akeim was the third son of 8, and he was made a match of the first daughter of a neighboring family. Her dowry was one of simple things, most noticeably a contract for equipment to refine oil. The marriage between the two of was tremulous at best, but four years later, Lamya was pregnant. Eight months later, Naif was born, wailing his way into the world, and Akeim wept and thanked Allah that he finally had a son. But His blessings hadn't been completed, because five minutes later, Qadr followed her brother screaming. Both of the children were perfectly formed, and while Akeim was dismissive of his daughter, the fact that his son screamed and wailed if they were separated lead to them being kept in the same crib in the same nursery. Life for them was like that for years, two peas in one pod as it were. They were always together, and it came as a surprise to their parents that it was their daughter who would lead them into trouble, rather then Naif. It was Qadr who was quick to anger, and it was Qadr who was quick to be roused into vengeance when it came to those imaginary childhood slights. It was obvious that schooling between them would have to be equal in order for it to hold. And they were educated. Akeim and his father Akmed knew that the future lay in trade and protection from the United States. So, it was imperative that the children of the next generation learn English and American customs. By the time the children were eight, they were able to speak fluent English, and television shows like Sesame Street were flown in on VHS for them to watch by the truckload. When they were twelve, the twins were taken to New York City. Naif completely loved it, and was enchanted by it. He loved the people, he loved the towering buildings, he loved the way people looked at the two of them when they walked down the street surrounded by body guards. Qadr hated it. She hated the way the smug Americans looked at her, she hated how they called the two of them "quaint," she hated the way that they called her Al Amiras "barbaric." Didn't those women realize how freeing it was to never have to be drooled over for their appearance? She wanted to leave America at once, but Naif kept postponing their return to Dhahran. He thought she would change her mind. Trips that were more and more outlandish were being planned to humor her, but finally she had enough and told her brother that she was going home: with or without him. For two people who had never been away from each other in their life, the threat was a major one. It had the desired effect; they left for home the next day, but something had changed between them, and it was something that wouldn't be fixed. The next year, Naif chose to go to America to study at a private school there, while Qadr was taught through tutors at home. Eventually, when he was nineteen, her brother returned, but he was changed. Although their family had always believed in peace, Naif was choosing to take it a whole other level. September 11th, had happened, and the way the world viewed people from the Middle East. Naif thought that he could change it, by helping their people through peaceful means. Peaceful means would only get him killed. On March 16, 2003, he was involved in a peaceful protest in the Rafah, in Southern Gaza. He was attempting to stop an Israel bulldozer from taking down a house. The standoff lasted for three hours before the operator of the bulldozer covered Naif el Duhar with nearly a thousand pounds of dirt and rubble. He didn't stop there. Soon the bright boy's body was ran over with the blade of the bulldozer, nearly slicing him in half. And then to add insult to the injury done, the bulldozer was backed up once more, making his body so decimated that his family wouldn't be able to see it and know who it was. And to make matters worse, when the Israeli government took the body, they completely ignored the Muslim funeral rights; a deliberate insult. Naif was considered a martyr, and should have been buried in the clothes that he had died in, his body unwashed. But the government refused to return the clothes, and what was worse, had done an autopsy that wasn't kept in line with their beliefs. Qadr went insane. She knew that the Our'an spoke against wails of grief, but she couldn't help it. She was filled with rage that her brother would die in such a manner, and that her family should be insulted as well. Her brother's body was denied burial in Gaza, instead it was returned to their hometown, another insult. (It is a Muslim belief a person should be laid to rest as close to their death spot as possible.) The entire el Duhar family was there for the funeral prayers, but only the men could go to the burial spot. By the time the official period of mourning had ended (three days later), Qadr already had a plan. She would punish these pigs for what they had done to her family, and what they were continuing to do to the Muslims. She removed the vestiges of her faith and broke contact with her family. The only money she had left was the well-feed trust fund that her brother had left to her in a Swiss bank. For three months she stalked the man who had slain her brother, and then eventually, the training she had picked up from watching a training camp had shown her how to assemble a small suitcase-size bomb. Qadr packed in a knapsack before she walked to the house. The slime lived alone, and was amazed to see a pretty girl on his doorstep to his apartment. And when she kissed him, he was even more shocked. Softly she asked for the bedroom, and he lead her there before she lay down with him, losing something precious to him, and being reborn from that experience. In the end, she stabbed him in the stomach before she strapped the bomb to his back, leaving him in the filth of his life. Quickly she left and went to the mosque for the last time. Quietly she spoke to Allah, and told him of how she needed vengeance, and how the world needed it. She asked for forgiveness for the things she was about to do. Two more bombings filed before she applied at and was accepted into medical school. Q, as she was calling herself now couldn't stand to go to America, so she chose the next best thing: London. And there she would make them pay, as many of them as she could. It was a promise that she made to herself as she flew over the blue waters of the sea, and then into the wetness of London's center. The wetness was something she was unprepared for. All her life, even when they had been in America, the water had been something as foreign to her as not wearing her Al Amiras. London had been an adjustment, and the time flown quickly by. Several smaller acts of terrorism, keeping people guessing, keeping the blame moving around and never allowing any of it to land on her, Q kept below the radar. But one night there was a fuck up. Bigger targets, that was what was needed to plug that aching void. Bigger targets, better ones. All this time she had been blowing things up at night when they would be safe, and that was what this was meant to be as well. But the time had gone off too late and there were people in the church. There was a school in the church... Qadr had been shaken to her very core, and for the first time she was worried about MI-5 on her tale. One phonecall had been made to her Father's attorney who informed that both of the el Duhar were dead. With no recourse left, she ran. She ran as far as she could on the money that she had managed to hold onto, and the first plane ticket brought her to Madrid. Madrid would be the worst mistake of her life, which in the life she had lived was saying something. Petrified of the police finding her, of the ghosts of the kids finding her, Q worked in the slums of the city, treating people who couldn't or didn't dare to go to the proper medical authorities. It was a good paying career, but it was one that couldn't go unnoticed forever. No, all too soon she received a visit from a man in a sharp expensive suit with a sharper and more expensive wit. His name was Leandro, and he offered her a job working as the Doctor for his underground boxing club. It was meant to be entertainment but she had spent so much time patching them back together that she had no idea what other things were going on. Even while working and leaving at the club, Q had tried to keep in contact with her patients outside the building; it was a stupid thing to do. Word had gotten out that she was working for Leandro now, and his associates weren't the sort of people that you ever wanted working for you. It was a simple plan really, a girl who she had helped before called her to an abandoned warehouse. While Q was trying to do good, she wasn't stupid; she went in hot. Going in hot was a mistake because when the men tried to grab her, she shot one of them and that only made things more vicious. In the end they tried to get information from her, and she didn't have any to give. So they hung her up like a little puppet, making marks in her skin and leaving her listening to 'Catch us if you can' on repeat. The marks on her face were a big blow; they made her do things she wouldn't otherwise do. The relationship with Leandro became altered when he took her out of the bloody warehouse, and that was one of the last mistakes she would ever made. Their relationship lasted for two years and the only thing she got out of it was a new identity and lye for her fingertips. Items: 1. Surgical field kit in a black backpack 1.Pack of Sobranie's Black Russian 1 silver zippo 1 WIST-94 Semi automatic 1 extra clip clothing hunting knife in a sheaf. |
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7:15 PM Jul 11