Character Name: Malin Tornquist
Alternate Identities: Spirit, Mal
Player Name: NPC
|Hair Color:||Pale Blonde|
|Malin Tornquist is a tall, willowy girl, the epitemy of a Swedish beauty. She has very long straight pale blonde hair that is extremely fine and fly-away and with eyes so dark they appear almost black. She is also one of the most beautiful women to ever live and because of that she often finds herself surrounded by admirers of both sexes. In a small town at a small school like York Harbour, it had never been a problem but in a huge city like San Diego, especially a huge city with a beach, this attention is disconcerting.|
The brass ‘long’ 9 pounder cannon was snugged up to the embrasure, a stone wall about two foot high, its barrel trained to sweep the stretch of steel grey ocean that crashed against the rocky shore. A long figure stood silent watch, back against the wall and nearly protected from the rain by a slate roofed overhang. Dawn was just beginning to lighten the sky, the reason for watcher’s vigil.
A rim of soft grey touched the horizon, lighting the storm clouds. The watcher sighed. There would be no spectacular sunrise today, not with an early autumn hurricane blowing up the coast. Sighing once more the watcher pulled open a door and stepped inside. Coffee aromas beckoned as the watcher pulled off a traditional So’Wester hat and hung it on a peg.
A stunningly beautiful young girl with pale skin and pale blue eyes had piled an amazing amount of corn silk blonde hair beneath the hat and she pulled off a rain slicker then hung it beside the door before unpinning the hair and letting it fall. It fell below the curve of her trim bottom. An older woman handed her a thick mug which she took gratefully. She pulled out a stool and sat at the grey granite counter.
“Vad kanna jag få du för frukost?” the older woman said in Swedish.
“Just some orange juice, mormor,” the girl replied.
Her grandmother put her hands on her hips.
“Mal, you need something more than juice,” she said, her accent thick. “You look like a stick.”
The girl knew her grandmamma was right, at six feet tall, she only weighted 120 pounds. She knew both her parents were worried about her because of it. They didn’t understand that she just wasn’t hungry. Grandmamma placed a tall glass of fresh orange juice and an almond bear claw before her. She glared at the woman but was ignored. Well, she thought picking up the pastry, it WAS her favorite kind.
Rain pounded against the glass, driven by the storm over a hundred miles out into the Atlantic. Malin Tornquist ignored it as she worked. A canvas was mounted on the easel and she deftly transferred her sketch to the surface with a piece of charcoal. She was a gifted artist, a trait she’d inherited from her mother, a professor at Maine College of Art in Portland, and worked quickly as she held the details of the scene in her mind’s eye.
Like her father, Malin loved the sea, the smell and taste of it and the sheer power of it especially at times like this when Nature made herself felt. The quarter inch of plate glass drummed as the wind gusted toward the hurricane strength promised by the forecast. Broadcasters had warned of the storm as it barreled up the Eastern Seaboard confidently predicting an easterly track that never developed. Now it was upon them, sighting in on her little slice of the world but it held no terror for her. She reveled in the tempest with visions in her mind of a torn seascape and a tall sailing ship braving the worst. That was how she saw her father every time he was at sea during a storm, standing bravely at the wheel of his boat, So’Wester plastered to his tall strong body.
There as barely an instance warning, a shape crack, then a hail of shards that should have shredded the girl as thoroughly as it shredded her canvas. Instead the razor sharp death passed through her body as if she were made of vapor. Some instinct had saved her.
She stood as if braced against the onslaught of wind and rain and felt none of it. Even her long, silky white blond hair remained unmoving. Touching her chest she could feel the rise and fall of her breathing, the warmth of her skin and the softness of the cashmere sweater she’d donned before starting her sketch but there was no hint of the hurricane that now raged freely in the studio she shared with her mother.
She was a spirit. She had died when the glass had scythed through the room. No, that couldn’t be right, where was her body if that were true?
The studio door flew open and smashed into her grandmother as the latch cleared the striker plate and to Malin’s horror there was blood. Forgetting her ‘dead’ state, she crossed the wreckage of the room, literally passing through a table and one corner of the couch, to get you her grandmother.
She caught her before she could sink to the floor and pulled her clear of the studio door, then shouldered it shut. The latch held in closed and the wind vanished. It was then she felt the rain water trickling down her soaked body. From totally dry to totally wet in an instant. It didn’t matter. She helped her grandmother to the kitchen and sat her down on a stool at the counter then with a warm damp cloth, cleaned the blood from a gash across her nose.
“My looks, they are ruined,” grandmamma said with a smile.
“The pizza boy is going to be so disappointed,” Malin said. “But you will have a glorious battle scar now grandmamma. And perhaps a black eye as well.”
It was then she caught the look the older woman was giving her.
“What?” she asked.
“I saw that board pass through you as I opened the door,” Grandmamma said. “And no wind touched you.”
“I was a spirit, grandmamma,” Malin replied. “Or something like one.”
Malin trudged through three feet of snow to the bus stop then next time it happened. As the bus slid to a stop and waited for her, a car with Georgia license plates came barreling around a corner and started into a slide. Malin had no chance. With the front of the side of the bus between her and safety she had an instant to realize death was coming.
The car, one of those hybrid things that didn’t know if it was an SUV or a luxury car slammed into the side of the bus doing 40 MPH giving the girl no chance to get clear. Everyone on that side of the bus saw it happening in slow motion. All of them saw her disappear between the vehicles. All of them expected an eruption of blood to stain the snow. Instead, they found the girl standing in the middle of the aisle, the lower half of her body embedded in the floor of the bus. It took a moment for the sight to register and the panic to start but by that time, she’d merely backed away from the SUV and out the other side of the bus.
Special Agent Miller of the FBI arrived the next day.
Malin has complete control over her body’s molecular density and while she can effectively ‘spread’ out her molecules, she is not able to increase that density. This allows her to walk through walls, floors, cars, anything she’s tried to this point and with some experimentation she has learned enough control to be able to affect the physical world to a limited degree. Miller, ever looking for an offensive power convinced her to test a theory. He had her place a hand through the body of a living fish then solidify. The effect was horrible for the fish and painful for Malin but Miller seemed satisfied. She could kill with just a touch. The idea horrified her and she refuses to use that power unless the situation is completely unavoidable. She knows there will be a time when she must do it and the concept haunted her.
Since meeting Nat Ryan she has found with his help another less deadly use for her powers, flight. By ‘walking in air’ she can gain altitude and then by ‘spreading herself thin’ she can glide for some distances. She is encouraged by these alternative uses for her powers and hopes one day to overcome any need for the deadlier side of her abilities.
|On meeting her, Miller assumed her artistic bent would make her an emotional and weak candidate for the Program but because of her rather unique powers, took her on regardless. What he did not and does not know is that beneath that mild, almost dreamy exterior is New England steel. She might be a compassionate, caring young woman concerned about her 'weaker' teammates but she has the soul of a warrior and leader. Having never been thrust into a leadership role it has taken examples of strong leadership from Nat Ryan and outright indifferent leadership from Mark Law to reveal her hidden talents. As overall leader of Team Red, she has earned the respect of the entire team and even, perhaps, a little from Miller.|
|Spirit is the infiltrater of Team Red and is able to get into just about anywhere. She is also the most deadly of the team with her ability to literally kill with a touch. She is also the conscience of the team as well as the leader.|
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Created: Mon, 8 Feb 2021 20:44:23
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