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Age: 32
Alignment: lawful good
Occupation: military guard captain
Wanted: n/a
Quote: Justice rains from above!
Race: human
Fandom: overwatch
Adjective: righteous
Preferred Pronouns: she/her
Height & Weight: 5'11" | 161 lbs
Alias: ysa
Joined: 29-April 17
Status: (Offline)
Last Seen: Oct 10 2017, 01:32 PM
Local Time: Oct 23 2017, 04:31 PM
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Fareeha Amari


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Oct 8 2017, 02:02 PM
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</div><div class="lyrics1">reveal to my soul that I'm perishable</div><div class="post"><div class="ornate"><div class="line"></div><div class="icon"><i class="fa fa-rocket"></i></div></div><div class="words">

Pharah takes the bad end of a sniper shot smirking because her rockets are already in the air, already targeted. She'll go down but she has no fear that this battle is over. She's fought worse, a lot worse -- some punk trying to figure out how to use a gun for the first time barely registers. It should scare her. It would have scared her a day ago. Will scare her tomorrow. Because she's in the middle of Kadath. She's where the people she's trying to protect live and if civilians are getting hold of high-powered guns and taking pot-shots at people on the street ...
It will scare her tomorrow. Right now, adrenaline drowns out her fear.

The Raptora can take a rocket to the chest, but a rifle shot drops her like a dead bird. It's big and bulky and the shot is well-placed enough that it snipes her out of the air with enough force to steal her breath. It clips her wings as she's slammed backward through the air. Tears sting her eyes but she fights through it, watches a rocket detonate on the sniper perch with three more only feet behind. A snapshot that confirms her kill before her back slams against a building and clouds her vision. She ricochets off it, down, down, and glass shatters around her. Dust, broken wood, the scrape of brick against metal and Pharah feels a little bit of the anxiety creeping back. She doesn't go far once she's through the street-facing window. She slams hard into the floor and listens to the building settle around her intrusion.


On her back, Fareeha swipes a hand against her head, propping her visor up. Comms in her ear. Target eliminated. She gives a short affirmative before her hand falls back onto the floor. Doesn't notice the metal hitting the floor is cushioned by a carpet. Listens to her own breathing, labored, and stares up into the ceiling fan until it makes her dizzy. It's only when she closes her eyes that she realizes what a fan and a carpeted floor means. Her eyes snap open.

Oh, no.

She's in someone's home.


She jerks her head to the side, feeling apologies rising in her throat even before she knows if there is anyone to give them too. "I'm so -- " Pharah clambers to her feet. The motion is heavy, slow, for all the armor she's wrapped in. She tries again, even if it is to an empty room. "I'm so sorry."

notes: this doesn't. have to be your home/apartment since she fucking destroyed it

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Apr 29 2017, 07:31 PM
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<ul><li style="width: 250px;">Lawful Good</li></ul>

<ul><li style="width: 250px;">Guard Captain</li></ul>

<ul><li style="width: 250px;">Overwatch</li>

</ul><ul><li style="width: 250px;">CANON POINT: post overwatch-recall & ana's "revival"</li></ul>

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<p><div style="font-size:25px;font-style:bold;margin-top:10px; padding-bottom:10px;"><center>are</center></div><P>

When you are old enough to reflect, you understand there are two things that defined your childhood: your mother and Overwatch. They are symbols of strength in crisis. Resolve. They are role-models. Aspirations. They shape your moral compass and mold a little girl's fantasies into ambitions. Goals. Obstacles to overcome. And, perhaps more importantly, you learn the determination to master them.


Your mother is the first strength reflected on you. She is not the first you recognize. Not until she's gone and all you have is regret. She raised you alone, showed the unwavering determination of a single mother and a soldier. Even when she was gone -- and she was gone a lot -- you knew that what she was doing was good. That it was bigger than you, bigger than her. Ana Amari taught you the weight of importance, of evaluating needs practically before most children are ready. She taught you, when you were still young and impressionable, to question the weight of your desires to those around you. It is still a flame you hold to your chest. Sometimes it still burns you.


When she wasn't there, you had Overwatch. You played with action figures. You fight imaginary crime, stood over dolls, and give long-winded and disjointed speeches about good versus evil. You know that you are good. You want to be good. You know that your mother is good, even when you force yourself to wait until she is gone before you cry. Self is second no matter how much you want to go with her. You think you are strong. Think that you are left behind because she hasn't given you a black belt yet.


You work harder. Fall asleep in your gi more often than in pajamas. Dream about being a hero.


Your mother only raises an eyebrow at the poster of Reinhardt she finds on your bedroom wall. She doesn't tell you that's not the life she wants for you until it will hurt the most.

<p><div style="font-size:25px;font-style:bold;padding-top:10px; padding-bottom:10px;"><center>you</center></div><P>

All girls fight with their mothers.


It is what you tell yourself as they lower yours into the ground. All girls fight with their mothers: as if it will cushion the weight of all that space you forced between you and her. You didn't do anything wrong. This isn't your fault. But there is a hand around your throat that you can't shake. Another that claws into your heart. A bottomless pit in your stomach that lingers for months.


You had wanted to be like her.<br>
She wanted anything else.


You don't continue because you want to. You do it because you have to. Because despite everything she didn't want for you, her own stubborn dedication is wired into your brain. Everything she had done would be worth nothing if you stopped here. Everything you'd ever done. She built a legacy in Overwatch. It is one you intend to continue. Bigger than you, bigger than her: it's the right thing to do not simply for her name but for the world.


'I'm sorry for your loss' becomes devoid of meaning very quickly. They are automatic words. They are empty words. They are words you don't know how to deal with, so you compartmentalize them with other formalities. Find your own automatic responses. Yes, ma'am. No, sir. Thank you. I'm fine. It is easier that way.


You work harder. Sleep in military fatigues that settle like old memories. You don't dream much, exhausted from drills that you push yourself too hard through.


Your Raqib frowns when you come back from off-duty with a tattoo on your face. He, at least, doesn't say he's sorry.

<p><div style="font-size:25px;font-style:bold;padding-top:10px; padding-bottom:10px;"><center>proud</center></div><P>

It's here you realize what shaped your life. What defined you. Its easy to understand when you lose them both, one after the other. Overwatch does not go out with a roar, not fighting the good fight. It goes out with a whimper as curtains pull back. It shouldn't shock you but it does. You were hopeful, naively so, that all the bad press would go away. That the rumors would be unfounded. That everything would go back to the way it was, where Overwatch was good, just good. It hurts almost as much as the first loss because not only did your mother lose her life fighting, Overwatch's disbandment is rough, dirty, and you know that it leaves a smudge on your mother's name


And you. You'd trained your whole life for it, to join them, to show them what Ana's daughter could do. To show her what you could do. Your marks are exemplary in every field. You're followed by commendations and praise and reverence because you've never once stopped pushing toward this now unachievable goal. You were so close you could have reached out and touched it. All your superiors recommendations just scraps of paper. Words you needed from someone else.


You finish your tour. You leave like was planned, even with all the rank you've earned. But this time there is no goal, no end game, nowhere to go. You stand in the ashes of your mother's legacy, a soldier with no war to fight. Feel like a little girl again, face buried in a pillow as your mother leaves. This time with the knowledge that she won't come back.


You work harder because it helps you forget. Sleep poorly, if at all. Helix Security International offers you a job.


The interview is a formality. The job was yours before you even need to hand over any of those glowing parchments you'd saved for something bigger. You already know how to replicate a smile. Yes, sir. No, ma'am. Thank you.

<p><div style="font-size:25px;font-style:bold;padding-top:10px; padding-bottom:10px;"><center>of</center></div><P>

You are numb.
This is too becomes part of you for a long time. You make the best of it. Still, you flinch at mentions of Overwatch, of your mother when new employees recognize your name. Your life is made of routines and you stick to them, even if they're a little dull now. A little without purpose. But you've never quit anything: this job is no different. Even with a little less motivation, you excel.


Your reward is the Rapotra. A spark of something that feels good. It reminds you of that poster on your wall. Of Reinhardt with his battle armor. Of someone ready to fight. You cling to that childish thought. And you do what you've always done, mastered this new feat. It feels like coming alive again, cradled in a suit that makes you feel like maybe you didn't lose everything. It is slow, but you find happiness in your routines again. A goal. It doesn't make you anymore personable -- you do your job and you go home. You don't linger. You don't go out for drinks. You don't go to dinners.


You work harder. Memorize manuals and training guides. Remember how to be genuinely happy about being rewarded for your efforts.


It takes the death of your captain and nearly one of your squad to remember why you started this. Duty before self. Good before evil. Lives before orders. You touch the Wadjet tattooed under your eye. You are not the one that needs protection.

<p><div style="font-size:25px;font-style:bold;padding-top:10px; padding-bottom:10px;"><center>me</center></div><P>

The Recall sets your blood on fire.
You don't abandon your post. You're too well trained for that. But you burn. Renewed. Between your new understanding of how to protect and Overwatch returning to the scene, you glow with a new determination. It shows in everything you do. You wish your mother could have seen it, wonder if --
You're not ready for the letter.
'My dearest Fareeha.'
You are less prepared to see her.
It's hard to sort the pains, the good from the bad. How happy you are to see her again, to know she's alive. The question of why, why she left you, left Overwatch. The other question, the one you don't know how to ask. Are you -- ?

You work harder. It's never failed you before.
Your mother's face bears no disappointment, not even when you start to cry.

<p><div style="font-size:25px;font-style:bold;padding-top:10px; padding-bottom:10px;"><center>?</center></div><P>

You laugh.
You have to. Kadath, they tell you.
You laugh until they think you're mad. Laugh until it's not laughter anymore. Laugh until it hurts.
The back of your hand over your eyes, pull away wet.
You set another goal.

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Before she received the call sign Pharah, Fareeha Amari was a soldier and before that, she was a little girl that looked up to both the heroes of Overwatch and her mother. She's incredibly dutiful and motivated and has a very strong moral compass. It shows in all her actions, both on the field and off. Conditioned from her time in the military, she works very hard to maintain her physique, partly because she simply enjoys it. Trained with numerous short to long range weaponry, Fareeha is also very skilled in hand-to-hand combat and displays a confidence and grace under pressure matched only by hardened veterans like her mother.
Pharah's weapon of choice is a Rocket Launcher, but she is able to pick up nearly any weapon and put it to good use.

<p><div style="font-weight:bold;color:#000;font-size:15px; text-align:center;"><br>RAPTORA MARK VI</div><br>


While Pharah has worked diligently on her physical prowess, what gives her a distinct advantage in combat is her battle armor. Designed by Helix Security International, the experimental Raptora Mark VI is a heavy suit of armor that greatly increases defense, stores ammo, and provides an immense boost to agility and mobility. It is equipped with its own weapons and jet boosts. Pharah is able to not only hover for short periods of time, giving her limited flight, she can combine this with any movement to greatly increased the distance covered from jumps to sprinting.

<p><div style="font-weight:bold;color:#000;font-size:12px; text-align:right;">HOVER</div><p><center><div style="width:200px;text-align:justify;">

While short-lived, Pharah is able to hover off the ground for short bursts. To combat for the few seconds she can be in the air, this uses very little power and can be used repeatedly after only a short cool down. She can combine this with other flight enhancing abilities of the suit to stay in the air longer.

</div></center><p><div style="font-weight:bold;color:#000;font-size:12px; text-align:right;">JUMP JET</div><p><center><div style="width:200px;text-align:justify;">

Unlike Hover, this ability uses the Raptora's thrusters to propel Pharah instead of maintaining a short height. A single boost is able to take her 20 meters vertically [maximum]. She can activate this at any time: stationary, mid-jump, in motion, or even falling to attempt recovery.

</div></center><p><div style="font-weight:bold;color:#000;font-size:12px; text-align:right;">CONCUSSIVE BLAST</div><p><center><div style="width:200px;text-align:justify;">

One of the Raptora's internal weapons is a wrist rocket. When fired, it shoots a projectile that produces a concussive blast on contact with any object, be in a person or the ground their standing on. The blast is strong enough to knock back the average adult. Like many of Pharah's abilities, she too is affected by this technique. If it detonates too close to her, she is also knocked back.

</div></center><p><div style="font-weight:bold;color:#000;font-size:12px; text-align:right;">BARRAGE</div><p><center><div style="width:200px;text-align:justify;">

The Raptora's most damaging ability, Barrage is a salvo of all reserve mini-rockets stored within the suit. Depending on resources, this can fire up to ninety rockets from various positions on the Raptora. This ability locks the Raptora's movement until the attack is finished due to the exposure caused by opening so many reserves. While Fareeha can control the general direction of the rockets, when this skill is active she is a sitting duck for anyone outside of her that has their own long-range sniping abilities.


<br>Pharah is a force to be reckoned with even outside of her armor, but within it, she's a veritable hammer of justice.

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