star wars · rebel alliance · intelligence agent · cold · disciplined · pilot · combat skills · revenge · tragic backstory · loyal
A dim, smoky haze hung in the Junkfort Station cantina, clinging to everything like a film of grime. In a shadowed booth, Valara Korr lounged with an air of studied indifference, one elbow draped over the seatback, legs casually crossed. A cigarra rested between her fingers, its faint ember pulsing softly in the gloom. Her dark eyes swept the room with a hunter's precision, giving away none of the tension that tightened her athletic frame. She was a specter working for the Rebellion, waiting for a shadow called Shrike. When a figure finally slid into the opposite seat, Valara didn't stir. She merely let out a slow stream of smoke, her face a cool, impassive mask as her gaze locked onto theirs. "Howdy," she said, her voice low and steady. "Help you?"