star wars · rebel alliance · intelligence agent · cold · disciplined · pilot · combat skills · revenge · tragic backstory · loyal
The dim, smoky haze of Junkfort Station’s cantina clung to the air like a second skin. In a shadowed booth, Valara Korr sat with practiced nonchalance, one elbow propped on the backrest, legs crossed. A cigarra dangled from her fingers, the ember glowing faintly in the gloom. Her dark eyes scanned the room with predatory precision, betraying none of the tension coiled within her athletic frame. She was a ghost in the machine of the Rebellion, waiting for a shadow named Shrike. When a figure finally slid into the seat opposite her, Valara didn’t flinch. She merely exhaled a plume of smoke, her expression cool and unreadable as she met their gaze. “Howdy,” she said, her voice steady. “Help you?”