Kate Winslet
Private Helena Catherine DeVriess
Name: Helena Catherine DeVriess
Callsign: Princess
Rank: Private
Branch: Terran Confederation Marine Corps
Unit: Assigned Unit
Position: Rifleman
Age: 20
Homeworld: Homeworld
Marital Status: Single
Actor: Kate Winslet



I know what it is you're thinking. Right now, you are wondering how in heavens a DeVriess winds up in the Confed Marine Corps. Please, there is no need to be bashful. It is something to ponder, isn't it? It's a question I must have asked myself a million times in Basic, when my DI wasn't screaming it into my face in front of the whole company. Yes, I've long since forgiven the man for all of his petty torments, his job was to lance the civilian out of me, and he knew just how much civilian there was to extract.
But let's not get ahead of ourselves, every story has a beginning. Mine begins on the twentieth of August, 2539 on the bustling world of Sirius Prime, my parents were Gustav and Ilsa DeVriess, the youngest members of the sprawling DeVriess dynasty. As you may know, our great-great-great grandfather Gasteau DeVriess invented a little widget that had something to do with equipotential eclipsing, whatever on Earth that is. At any rate, his widget was a raving success. The patent rights alone were enough to make him an astonishing fortune. A fortune, that, in the interim, has been carefully invested, re-invested and essentially fussed over like a delicate flower, and how it has grown. Not to sound boastful, but to put it quite mildly, we DeVriess' are wealthy beyond the dreams of avarice. To say that this has had something of a negative impact on our worldview would be an understatement
My childhood could be best described as being as cossetted as the lives of the Eloi in H.G. Wells' 'The Time Machine' and as diamond-hard as special forces training. While I had the very best of everything and no selfish impulse went unrewarded, I was also as strictly confined as a kidnapping victim, never leaving the family compound in Centralia for any reason. My parents were as distant authority figures, with my day-to-day life managed by a bewildering array of nannies and tutors whose strict dictations only the very bravest would challenge. I was a DeVriess, I was told, and therefore expected to be perfect. Perfect manners, perfect dress, in retrospect, it was nauseating.
Yes, yes, 'poor little rich girl, it must've been a terrible burden'. Your scorn is well placed indeed. Allow me to set the matter straight, whatever myriad pressures my family name placed me under, I was a thoroughly spoiled, self-centered and conceited little bi….brat. A condition that, I am shamed to say, persisted until three days after my seventeenth birthday. The day my precious, airily pretentious world quite literally caught fire.
She was called the Aurora, one of the prides of the Guinterin Combine Fleet. One of the most luxurious liners in the galaxy, with every conceivable convenience at the fingertips of her insanely wealthy passengers. My family, along with a small army of maids, butlers and men at arms, were to have one of the finest suites for a leisurely twelve-day transit from an inspection tour of a Legacy-held manufacturing installation on Gjovik Three, back to our home on Sirius Prime, with stops along the way at Agder Prime, and Ting'vallir Minor. I was excited as my jaded little heart could sustain for more than a few moments. Twelve days of more mindless chatter, endless fancy soirees, desultory dinners and mind-numbingly gossipy high teas. The perfect outing for those as shallow as we. Providence, it appears, is not without a sense of irony
On the evening of August twenty-fourth, 2556, the starboard engine of the Aurora exploded, causing what the Board of Inquiry would later term as a 'chain reaction failure' of the attached fusion drive, freezing the control units that kept the reactor under Engineering's control. I am not…conversant on the technical details. All I know is what I witnessed with my own eyes. And what I saw was a horror that sometimes still plagues my dreams. It was, simply, fire….fire everywhere. Liquid, rolling, broiling flames that drove all before them.
Had it not been for the proximity of the TCS Oregon, who were in the area conducting a pre-deployment shakedown cruise, and the 3rd of the 225th Battalion and their dedicated Search and Rescue teams, none of us would have survived. For, you see, the Aurora's computer had completely incinerated during the blaze, locking the lifeboats in place. We few survivors, all told, seven hundred fifty six huddled in the dubious safety of the port lifeboat deck, with the flames racing towards us, unable to escape. The Marines were able to over-ride the lock down on the lifeboats, even made several trips into the burning hulk to rescue more survivors, losing seven of their own number in the process.
But for all their efforts, only seven hundred and forty were able to escape before the Marines were forced to abandon the ship. Seven hundred and forty, out of five and a half thousand souls aboard, the rest, including my mother and father, were lost. The survivors were taken aboard the Oregon, bedded down in it's massive hangar bay and plied with coffee and hideous Navy Chow while our statements were taken. The Oregon's crew were kind to us, making our four-day trip to Wolf-359 and the Confed Medical station on Lupin Eight. Then, one by one, we were shuffled off to our homes, myself included.
But home was not what it had been, that gaudy arcology in Centralia, or, was I the one who was changed? Post-traumatic stress disorder, the family doctors dubbed my state. I began drinking, taking drugs, causing one humiliating family scandal after another in a desperate effort to spend just one night without reliving the Aurora. And all the while, the question…pulsing, seeking, refusing to desist and give me a moment's peace. Seven men and women died to save me, Marines all. But…why? Why on Earth would any thinking person willing risk life and limb to save the life of a supercilious little sh…snot like me? What made me worthy of survival when so many others had been lost? Call it survivor's guilt, if you like, it's a fair commentary. All that I knew is that I would never find a moment's rest until I had an answer. I lost two years trying in vain to find it.
And then, to this day, I will never be able to explain the impulse that brought me to that point in time, I found myself at a Marine Recruiting Center. The war was in full flower, the Marines were, if not desperate to find new blood, then, at least, all too willing to accept whatever fodder that offered itself to the cannon. I signed my six-year contract with only a heartbeat's worth of hesitation. I called my grandfather from the Star Port, waiting for the shuttle to leave for Basic Training. His reaction was, oddly enough, not negative. If this was the only way I could right myself, I had his blessing, he said through his tears. But I was to be advised, the Confed was at war, having signed my life away on the dotted line, even our family's vast wealth and influence would not be able to save me from military jurisdiction. I would be on my own, period, full stop. The line went dead. The shuttle left the port, destination, Camp Charlotte, Leto.
Basic Training was, oh dear, how to best put this? On the very first morning of Basic, my Senior Drill Instructor asked me, as he had the others, why I was there. I made the mistake of being honest with him. As I drug myself up from the floor, he coldly informed me that his beloved Corps had no use for head cases or those attempting to redeem themselves.%R'A Confed Marine has two primary functions, the first is to obey and and all orders that they are given without hesitation; the second is to kill, without hesitation, without remorse, and without conscience.' he barked, peppering his speech with the foulest of language. 'I am going to give you a choice, Princess, since you are special, you have the option of packing your gear and going to Legal, there you will fill out a Form One Ninety Four Sixer, thereby applying for Conscientious Objector status.' he snarled. 'Or you may remain here, and I swear before the Almighty that I will break you, Princess. I will smash you into your component atoms and rebuild you into something that just might be useful to my beloved Corps'. I chose the latter.

Prior Deployments

*Marine Recruit Training, Camp Charlotte, Leto, Proxima System.
*Advanced Infantry Training Command, Camp Charlotte, Leto, Proxima System.


*Graduated, Marine Recruit Training
*Weapons Certification
*Tactical Certification
*Graduated, Marine Advanced Infantry Training


*Nothing of Note.

Notes From Prior CO's (OOC except for DH's)

I am actively trying to make DeVriess quit, and I'm damned if I'm having any luck. Whatever her motivations for being here are, she's dead serious about becoming a Marine. Fine by me, just lets me pound her a little harder. Welcome to the Corps, Princess! I think I can make something out of you, if you live through it.
-Personal log, Staff Sergeant Harttman, Senior Drill Instructor, Beta Company, Class #2035.

Other IC Info

*The DeVriess family are the modern-day equivalent to the Rockefellers. Insanely wealthy, often stars of the Society section of the news.
*Survived the Aurora Disaster, in which 4.760 civilian passengers were killed when a malfunction in the ship's port engine caused a massive fire.