FF12: Paloma Milagros [Revised] Jul 1, 2012 12:47:17 GMT -5
Post by Al-Cid, Rakesh, Paloma, Mateo on Jul 1, 2012 12:47:17 GMT -5
(Left: Clan Berengeur Attire. Right: Merchant Fleet Attire for Ordalia Trading Company)
Name: Paloma Milagros
Nicknames/Alias: Dama Cactilia (Lady Cactuar—used during her days as a head-hunter)
Height/build: She stands around 5’5” with a slender, but athletic build.
DoB: 677 Old Valendian
Weapon: Is capable of handling guns, swords, polearms, knight swords, knives, crossbows, and bows. However, her preferred weapons are guns and knives.
Level (Anywhere between 1-100): 40
Special Skill(s): Speaks both Rozarrian and standard fluently. Knows how to pilot airships.
- TECHNICKS - Libra, Steal, Poach, First Aid, Charm, Gil Toss, 1000 Needles, Sight Unseen, Shades of Black.
Magicks: Emphasis on Green, Mama-Bear, Magicks, which consists of: Protect, Shell, Bravery, Faith, Blind, Silence, Sleep, Poison, and Toxify.
Appearance: Paloma as pitch black hair which she tends to wear curly or straight, depending on her mood. Her choice of clothing tends to carry a certain Rozarrian flair.
However, if she is meeting with people in an unconsidered locations, or is otherwise wanting to blend in with the locals of wherever she is traveling, she make wear clothing similar to what the locals wear.
Personality: As a teenager, she was pretty reckless. She often carried romantic notions of adventure that were a bit, at times, unrealistic. However, after having her son, she straightened up her act quite a bit—if only to be a good example for him. She does not want him to fall to the follies of her own youth, so she can be a bit of a strict, if not over-protective, mom. She had spent some time as a head-hunter. However, she had a hard time with the idea of killing humanoids.
- FATHER - EL BERENGEUR -
Paloma’s father, Gervasi Arturo Milagros, is a Rozzarian merchant turned smuggler, had gained the moniker of El Berengeur in the underworld. Meaning bear-spear, Berengeur is a play on his first and middle name, which mean spear-servant and bear-man, respectively. He owns the Ordalia Trading Company, and is founder of Clan Berengeur.
- MOTHER - DESDEMONA
Paloma’s mother was a headhunter who hailed from Archedes. Her real name was Devan Gray, however her hunter alias was Desdemona. Skilled with the rifle and an excellent sniper to boot, she worked mostly as a soldier of fortune and a headhunter. A privateer of sorts, she often operated on government coin.
- CAT AND MOUSE - It came to pass that Deven was commissioned to hunt down one “El Berengeur”, a criminal, thief and smuggler, rumored to be causing ruckus along imperial trading routes. A five-year game of Cat and Mouse thus ensued, during which Deven ended up falling in love with Gervasi. Although rumour had pegged him a ruthless man, she had found that among the people, he was more so a folk-hero. He tended to only target those who could afford to lose, and gave away almost as much as he took. She ended up joining his crew, and the huntress soon became one of the hunted.
- THE BARENGEUR’S DAUGHTER and THE ARCANE THIEF-
Considering herself to be a businesswoman, Paloma Milagros is one who follows the trades of fortune. She pretty much spent her whole life traveling. Growing up in airships, she knows her way around them quite well. As a small child, moogles were often her playmates. As a young teenager, her mother taught her show to fight, while her father taught her the ways of their trade.
Her mentor growing up was a Bangaa-Ruga named of Griogair--a former monk with a quiet countenance and gentle nature. Framed for a crime he did not commit, he became the target of many a headhunters. His life had been saved by El Berengeur, and in return, he joined the Hume’s clan. Griogair became a close friend of Paloma’s father, and with the merchant's help, he was able to clear his name. However, rather than returning to his former life, he remained among El Berengeur’s crew.
In her late teens, she had started going through a rebellious stage. Growing up as the eldest, responsibility was no stranger to her, no matter how much she would have wanted nothing to do with it. Responsibility to watch her siblings, responsibility to mind her studies, a responsibility to know well on the matters of economics and trade and accounting, a responsibility to make nice with a prospective client’s snot-nosed son who seemed to didn’t want to keep his hands to himself, responsibility to work in her family’s business, responsibility to be prepared to take over when her father retired. it had always been expected that she would take on her father’s business--a business that she wasn’t particularly sure that she wanted a part of, herself. When she was finally of age to start entertaining suitors, started to give not-so-subtle hints that it was high time she start thinking about her future--meaning that she find a husband. She could not well abide these responsibilities any longer.
So, under the cloak of night, she stole one of her father’s airships from the shipyard, and she ran (or flew) away from home. She was determined to find her own life to live--a life where she didn’t have to live by others’ rules. A life where it was
In her escape, she made it as far as Dalmasca before she realized that she rightly had no clue what she was doing. While she had taken her allowance with her, she was not used to rationing her money and ended up squandering it far too quickly. Soon, she found herself wanting of food and lacking the gil to buy it. Too stubborn to quit this fool’s errand and return home, she decided that she would need to find a way to quickly earn money. The first thought that came to mind was the one that she settled on--hunts. Her mother had been a hunter, forever ago, and Paloma recalled her mother once mentioning that contracts were often to be found in taverns. That in mind, Paloma started wandering the streets of Rabanastre, trying to find once such tavern. Eventually, she found the Sandsea, and the board on which the bills were posted. She chose the one with the highest pay, and once she had contacted the petitioner, she set out into the Estersand. The mark was a Wild Saurian that had been particularly bothersome.
Yet, when she finally located the mark, she was soon to discover that she had gone in well over her head. Although she knew how to shoot a gun in the range, she had no experience at actual combat. In her attempt to fee, but unused to the way the desert sands shifted under her feet, she tripped and fell. A plain shot through her head as she hit against a rock. Stars dancing around her head, she was momentarily stunned. The beast was fast approaching, and when she gathered her wits, she found it was too late to get out of its way. She closed her eyes, fully expecting to die. But when the beast roared in pain instead, she opened her eyes in surprise at what she saw.
The beast was writhing in pain. Wafts of green smoke seemed to be rising from it’s hide as its flesh bubbled from the aftermath a toxic magick--someone had cast scourge. There was movement to her side and she turned to see a hooded figure step forward. At first, fear welled up within her. Draped in loose-fitting, wind-warn cloth of dark browns and red, she had thought the newcomer to be one of the Urutan-Yensa she'd heard tales about. But, they were far from the Yensa. And as the figure stepped past her with the muffled clink of cloth-wrapped sollerets and greaves, she realized that this was not one of the Urutan, but a man. There was another sound of scraping metal as the man drew a knife, and a longer curved sword, from sheaths she could not see--for all the layered drapery of his warn attire made the details underneath but indistinguishable shadows. The only things that were bare to the world were his hands and arms. Though covers as they were by a crisscross working of straps, she noticed the dark skin she saw there was heavily tattooed.
Suddenly, the man then darted forward far quicker footed than Paloma thought a man of that stature ought to be. Metal pierced air with a woosh as the man swung his sword around front, slicing the beast's throat with surgical precision--an immediate death to end the suffering wrought by the scourge. It was as if the quick execution was meant to be an a apology for such a torturous spell. Then, with a perfunctory flick of the sword to remove excess blood, he returned his blade to some hidden place beneath the cape that hung from under his left pauldron. He knelt before the falling beast, next, and proceeded to use his knife to remove the Wild Saurian of one of its claws.
Paloma's eyes widened as realization dawned. The claw--it was the proof the mark's petitioner asked for as proof of a successful hunt. Righteous indignation coursed through Paloma as she was swiftly upon her feet, shouting, "Idiota! That was my mark!"
The man paused in his rending, only briefly, before he continued the business of cutting through muscle, bone, and sinew. When done, he deposited the claw into a pouch at his hip. Although, as he finished, he started speaking in a silkily rough baritone that was not unlike sandpaper over polished stone. “Your mark?" He said incredulously, "What; you want that I’d left you to it, then? A weer naif like yerself?" The man released a curt chuckle as he stood and turned to face Paloma. "Nay," he drawled in a way that sounded entirely too amused to her ears, "You'd soon been dead, poppet. Prey, what good would tha' do ye then, hm?"
Paloma felt heat rushing to her cheeks with flushed with chagrin--whether she was angry with the man for his words, or with herself for nearly being killed so stupidly, she did not know. "I can handle myself," she protested weakly, not really believing her own words.
"With time, perhaps," the man replied dismissively as he stepped forward. With a few quick strikes, he was before her, his hand manhandling her chin and tilting her head to the side.
Paloma blustered with a protest as she stepped back, "What are you--"
Yet the man would have none of that as his other hand came up to rest upon her shoulder and hold her in place. "Yet bleedin'."
"From that fall, I reckon. Here... Sit."
Ignoring any protest she gave, he deposited her upon a nearby rock and kneeled before her as he started tending to her wounds. The hit she took to the head had broken skin, and was bleeding something awful. However, it looked worse than it was. The man used water from his canteen to clean the wound, and rum from another flask to disinfect. He then pulled a clean kerchief from somewhere inside his clothing and used it to used it to wrap her head. She noticed his dark fingers were long.
All the while, as he treated her wounds, Paloma watched the man. From this position, Paloma could finally get a proper look at his face, which was previously hidden by his hood. Her breath hitched as she saw that he was very beautiful--almost exotically so--and she wondered why he hid himself. What she could see of his hair was a few whips that stuck to his forehead and cheekbones from sweat. It was a grayish brown in color. The stubble on his chin looked as though he had not shaved in days. The set of his mouth had a curve at the corners which lent to a playfully devious smile, although when her gaze shifted to his eyes, she got the impression that he wasn't really smiling out all. His eyes were a startling pale blue mixed with flecks of gold around the pupil. But, despite the stunning color, there was a dangerousness to them--to their shape, to how they were rimmed with a slight smokiness that make her think of the eyeliner some pirates were want to wear, to how they narrowed while he concentrated on her wound.
“Why'd you run away from yer home?”
Paloma blinked, as his sudden question did not initially register, “How did you know that I...”
His long fingers lowered to rest against Paloma's shoulders, as the gaze of his dangerous eyes dropped to meet hers, squarely. She got the feeling that he could see right through her, then. "A bit obvious, ye think?” At her blank look, he added, "A girl from Rozarria, in fine clothing I might add, taking risky hunts for coin?" He clicked his tongue with a tsk, "Careful, dear. A weer naif like yerself is liable to get killed, or worse, carrying on like that.
Feeling somewhat affronted and ashamed at the same time, Paloms bristled, "And what would you care what I do?"
"I don't. Spoilt runaways are hardly worth my time, you know. I came for the mark." A crooked grin then twisted the corners of his mouth upward, "Ciao." Without another word, the man promptly removed his hands from her shoulders, stood, and made toward Rabanastre.
"H-Hey!" Paloma stammered as she realized the man had just made off with the beat's claw, That should have been mine, she added mentally. Scrambling to her feet, she started running up the hill to catch up with the man--the longer strides of his fall frame having carried him quite far already. "You can't just steal my hunt from me, and suddenly walk off!"
"Yet, I did. And now, I am." Was that mockery she heard in his voice?
"But it's not fair!"
"Little is. Better to learn that, soon, if yer wantin' to play at huntress. There will be competition--n' most are not as kind as I."
And thus started the beginning of what would be their own competition.
Paloma followed the man to the petitioner and glared dagger at his back as he accepted the payment and went on his way.
In the hours that followed, Paloma took to following the man throughout the city as he ran about his errands; though she kept her distance as she hid behind crates when he turned, trying to not be noticed as she plotted how to go about stealing the coin that should have been hers. For his part, the man seemed to not notice his shadow, or he was merely ignoring the girl’s presence. Paloma started to suspect the later, when she followed him around a corner in Lowtown, only to find herself in a dead end and him to be missing—like he vanished into thin air.
Having lost sight of the man, she resigned herself to return to the Sandsea, and find a new hunt--this time, an easier one.
In the days that passed, Paloma went on various hunts in an effort to save up enough gill to buy more provisions. As she roamed the West- and Estersand, that man always seemed to be somewhere on the periphery. Usually he kept his distant, but whenever Paloma decided to take on a more lucrative mark, he'd swoop in and steal hunt right out from under her. Quite miffed by his actions, Paloma devised to get back at him, until she got herself into a fix. Again, he shows up to mend her wounds. After that, she was not sure what she wanted to do about the man.
It was after a week of this that she finally settled on a plan, and two weeks before she acted upon it.
So late one evening, she found him seated in a corner of the lower level of the Sandsea nursing a mug of ale. She strode right on over, plopped herself down across from him, and stated quite bluntly, "I've decided. You're going to be my partner."
“Of course you are!" Paloma grinned like a cat that had got the cream, "You need an airship. I’ve gone one. I need experience, you’ve got that. I'm offering am mutual benefit, here.”
"What makes you think I am needin' an airship? Could as easily book passage at the aerodrome."
"Yet, you don’t go near that place, do you? I've been watching you. You're always skulking about the shadows like you don't want the city guards to notice you. Or you're disappearing into Lowtown. Or when in here, you're sitting in the corner where you can see whose coming and going. It's like you've got something to hide, or you're trying to keep hidden. So I ask myself, why all the cloak and dagger? And, do you know what I think the reason is?" She leaned over the table then, and lowered her voice to just above a whisper, "You're some kind of outlaw, aren't you? Like a thief or a pirate? Do you have a bounty on your head?"
"Even if any of those things were true, y'think I'd be quick to admittin'?"
Paloma grinned widely, "So you are one, aren't you? An airship would make for a fast getaway, should whoever it is you're hiding from find you."
The man did not give her answer as he instead took a swallow from his mug. When he set the mug back town, he stared at her from under the shadow of his hood. Then, he gave a slight tilt of his head as she spoke, “What y' suggest: You think it be wise, dear? Fer all y' know, I could be a right bloody scoundrel.”
“But you aren't, are you? Not really. You helped me and treated my wounds when you didn’t have to. I think I can trust you for it.”
"You think this, after I stole your hunts? Repeatedly?"
"I think this, after I stole the coin you made from stealing my hunts."
The man's eyes widened as his hand quickly dropped to his hip and found his coin purse missing, "When did you?" When he looked back at Paloma, he found her to be holding the small pouch as she twirled it around by the drawstring--a Cheshire grin plastered upon her face.
But then, Paloma's self-satisfied smirk turned into a gasp of surprise when the man's hand shot forward, grabbed her hand in his own, and brought their hands harshly down upon the table--and atop the coin purse.
"Don't be swingin' that around, girly, lest you want to draw attention." His grip tightened as he hissed through his teeth, and she noticed that his intense, pale eyes were narrowed upon her quite dangerously.
Paloma started to think that maybe she had made a mistake... That maybe she should have stopped to see just what was inside that coin purse, for the man's reaction was a bit extreme for just a purse filled with gill.
But then, his gaze softened and he relaxed tight grip upon her hand. Smoothing the pads of his long fingers against the back of her hand (an action that sent shivers down her spine), he spoke again, his silky-rough baritone but a contemplative whisper, "So, a partnership?"
Paloma smiled weakly.
"Right, then." The man nodded, lifted his hand from hers before hooking the coin purse's draw string with his finger. After pulling it close, he opened the bag and pulled out a several coins, which he placed on the table and slid Paloma's way. "If we're going to play at partners, you best be gettin' yerself an upgrade to that pea shooter of yours."
It was the next morning that Paloma learned that the man not a hume at all. She had left her cabin to find him in the cockpit, sitting in the captain's seat, with clawed feet propped upon the console as if he owned the place. A small book was spread open against his knees as he read. No longer was he in all his armor and layers of cloth, but rather trousers and a sleeveless tunic. Sitting like that, he looked a bit like an overgrown teenager, but that is not what drew Paloma's attention. Without his hood, she could now see a pair of long, floppy ears stop his head.
"You're a viera?" The words were out of her mouth before she thought to hold them back.
"This trouble you?" He half turned his head, before licking his thumb and turning the page of his book. In that movement, she had seen he wore reading glasses.
"No... Not at all... I mean... I've just never seen one before. A viera that's a man, I mean." Paloma rambled on, feeling a little embarrassed about her outburst. Wringing her hands uncomfortably, she stepped forward to sit herself into the navigator's seat. "I just sort of... assumed all viera were female. I didn't know there were men, too."
The man slid an incredulous look her way, "No men? Prey: From whence did you think baby viera come?"
"I don't know... I'd heard that viera were born of the wood... or something like that... so... magic?"
The viera gave short bark of a laugh that sounded more like a snort, "If that be the case, baby humes must be delivered by storks."
"I... I'm sorry." Paloma gave him a weak smile, "I meant no offense."
The veria shook his head dismissively, "No offense was taken, m'dear. Truth be told, I've never met one, either."
"Really? Why is that?"
"I'm not of the wood."
Paloma was not sure what to make of his answer, but there was a certain finality to it that told her that he did not wish to speak on the matter any longer. And so, she crossed her arms over her chest and stared out the window. It seemed as though the morning was crawling by, to her, as they waited for the shops to open.
Eventually, her attention moved to the warn, leather-bound book that the viera was reading. It looked like the kind tomes she had only ever seen totted about by creepy old men in musty libraries. To see this man before her with such a book was a little surprising. It did not fit in with her previous assumptions about him. Then again, she had not realized he was not even hume either. She consoled herself with the knowledge that she had never seen a male viera before. How was she to know what they looked like?
Even still--given the man's manner of speech, which far from refined in its delivery--she had not perceived him to be one of those scholarly types of men. So, the image he presented now seemed a man wholly different from the one she oft sighted nursing a bottle of rum in the corner of the Sandsea.
Curious, she leaned sideways in her seat, trying to spy a closer look at the contents of his book. Yet, when she did, all she could make out were glyphs and drawings--none of which made any sense to her.
Paloma blinked at his muttered words, "Excuse me?"
"'Tis a textbook on magick formula and theorem."
Paloma scrunched her nose at the mention of textbook, and passed the viera a shrewd look. "Really? Reading a musty old textbook on magick? I thought only crotchety old scholars did that, anymore. What with spellstones and licenses, magick can easily be bought at shops."
The viera returned Paloma's shrewd look with an amused one of his own. "Whose t' say I'm not one of 'em crotchety old scholars?"
Paloma burst out laughing at that. "You? A crotchety old scholar? You can't be more than what, twenty, twenty five?"
One of the viera's brows rose with amusement, "Try twenty and two hundred."
Paloma's laughter stopped suddenly, as she gapped at the man rather owlishly. Then she blinked as she tried to reign in her surprise, "Oh right... I forgot. Viera... They live a long time, don't they?"
Paloma nodded her head as she turned to look back ground the front window. Then, a coy smile quirked at the corner of her lips, "Oh! I get it, now."
The viera turned a curious look to her, "Get what... Exactly?"
The girl's smile stretched into a grin, "I see now why you’re all cloaks and daggers. A crotchety old scholar, like yourself? You've got a bunch of librarian loan sharks chasing after you, trying to collect on your late fees."
Now it was the viera who blinked at the girl, somewhat owlishly, before he smirked, and returned his gaze to his book, "Ah, quite right." He murmured with some humor, "You've really hit it on the nose."
Rakesh; it was the name he had given her when they finally got around to making proper introductions.
Despite Paloma having defined their association as a partnership, they seemed to fall more into the roles of teacher and student--although, he seemed to take more easily to the teaching than she did to the learning. Rakesh seemed to be a fairly patient man, taking the time to show how to be a proper hunter, and how to handle herself in battles. At times, she wondered if he had really been a teacher or scholar, before he had gone to the life of an outlaw. He seemed to like reading musty old books enough to be one. However, strangely, despite reading all those books on magick, it was rare that she had ever seen him cast a spell. She could count on one hand the number of times she had witnessed his use of magick. It was odd, since he seemed rather studied on casting, what with his choice of reading material. When she asked him about his, he told her that magic—especially the kind that he studied--oft came with a price. As such, they are something to be used with purpose, and not haphazardly.
Months passed, then a year. She sent occasional letters home, to let her parents know that she was doing all right. It was something that was Rakesh's idea, although she had been a bit reluctant to do so, herself. But the intense look he'd given he when she voiced her protest (I’m a woman grown, not a child!) had her scrambling for both ink and quill. She wasn't sure what to make of that look of his. It was something dark and cold that sent shivers down her spine. It was both scary and enthralling. It was weird though, as later, he seemed almost apologetic when he told her that a parent ought not to be made worried over their child—whether that child is grown or not. She sensed a hidden meaning by those words, but she did not know what it was, and this troubled her for some days. It would be a while yet, and after much of her puppy-eyed starring, that he said, “I’ve lived over two hundred years, Paloma. Experiences, pleasant or not, happen with that kind of time.” Those words only seemed to confuse her more. Did he mean to say that he had been a worried parent, at some point? Or, that he’s been a child who had made his parents worried? It would be some time later before he let on that he had been an orphan, raised in a monastery. Strange, those words, since she had gotten the impression that he thought organized religion to be total rubbish (while he had cursed Faram’s name on occasion, she had never heard him pray to it). Then again, may this explained a whole lot.
It was an often frustration of hers that, for all the banter he would share with her, he was oddly elusive when matters turned personal. She understood that with him being what he was, in the line of work he did, he would not be likely willing to share with just anyone. But, they were partners, right? But, for a while now, she had been harboring a small crush for the man—one that he never seemed to notice, or seemed more intent on ignoring. Maybe that was the reason for his aloofness. Then again, maybe it was a viera thing, for they certainly were not known for being all chummy with the other races of Ivalice.
In was in the second, however, year of their working partnership that things took a turn for the personal.
In the beginning, she had set out from Rozarria with aspirations of sky-piracy; however, with this man, she ended up finding herself on the other side of the coin--hunting. As Paloma became more experienced, they moved on to elite marks. Then, their marks eventually turned from beast to men. Those were the most dangerous of all, but the most thrilling in a way. Sometimes, they barely made back home, alive, with their heads attached. It was those hunts when their emotions running most high. And, although he had never encouraged nor reciprocated Paloma’s amorous attention before, he had not discourage them, then.
Then there were those hunts that Rakesh took alone. The ones in which he left Paloma behind, on the ship, days at a time. At first, she was not sure whether to be thankful or annoyed for that. But then, he would return, smelling of blood and other things she did not want to identify. She had the sneaking suspicion that those hunts were the ones that called for “preferably dead” on the warrants, but she was not sure. So, when he left her behind, she would tell herself that maybe it was for the better—maybe she did not want to know what he did during those days. If there ever came a time where she had her gun pointed at someone, told to kill rather than incapacitate, she was not too sure if she could manage that. Despite being a head-hunter, the thought of killing another hume…. or humanoid… made her stomach churn.
Then, after one solo run, for the first time it was Rakesh who retired to her bed. On that night, she finally saw his aloofness and the darkness in his eyes as something other than thrilling. It was then that she finally saw it for what it really was—the mask of a man who'd lived too long and seen too much.
It was surreal, when he had held her after making love to her. For the first time, he talked. Really talked. He had been a priest of the church, long ago, before leaving the cloth when he found the machinations of religion wanting. He had turned to the life of a lore-hunter; sometimes a pirate or thief if it got him what he wanted (and he might have even raided a few tombs here and there, as well). While he said that his bouts of thieving had been done in search of rare tomes, he did not say why he had gone through the trouble of acquiring them in the first place. He revealed that he was not a full viera, but he did not know what his true heritage was outside of that. He admitted that he while he could not hear the wood, he could sometimes understand the minds of others, but mostly it was their hearts to which he was attuned (Paloma was unsure what he meant by those words). He probably was, indeed, one of those very “crotchety old scholars” she’d accused him of being back when they had first met--he had spent quite the insurmountable time holed away in libraries across Ivalice as he researched sorcery and the dark magick of the arcana (but she had already seen the books). He’d been a teacher before, and had even written a couple (very boring) treatises of his own (all of which are probably collecting dust somewhere in his attic). At her questioning look, he affirmed that, yes, he did own have a home. It was located in the Rabanastre (and was precisely how he escaped her pursuit when she had followed him there). He added that he had been married once and been a father thrice--his wife, he had lost to old age. His children were still alive, but long grown. His daughters had since moved abroad to live lives of their own. As for his son, he keeps the old home, now.
As Paloma listened to him speak she had a feeling that there was more to his words than what was being said. He was trying to tell her something, but she did not know what.
He left again, and when days turned to months, Paloma realized that the man was not coming back. It was not long after she had learned that she was with child, that Paloma heard rumors that an Arcadian expedition team had been lost, only to return with few survivors. Though Paloma had no great love for that empire, what caught her attention was the part of the rumor about the expedition's guide—it had been a male viera going by the name of Silasandros. The viera had been counted among the members who died.
With the Rakesh gone, so too died her will to continue the lifestyle of a hunter. Without the viera, it was not worth it, anymore. So she returned to Rozarria, and to her childhood home, where she bore a son and named him Mateo.
In the ten years that passed, she returned to helping with her father's legitimate his business. However, when she found out about his side job, she ended up joining Clan Berengeur. As a result, she may now hold connections to underworld activities and information networks. She may or may not have also been a supplier of arms to resistance forces.
During The Merge, she was separate from her son, and has been looking for him since.