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Physical Description

General Physical Condition

Imir's knees are not the best, and cause them chronic pain, so she frequently uses a mechanical wheelchair to get around instead. It has been heavily modified over the years by her to fit their desires and specifications.

Identifying Characteristics

Her ears are long and pointed. They keep their hair in box braids, most of which are black, some of which are orange, blue, or green. She has a mechanical wheelchair in various shades of brass and bronze. They wear knee braces from time to time as well, always when they walk, but are not visible when she is wearing her over-dress. Also known for wearing thick green leather gloves everywhere.

Physical quirks

Different sections of their hair are different colours, which are shown off quite clearly in her braids. She is also very sensitive to touch and so prefers to wear layers of comfortable clothing and gloves at all times.

Special abilities

Her wheelchair serves as a sort of utility belt, with tools and tricks hidden away to the point that the interior compartments are almost, and could be, non-Euclidian. They can also summon and vanish, like the rest of the crew, her primary instrument - the accordion.

Apparel & Accessories

Imir wears an orange jumper and brown trousers, over which is a sleeveless green dress. Around their shoulders is a blue shawl, tied in the middle and reaching down to about mid-back; this is shorter than it would traditionally be, but it makes sitting in a wheelchair much easier. Her boots are brown and tip up at the points. They have a woven orange-and-yellow striped belt with hanging tassels and charms that have been collected from various places and crew members. She wears green leather gloves with woven brown wrist wraps and blue trim. Their beaded collar is in blue, green, yellow, and orange, the yellow matching her gold earrings, a gift from Corsage. She has a cloth braid that matches her hair as a headband and an orange cloth that holds their braids in a bun.

Specialized Equipment

Their wheelchair is highly modified for her specific needs; it has dozens of hidden features and changing capabilities to handle different kinds of terrain, as well as limited self-propelling abilities for when she gets tired and there is no one they trust nearby to push them. They also designed her own knee braces.

Mental characteristics

Personal history

Imir's life for the first twenty years was guided by one mantra:   Be useful or get out.   This is not a good mantra, nor is it beneficial to any sort of healthy development, but it was what she was told day in and day out. So they did their very best to make herself useful and not collapse in the process. Anything anyone needed - help in the kitchen, in the fields, in the house, anywhere and anything anyone needed. Of course, with several chronic conditions, that was far easier said than done. Which just lead to an endless spiral of pushing herself beyond her limits, spending the next day bedridden, being chastised for uselessness, and resolving to push themself even harder next time.   So Imir began to get left behind. It was now "too much work" to keep them around, so she was left in the house while everyone else went out. They were made to clean while everyone else was away. Something she realised quite early on was that if no one was there, there was no one to chastise them or get mad at how they did things - so she allowed herself to sit. Certainly a great deal of cleaning could not be done from a stationary chair, but what could be done, was. Their knees heaved a sigh of relief and she found herself with more energy than before; they actually wanted to do things now, despite how much having to actually put her hands on it hurt.   But people inevitably returned to the house. She stood.   So it was one day Imir heard the ringing of bells. Cowbells were quite common to hear, with their low blunt clanging. But this was quite a different sound. It was clearer, softer, higher. They stuck their head out the window and looked around. At the end of the dirt road was a covered hoop wagon drawn by bulls. Tied to the leathers covering it was a set of bells, small and round and jingling merrily as the bulls plodded along. Out the back of the wagon stuck a number of metal poles and smaller, spidery limbs.   A tinker!   Imir absolutely loved when a tinker came to town - their wares were fascinating, and she could sit and stare for hours. They had missed the last few times a tinker had come in due to being stuck in their room, but now there was no one around to say no, and she was having a rather low pain day. She hauled themself to their feet and made her way outside to intercept the wagon.   It was like magic. The tinker had stopped to start setting up their gadgets and gizmos, and the array of clinking metal was a feast for her eyes. The tinker smiled and held out a little whirligig for them to play with - but Imir just looked. Of course they wanted to play with it, but from many a past experience, so many different pieces touching her hands all at once was a recipe for disaster. So instead, they asked questions. Everything they could think of to ask. The tinker was delighted to have someone actually interested in their things and answered as they could.   It all made so much sense to Imir, the mechanical things. The gears and wires and straps and rivets, they all had their place. They were all perfectly useful. It was like she could see all the pieces and how they fit together as the tinker explained it. As they spoke, Imir's mind began to see more than just metal and leather, more than just the tinker's hands and wagon. They began to see a future.   So they took a breath and asked to go with the tinker.   The tinker was taken a bit aback, but Imir promised she could learn, she could be useful. The tinker had certainly seen how quickly they had understood how all the little machines worked. Plus, they had been thinking about getting someone to help look after things. The tinker agreed. They shook hands. Imir tried not to shudder.   That night, as Imir was jostled to sleep in the back of the wagon amongst the crates and the buckets of nails, they were happy. They were excited. She was leaving a place where she could not be useful. So they got out. Now they could be free.   Unfortunately, that was not quite true. They had mountains to learn in very little time. Her brain hurt every night from trying to remember everything the tinker had shown them that day. Not only did everything have its place, but everything had to be made exactly perfectly, and put in in just the right order, or it would all fall to pieces. But her mind still ached far less than her body - they had hoped that being a tinker's apprentice would involve mostly sitting in a chair and putting things together. Every day was up, down, up, down, tending the fire, cutting metal and leather, opening and closing the door to adjust the temperature, gathering materials from every corner of the multi-roomed workshop. The constant up-and-down was wreaking even more havoc on Imir's knees.   The one saving grace was the thin leather gloves the tinker gave to Imir to wear. They could stand now to touch all the thousand things in the shop, and no more was it nearly so uncomfortable to even just open a drawer. It made having to work with their hands all day infinitely more bearable, especially since there was no oil or dust or anything of the sort smearing her skin that she would have to wash off immediately.   But no matter how hard they worked, she still felt the disappointment of the tinker weighing on her. It was getting harder and harder to get up as the months went on. Imir's fear of being cast off grew, and so did their frantic need to prove herself intellectually as to not be left behind again. Yet for everything she learned, everything they created, there was another annoyed sigh as she struggled to get across the room.   Eventually, Imir was put at the register next to the small workbench on a stool with wheels where she could roll from one to the other by pulling herself along with their hands on the tabletops. It actually made things... easier. Instead of having to walk back and forth constantly, they let the stool do all the work.   Until the tinker needed the wheels off the stool for something or another and she was back to standing all day.   After a year or so, Imir had their first big fall in the shop. They shattered what they had been holding in her hands and was unable to get up for quite a while. The tinker scolded her profusely and sent them to their room. The next day was exactly what she had feared - a recovery day. She tried telling the tinker that they could work from their room, if only tools could be brought up. But the tinker scoffed and ignored her for the rest of the day. The message was clear. Be useful or be ignored. Be left behind.   Be useful or get out.   So they did. It took a few months, but they did. She had been working on very rudimentary knee braces up in their room for some time. They strapped the metal contraptions on, and that night, as before, she left. Down the road they walked, grasses whispering in the warm night air. She had no idea where she was going. Had no idea what they were going to do next. For now, it was enough to breathe the air and not hear the tinker's disappointed sighs.   They stopped just on the edge of town to rest. She slid down the small decline from road to riverbank to sit by the edge of the water, stripping off their gloves to run her hands through the cool water. They splashed their face, letting it cool her off. She massaged their knees and stared into the river. As they stared, she swore she saw someone looking back. A paler face. What...?   They reached out a hand to the water. As her fingers touched the surface, it was like someone was behind them shoving them in. She completely lost her balance and tumbled head-first into the water. All that was left behind were her thin oil-stained gloves.   Imir's head hit the water and broke through to air. They spluttered water and wiped it from her eyes, jumping in shock (as best as they could from a seated position in a shallow river) at the figure before her. Someone with a pale face, and solid silver eyes, and hair that looked more like wire than anything else.   But the new person did something no one had ever done before - they extended a hand to help her up.   With much trepidation, she took it.   They were hauled to their feet and did their best not to sit right back down. The pair walked into the town just beyond the gentle hill cut in half by the river, and the newcomer began to gently talk. Imir answered questions with a quarter of their brain, the rest grappling with her own question of where the hell she was. The pair had to stop numerous times so Imir could rest, and by the second stop, the newcomer asked if she wanted a wheelchair to help them. Imir's first instinct was panic and so they said no. But by the fifth stop, their whole body was one stabbing knot of pain, and they had to give in.   The newcomer dashed off and left Imir to stew on how stupid they had been, why would anyone actually want to help, the person had probably just taken the first polite opportunity to leave-   Then imir heard the tell-tale sound of metal on dirt. She looked up and saw the newcomer pushing a chair with four wheels, two large, two small. They were entranced. The newcomer helped them into the seat, and asked if it was alright that they were pushed. Imir was in too much pain to argue.   The next few days were spent in recovery, with pain fading steadily as people popped in and out of the room she had been offered to offer help - compresses, massages, ice, heat, painkillers, even just a kind word or conversation to keep them company. It was perfectly bizarre. Imir kept waiting for the other shoe to drop, for someone to demand something, for whoever owned the building they were in to kick them out or insist she pay back the cost of living there.   But none ever came. To her surprise, they were even allowed to keep the wheelchair they had used the night they arrived in this strange new place. Eventually, her body had recovered and was feeling at least well enough to go out in the wheelchair. People waved, a number she had met while recovering said hello. No one commented on the wheelchair. In fact, they saw several others in chairs similar to her own, or with complex mechanical braces on their limbs for support, or canes, or crutches.   Still, the mantra beat a tattoo in her head. Surely those like her had found ways to be useful, especially with their mobility aids, and so had been allowed to stay. She found a tinker's shop and threw themself into work. If they worked hard enough, maybe they could stay, too.   Months passed. A year. Two. Imir had never felt better, physically or mentally. With a wheelchair, they could actually spend all day doing things without having to pause every few minutes and wait out the pain. The tinker she worked for never once huffed at her needing a bit more time to do something, or having to take a day off for pain. The tinker even gave her thicker gloves upon noticing how much easier it was for them to work with them on. They were no longer defined or valued by her usefulness.   They began to have fun. To play. She built herself an accordion, taking it to pubs and eventually clubs to play, much to the delight of the audience. It was a strange instrument, but worked much like a piano, and was endlessly fun to toy with. She and the tinker built a new wheelchair, and new knee braces, with not inconsiderable help from many in the community who lived similarly to her.   Finally, they saw a flyer in their favourite club for auditions for a ship's crew. Now, there was something exciting! She had taken a few excursions on ships recently, up and down the eastern coast, and quite enjoyed themself. What would it be like to live on one, to work on one? To play on one?   Auditions were quick and easy. The waiting less so. But to their utmost delight, she was accepted! The day they left the tinker's shop on the docks, she waved with not a few tears in her eyes. They rolled up the gangplank of the gleaming ribbon ship and felt the creeping voice of her old mantra slip back in. Would they be useful enough for this crew of what must be hardened sailors? Would she be good enough, or would the crew leave them behind, make her get off the ship at the first port they docked at-   Yet those fears were unfounded and blew away in the ocean breeze. Never had she been so wholly loved, so wholly accepted, so adored for simply who they were.   It was simply magic.


Social Aptitude

Alright, not the best of the crew and not the worst, tries to be kind but can come across as blunt.
Currently Boarded Vehicle
Alternate Afropunk Earth
Gender Identity
Check out what this button does
Black irises
Long black braids, some are orange/green/blue
Skin Tone/Pigmentation
Dark brown
170cm (5' 7")

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