Naril
Tinker, tailor, lover, thief
I've been going back and forth between a few different ideas for...longer than I'd like to admit. This is the one I finished first, but I do have others, if she doesn't work out. You can think of her existing in the center of a Venn diagram between Breq (The Imperial Radch trilogy), Swamp Thing, and Nona (Nona the Ninth).
I frequently find myself writing the “outsider” character, and I admit I’ve absolutely done that again. Please know that this isn’t a way to disengage from the story; I’ll be happy to work with Weilan and everyone else to make sure she fits into the story. I can think of a few ways off the top of my head, but that is perhaps getting ahead of ourselves.
I’m also not married to the code name. I did sort of forget to think of anything better while I was writing.
Morning edit: Found some things I forgot to change and others I forgot to write. The perils of your free time being just before midnight on most days.
I frequently find myself writing the “outsider” character, and I admit I’ve absolutely done that again. Please know that this isn’t a way to disengage from the story; I’ll be happy to work with Weilan and everyone else to make sure she fits into the story. I can think of a few ways off the top of my head, but that is perhaps getting ahead of ourselves.
I’m also not married to the code name. I did sort of forget to think of anything better while I was writing.
Morning edit: Found some things I forgot to change and others I forgot to write. The perils of your free time being just before midnight on most days.
Dryad
Name: Her ID says 'Yasmin Noor.' She goes by 'Yaz.'
Gender: Female-presenting
Age: This instantiation has been alive for around 38 years
Power: Extreme Botany
Rank: A2, were it ever categorized
Limiter: Not applicable
Appearance
Race
You could easily assume she's Middle Eastern.
Hair
Dark brown, with streaks of dyed color here and there. Right now, the dye is blue.
Eyes
Gold, with a pronounced limbal ring
Height
175cm (A bit less than 5 feet 9 inches)
Figure
Yasmin is tall for a woman, though she still needs a stepstool to reach the top shelves of her kitchen cabinets, because architects assume people are two and a half meters tall. The curves of her figure describe long lines of lean strength, accented with appealing and unmistakeable femininity; a martial artist's figure, or a dancer's. She keeps her hair in a stylish mane; long enough to tie back but not so long that it actually gets in the way, with a few stray locks escaping to frame her face. Her skin is a rich, clear olive with few visible scars; the most prominent being a small mark that cuts through her left eyebrow. Her eyes have the depth of fine amber, each holding the lustre and invitation of a chocolate wrapped in gold leaf, filled with vivid intelligence and quick, wicked humour. Her lips are full and inviting without the bee-stung lusciousness so often in vogue, the lines of her face lean without being gaunt and just on this side of masculinity - a playful, puckish tomboy's features. She is often smiling, often laughing, and her voice has a pleasant accent that makes every word its own piece of music.
In public, Yaz is a devotee of flattering pants (almost always jeans) work or hiking boots, and band t-shirts from the secondhand store. Few things are new, but none are shabby, and everything she owns is well cared-for. She wears quite a lot of jewelry - each ear is pierced several times, along with the left side of her nose. She will almost always be found with a pendant around her neck, along with a ring on each hand and bangles, bracelets, or arm cuffs as her mood dictates. She moves through the world with the perfect confidence of someone who knows exactly who they are, and where they want to be. Yaz is neither predatory nor timid, she does not dominate or shrink - she is the kind of person who is enough within themselves, and is made all the more magnetic for that. In short: Yaz is inviting, but nothing about her says she's a sucker - you should try your luck...but you shouldn't push it.
Notes
Yay has a large tattoo on the left side of her body, starting at the tip of her middle finger. The design flows in sparse lines across the back of her hand, then coils up and around her arm, apparently describing a slender and fantastical tree, with roots that flow down the side of her body, and branches and flowers that spread across her shoulder and trace delicate curls around her chest.
Personality
Positive Trait
The Language of Flowers - Yasmin loves people. She flirts, endlessly, with the entire world - because she's genuinely interested in just about everyone walking the planet. Everyone has a story, and Yas wants to hear it - also, she probably thinks you're cute. Want to get a drink? Listen, my place isn't far...
Neutral Trait
I Speak for the Trees - She might seem very human, but she's really not. It's easy to forget, but what Yasmin really cares about isn't necessarily humanity's struggles. That her priorities tend to align that way is more happy accident than anything else. More importantly, Yasmin is not Mother Nature. She's more Fun-Aunt Nature, or Cool-Older-Sister Nature.
Neutral Trait
Don't Be Hasty - Yasmin is patient, perhaps too much so. Time doesn't always mean the same thing to her that it might otherwise, and she doesn't get bored easily. Still, even plants will move on after enough time, just look at the walking onion.
Negative Trait
By And By - Yasmin isn't human, and she knows that, which becomes fuel for her worst nature. She is, by nature and long preference, more or less the happy, friendly, maybe-horny, probably-a-little-stoned hippie girl at the coffee shop - but there are times where she is, emphatically, not. The other half of nature is cold indifference, without cruelty, but without sympathy, either. Yasmin is never cruel - but there are places she would watch freeze, and people she would leave to be swallowed by the forest, if they got on the wrong side of her.
Biography
History
Relationships
Superpowers
Main Power
Yasmin is a minor, but genuine, literal force of nature. She can control the shape and growth of plants in the vicinity to an immensely powerful degree, including making wood denser or more pliant, causing an opium poppy to drip morphine, or conjure wildly dangerous thorned vines from a rose garden. Her own body is, similarly, under that same level of control - though that particular avenue is much more limited. She can sense the environment through plants life in the area, and understand the history of a place through the experiences of the local flora. This extends from unicellular algae and the plant cells in lichens to wheat in a field and the giant sequoias of California.
Supporting Power A: Yasmin is all but immune to plant-derived toxins and poisons - which isn't to say that nightshade tastes all that nice.
Supporting Power B: Tough, tenacious, and flexible, Yasmin is stronger, a little faster, and much tougher than run-of-the-mill humans - but purely physical metahumans can certainly overpower her.
Limitations
Limitation 1: Yasmin is capable of exerting her control over nature in an area about the size of Griffith Observatory - at least on the ground. Trees can grow quite tall, but she won't be using a giant redwood to swat down an aircraft.
Limitation 2: The plants in the area have to be capable of doing what she needs at the time. For example, if there are no woody plants around, she won't be able to throw up a wooden barrier, and the bladderworts in a stagnant pond probably can't hear people all that well, even if she'd like them to.
Limitation 3: Yasmin is rather more flammable than you might expect, all else being equal. She isn't going to catch fire like match, but fire and flame give her substantial pause.
Limitation 4: Yaz has immense control over her own physical form, but that particular well of power is very limited. She doesn't have roots, she barely needs the sun, and her power to change herself comes from within herself. She might be able to grow a shield from her own arm or close up a bullet hole, but that kind of thing takes energy and material that she must have within herself already. She might be able to repair her own broken bones once or twice, but she cannot build herself a new leg with parts of the neighbor's Rhododendron. If you really need or want a detailed chart-and-time writeup here I can probably make that, but I'd ask that you trust me a little bit.
Limitation 5: While she might be tough, Yasmin is extremely, very mortal. Her physiology might appear to be that of an attractive human woman, but inside, none of the systems would make sense to a hospital or doctor. If she dies, that is the end of Yasmin as an individual - if the Wild Places choose to send another vessel into the world, it will be years later and likely in another place.
Other Abilities
Skills
Archery - Yasmin is a fine, and fast, shot with a bow and arrow. The bow is bespoke, the arrows are commercial. Most are for target shooting.
Musical Theatre - Yaz has a fine singing voice, and plays the guitar well enough to be entertaining around the campfire or impromptu sing-along. You'll rarely see her pass up an opportunity for karaoke.
Loadout
In addition to the things any sensible person would take, Yaz has a pouch of seeds from all over the world. They are not sorted, but they are from dozens and dozens of genera and cultivars.
Augmentations
Not applicable
Race
You could easily assume she's Middle Eastern.
Hair
Dark brown, with streaks of dyed color here and there. Right now, the dye is blue.
Eyes
Gold, with a pronounced limbal ring
Height
175cm (A bit less than 5 feet 9 inches)
Figure
Yasmin is tall for a woman, though she still needs a stepstool to reach the top shelves of her kitchen cabinets, because architects assume people are two and a half meters tall. The curves of her figure describe long lines of lean strength, accented with appealing and unmistakeable femininity; a martial artist's figure, or a dancer's. She keeps her hair in a stylish mane; long enough to tie back but not so long that it actually gets in the way, with a few stray locks escaping to frame her face. Her skin is a rich, clear olive with few visible scars; the most prominent being a small mark that cuts through her left eyebrow. Her eyes have the depth of fine amber, each holding the lustre and invitation of a chocolate wrapped in gold leaf, filled with vivid intelligence and quick, wicked humour. Her lips are full and inviting without the bee-stung lusciousness so often in vogue, the lines of her face lean without being gaunt and just on this side of masculinity - a playful, puckish tomboy's features. She is often smiling, often laughing, and her voice has a pleasant accent that makes every word its own piece of music.
In public, Yaz is a devotee of flattering pants (almost always jeans) work or hiking boots, and band t-shirts from the secondhand store. Few things are new, but none are shabby, and everything she owns is well cared-for. She wears quite a lot of jewelry - each ear is pierced several times, along with the left side of her nose. She will almost always be found with a pendant around her neck, along with a ring on each hand and bangles, bracelets, or arm cuffs as her mood dictates. She moves through the world with the perfect confidence of someone who knows exactly who they are, and where they want to be. Yaz is neither predatory nor timid, she does not dominate or shrink - she is the kind of person who is enough within themselves, and is made all the more magnetic for that. In short: Yaz is inviting, but nothing about her says she's a sucker - you should try your luck...but you shouldn't push it.
Notes
Yay has a large tattoo on the left side of her body, starting at the tip of her middle finger. The design flows in sparse lines across the back of her hand, then coils up and around her arm, apparently describing a slender and fantastical tree, with roots that flow down the side of her body, and branches and flowers that spread across her shoulder and trace delicate curls around her chest.
Personality
Positive Trait
The Language of Flowers - Yasmin loves people. She flirts, endlessly, with the entire world - because she's genuinely interested in just about everyone walking the planet. Everyone has a story, and Yas wants to hear it - also, she probably thinks you're cute. Want to get a drink? Listen, my place isn't far...
Neutral Trait
I Speak for the Trees - She might seem very human, but she's really not. It's easy to forget, but what Yasmin really cares about isn't necessarily humanity's struggles. That her priorities tend to align that way is more happy accident than anything else. More importantly, Yasmin is not Mother Nature. She's more Fun-Aunt Nature, or Cool-Older-Sister Nature.
Neutral Trait
Don't Be Hasty - Yasmin is patient, perhaps too much so. Time doesn't always mean the same thing to her that it might otherwise, and she doesn't get bored easily. Still, even plants will move on after enough time, just look at the walking onion.
Negative Trait
By And By - Yasmin isn't human, and she knows that, which becomes fuel for her worst nature. She is, by nature and long preference, more or less the happy, friendly, maybe-horny, probably-a-little-stoned hippie girl at the coffee shop - but there are times where she is, emphatically, not. The other half of nature is cold indifference, without cruelty, but without sympathy, either. Yasmin is never cruel - but there are places she would watch freeze, and people she would leave to be swallowed by the forest, if they got on the wrong side of her.
Biography
History
Somewhere That's Green
Sunlight streamed through the window, the golden, ripe-apple light of an autumn afternoon. The window by the bed was open, with just the gentlest breath of breeze pushing a curtain aside with a quiet swishing sound, a slow and hypnotic beat. The moving air brushed sweat-dappled skin, a cooling kiss that brought delicious relief with a ripple of gooseflesh where the currents passed. In a room that had recently become rather less tidy, on a bed that recently had become likewise, Yasmin lay on her back, her hair a messy halo. One arm found its way under under a pillow, drinking in the relative cool, while the other wrapped around the shoulder of the person next to her. The time for the heaviest breathing had passed - not so long ago - and now was the comfortable, close enjoyment of one another. Yasmin's fingers traced over the other person's shoulder, lazy and light, while she stared at nothing with half-lidded eyes and the self-satisfied smile of a housecat. At length, the other person shifted, and Yasmin made a small noise of protest.
"You know," Yasmin's voice came out like nectar, "It's traditional to have a nap afterward. And it's Sunday. Nobody does anything on Sundays."
The other person let out a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sigh, "Nobody sensible, perhaps. But look at the pair of us."
"Sophie," Yaz sighed, "I-"
"You said we'd talk," Sophie said, propping herself up on an elbow, "And God love you, Yaz, but we can't put this off much longer."
"You're talking about that damn agency again, aren't you." Yasmin blew out a breath, and laid her newly free arm across her eyes.
"That 'damn agency' has kept the country safe from - you know what," Sophie stopped herself, "We're not having that discussion again."
Yasmin smirked, "Almost got you." She could feel Sophie's narrowed eyes, "Fine, fine. All right, Agent Fletcher." Yasmin didn't move, didn't sit up, "What does the Commonwealth want to talk about?"
"You're not going to get dressed?" Sophie said, incredulous.
"You can," Yaz replied, "I'm comfortable, and I intend to go on being comfortable."
"I..." Sophie sighed, "You know what, sure." A pause, "I suppose there's really only a few things I need to know."
"Mm-hmmn." Yaz shifted a little, moving her hips into a more comfortable position. The sheets slid with a silken sound.
Sophie cleared her throat, "Yaz...what are you, really?"
Yasmin moved her arm, just enough for one amber eye to peek out. The light from the window made the eye, and her smile, glow like burning gold. "You've never needed to know before." Her ever-present smile tugged at one side of her mouth, even now.
"We've got a new director, Yasmin. And I don't know what you are - but you're probably something I have to worry about." She swallowed, "But we've never brought you in. There was always someone more interesting, more flashy. But I know you're one of them."
"There are lots of cute girls in Los Angeles," Yasmin's voice was still light, playful.
"You think I didn't notice what happened at the botanic gardens?" Sophie said, her voice a little sharp, "Or at Griffith Park? Trees don't move like that. Flowers don't just...bloom."
"I was kind of hoping you'd be too busy thinking about the way I was kissing you at the time." Yaz moved her arm and turned her head, the smile turning a little sad, "What do you want me to say, Sophie?"
"Just...tell me the truth. That's all I want." Sophie's eyes glittered in the sunlight, a pair of emeralds in a face beginning to tighten with worry.
"And what does the Commonwealth want?" Yasmin closed her eye, let her arm fall back across her face.
"I..." Sophie stalled out.
Yasmin let out a soft sound, a private and quiet laugh to herself. She relaxed, nestling further down into the pillow, and took a few slow, long breaths. She liked Sophie, she really did - and found herself liking her all the more for how willing she was to stick to what she believed in. Yasmin had never really dealt with the Commonwealth's offices - in fact, she'd met Sophie in a bar on a rare rainy night, neither of them knowing who or what the other was until quite some time later. A couple of months into their...whatever-this-was, there had been a very awkward meeting at a scene of excitement and fire, the kind of 'wait, what are you doing here' that romantic comedies bloomed from. And for a few weeks more, they had managed to avoid answering that question, neither quite willing to broach the subject. In Yasmin's case, because she didn't find the notion important - but for Sophie, well. Agents had their responsibilities.
"Sophie," Yasmin said, taking her arm from shading her eyes and running her fingers over Sophie's leg, "The truth's pretty weird."
"You know where I work," A smirk tugged at Sophie's mouth, "Weird is part of the job."
Yas laughed, her fingers still tracing over Sophie's skin, "Well..."
And Yasmin told her a tale, ancient and primordial, of the wild places that the world once had, and that could still be found. Those places where people - humans, their ancestors, and everything besides - came to live, to eat, to drink, to find shelter or make tools. She wove the story of watching civilization rise, fall, and rise again, of feeling the world through the soil, the air, the way the sun cut through smoke. In her story, Yasmin spoke of the people who had walked through those wild places, those who lived near them, in them, who found the paths through them. A thousand generations of explorers, hunters, gatherers, smiths, engineers, and architects, each person leaving their mark on the world, the world that knew itself, the world that knew the explorers, the world that loved them for all they were and all they did. And sometimes, they never left those wild places, and they would become one with them, roots wrapping bone, and another generation nourished by all they had given.
And she spoke a day when the wild places, who knew one another as they knew themselves, sought something else. Not for parlay, not to entreat, not even to influence, not really. But for so long, the world had been the world, and the trees had been the trees, and they had felt every breath, every step of the wondrous people that shared the land, the sea, and the sky. And they thought: What is it that makes these people the way they are? Was it their eyes? Was it music? Was the spark that made them special something in poetry, in music, in discarded sandwiches? The trees were the trees, and the vines were the vines, and they would take care of themselves, and the wild places thought: Here is a question that we cannot answer. And so they chose to try, and they poured their love and curiosity into someone who could experience the world the way the people did. They gave her eyes, and they gave her arms, and they gave her legs, and they gave her a mouth that she could speak, and they gave her the words they had heard down the centuries.
And later, she came back to the wild places, and she brought that knowledge with her, and she returned to the soil, to the trees, to the flowers and vines, and a lifetime of knowledge, alien to this most primal awareness of the world, showered like spring rain. And for a time, that was enough. There was much to think about, after all, much to ponder, much to wonder at. Then there was the age of the machine, and the wild places wanted to know what that was like, and another ventured into the world, another returned, and the wild places learned more. And so on through history - the wild places would send their own into the world, armed with love, with curiosity, with tenderness, with the strength of oak and ash and thorn.
"And in this time," Yasmin said, "I'm who the wild places sent. I'm who they made." She smiled, "My sisters saw the first farms, they saw when cats decided that they lived in your houses, they saw the dawn of steam and the age of flight. I have no particular orders, Sophie. I'm not here to be Captain Planet, and I'm not here to save your from yourselves. I'm here to be one of you. I'm here to love the people I love, and to one day, bring what I am back to where I came from."
Sophie stared, blinked, cleared her throat, but no other words came.
"My sisters saw a man walk on the Moon, and cross the polar ice," Yasmin said, "It seems I'm here to see how the world treats people with superpowers, because I'm one of them." She smiled, "But for all of that, I rather think I'm outside of your department."
"You are exactly my department," Sophie said, almost choking on the words.
"What will you do?" Yasmin grinned, "I expect your technology wouldn't work on me, even if I were inclined to let you try. And if it didn't work, what next? Would you try to register the Everglades? Train the Tongass? Would you send agents to speak to the Grove of Titans, in the hope it would give you a different answer?" Her voice was gentle, kind, without a hint of anger or disappointment. "I'm no danger to you, or to anything you hold dear."
"And you expect me to trust you?" Sophie's voice came after long moments, quiet.
"Have I given you a single reason not to?" Yaz smiled, "Come back to bed, Sophie. That's what's important right now. Your organization will take care of itself."
Sophie looked out the window, eyes distant, lost in thought. Yasmin stroked her leg with the fingers of one hand, and the silence bloomed between them. After a long time, Sophie blew out a long, quiet breath.
"If Director Chernov ever finds out," Sophie said, equal parts resignation and relief, "She's probably going to kill me."
-----------------
Notes
Yasmin makes her living primarily by selling truly spectacular weed to a select and well-heeled clientele. She also has a stall at the local farmer's market, with a table overflowing with seasonal produce, most of which comes from a large garden in her back yard. She presently lives in Los Angeles.
Sunlight streamed through the window, the golden, ripe-apple light of an autumn afternoon. The window by the bed was open, with just the gentlest breath of breeze pushing a curtain aside with a quiet swishing sound, a slow and hypnotic beat. The moving air brushed sweat-dappled skin, a cooling kiss that brought delicious relief with a ripple of gooseflesh where the currents passed. In a room that had recently become rather less tidy, on a bed that recently had become likewise, Yasmin lay on her back, her hair a messy halo. One arm found its way under under a pillow, drinking in the relative cool, while the other wrapped around the shoulder of the person next to her. The time for the heaviest breathing had passed - not so long ago - and now was the comfortable, close enjoyment of one another. Yasmin's fingers traced over the other person's shoulder, lazy and light, while she stared at nothing with half-lidded eyes and the self-satisfied smile of a housecat. At length, the other person shifted, and Yasmin made a small noise of protest.
"You know," Yasmin's voice came out like nectar, "It's traditional to have a nap afterward. And it's Sunday. Nobody does anything on Sundays."
The other person let out a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sigh, "Nobody sensible, perhaps. But look at the pair of us."
"Sophie," Yaz sighed, "I-"
"You said we'd talk," Sophie said, propping herself up on an elbow, "And God love you, Yaz, but we can't put this off much longer."
"You're talking about that damn agency again, aren't you." Yasmin blew out a breath, and laid her newly free arm across her eyes.
"That 'damn agency' has kept the country safe from - you know what," Sophie stopped herself, "We're not having that discussion again."
Yasmin smirked, "Almost got you." She could feel Sophie's narrowed eyes, "Fine, fine. All right, Agent Fletcher." Yasmin didn't move, didn't sit up, "What does the Commonwealth want to talk about?"
"You're not going to get dressed?" Sophie said, incredulous.
"You can," Yaz replied, "I'm comfortable, and I intend to go on being comfortable."
"I..." Sophie sighed, "You know what, sure." A pause, "I suppose there's really only a few things I need to know."
"Mm-hmmn." Yaz shifted a little, moving her hips into a more comfortable position. The sheets slid with a silken sound.
Sophie cleared her throat, "Yaz...what are you, really?"
Yasmin moved her arm, just enough for one amber eye to peek out. The light from the window made the eye, and her smile, glow like burning gold. "You've never needed to know before." Her ever-present smile tugged at one side of her mouth, even now.
"We've got a new director, Yasmin. And I don't know what you are - but you're probably something I have to worry about." She swallowed, "But we've never brought you in. There was always someone more interesting, more flashy. But I know you're one of them."
"There are lots of cute girls in Los Angeles," Yasmin's voice was still light, playful.
"You think I didn't notice what happened at the botanic gardens?" Sophie said, her voice a little sharp, "Or at Griffith Park? Trees don't move like that. Flowers don't just...bloom."
"I was kind of hoping you'd be too busy thinking about the way I was kissing you at the time." Yaz moved her arm and turned her head, the smile turning a little sad, "What do you want me to say, Sophie?"
"Just...tell me the truth. That's all I want." Sophie's eyes glittered in the sunlight, a pair of emeralds in a face beginning to tighten with worry.
"And what does the Commonwealth want?" Yasmin closed her eye, let her arm fall back across her face.
"I..." Sophie stalled out.
Yasmin let out a soft sound, a private and quiet laugh to herself. She relaxed, nestling further down into the pillow, and took a few slow, long breaths. She liked Sophie, she really did - and found herself liking her all the more for how willing she was to stick to what she believed in. Yasmin had never really dealt with the Commonwealth's offices - in fact, she'd met Sophie in a bar on a rare rainy night, neither of them knowing who or what the other was until quite some time later. A couple of months into their...whatever-this-was, there had been a very awkward meeting at a scene of excitement and fire, the kind of 'wait, what are you doing here' that romantic comedies bloomed from. And for a few weeks more, they had managed to avoid answering that question, neither quite willing to broach the subject. In Yasmin's case, because she didn't find the notion important - but for Sophie, well. Agents had their responsibilities.
"Sophie," Yasmin said, taking her arm from shading her eyes and running her fingers over Sophie's leg, "The truth's pretty weird."
"You know where I work," A smirk tugged at Sophie's mouth, "Weird is part of the job."
Yas laughed, her fingers still tracing over Sophie's skin, "Well..."
And Yasmin told her a tale, ancient and primordial, of the wild places that the world once had, and that could still be found. Those places where people - humans, their ancestors, and everything besides - came to live, to eat, to drink, to find shelter or make tools. She wove the story of watching civilization rise, fall, and rise again, of feeling the world through the soil, the air, the way the sun cut through smoke. In her story, Yasmin spoke of the people who had walked through those wild places, those who lived near them, in them, who found the paths through them. A thousand generations of explorers, hunters, gatherers, smiths, engineers, and architects, each person leaving their mark on the world, the world that knew itself, the world that knew the explorers, the world that loved them for all they were and all they did. And sometimes, they never left those wild places, and they would become one with them, roots wrapping bone, and another generation nourished by all they had given.
And she spoke a day when the wild places, who knew one another as they knew themselves, sought something else. Not for parlay, not to entreat, not even to influence, not really. But for so long, the world had been the world, and the trees had been the trees, and they had felt every breath, every step of the wondrous people that shared the land, the sea, and the sky. And they thought: What is it that makes these people the way they are? Was it their eyes? Was it music? Was the spark that made them special something in poetry, in music, in discarded sandwiches? The trees were the trees, and the vines were the vines, and they would take care of themselves, and the wild places thought: Here is a question that we cannot answer. And so they chose to try, and they poured their love and curiosity into someone who could experience the world the way the people did. They gave her eyes, and they gave her arms, and they gave her legs, and they gave her a mouth that she could speak, and they gave her the words they had heard down the centuries.
And later, she came back to the wild places, and she brought that knowledge with her, and she returned to the soil, to the trees, to the flowers and vines, and a lifetime of knowledge, alien to this most primal awareness of the world, showered like spring rain. And for a time, that was enough. There was much to think about, after all, much to ponder, much to wonder at. Then there was the age of the machine, and the wild places wanted to know what that was like, and another ventured into the world, another returned, and the wild places learned more. And so on through history - the wild places would send their own into the world, armed with love, with curiosity, with tenderness, with the strength of oak and ash and thorn.
"And in this time," Yasmin said, "I'm who the wild places sent. I'm who they made." She smiled, "My sisters saw the first farms, they saw when cats decided that they lived in your houses, they saw the dawn of steam and the age of flight. I have no particular orders, Sophie. I'm not here to be Captain Planet, and I'm not here to save your from yourselves. I'm here to be one of you. I'm here to love the people I love, and to one day, bring what I am back to where I came from."
Sophie stared, blinked, cleared her throat, but no other words came.
"My sisters saw a man walk on the Moon, and cross the polar ice," Yasmin said, "It seems I'm here to see how the world treats people with superpowers, because I'm one of them." She smiled, "But for all of that, I rather think I'm outside of your department."
"You are exactly my department," Sophie said, almost choking on the words.
"What will you do?" Yasmin grinned, "I expect your technology wouldn't work on me, even if I were inclined to let you try. And if it didn't work, what next? Would you try to register the Everglades? Train the Tongass? Would you send agents to speak to the Grove of Titans, in the hope it would give you a different answer?" Her voice was gentle, kind, without a hint of anger or disappointment. "I'm no danger to you, or to anything you hold dear."
"And you expect me to trust you?" Sophie's voice came after long moments, quiet.
"Have I given you a single reason not to?" Yaz smiled, "Come back to bed, Sophie. That's what's important right now. Your organization will take care of itself."
Sophie looked out the window, eyes distant, lost in thought. Yasmin stroked her leg with the fingers of one hand, and the silence bloomed between them. After a long time, Sophie blew out a long, quiet breath.
"If Director Chernov ever finds out," Sophie said, equal parts resignation and relief, "She's probably going to kill me."
-----------------
Notes
Yasmin makes her living primarily by selling truly spectacular weed to a select and well-heeled clientele. She also has a stall at the local farmer's market, with a table overflowing with seasonal produce, most of which comes from a large garden in her back yard. She presently lives in Los Angeles.
Relationships
- Sophia (Sophie) Fletcher - One of Yasmin's best friends, occasional lover, and would probably be her girlfriend if they saw each other more often.
- Vincent Telemier - A grey market information broker who helped Yasmin establish an identity, and ensures she can get around through an increasingly online world. She keeps him well-supplied with fresh fruits and vegetables, which he gives away, and marijuana, which he does not.
- Iris Winter - The owner and proprietor of Yasmin's favorite bar.
- It seems impossible that she wouldn't know Demeter Green.
- The Wild Places - The meta-consciousness of plant life, developed over eons. She is they and they are she.
Superpowers
Main Power
Yasmin is a minor, but genuine, literal force of nature. She can control the shape and growth of plants in the vicinity to an immensely powerful degree, including making wood denser or more pliant, causing an opium poppy to drip morphine, or conjure wildly dangerous thorned vines from a rose garden. Her own body is, similarly, under that same level of control - though that particular avenue is much more limited. She can sense the environment through plants life in the area, and understand the history of a place through the experiences of the local flora. This extends from unicellular algae and the plant cells in lichens to wheat in a field and the giant sequoias of California.
Supporting Power A: Yasmin is all but immune to plant-derived toxins and poisons - which isn't to say that nightshade tastes all that nice.
Supporting Power B: Tough, tenacious, and flexible, Yasmin is stronger, a little faster, and much tougher than run-of-the-mill humans - but purely physical metahumans can certainly overpower her.
Limitations
Limitation 1: Yasmin is capable of exerting her control over nature in an area about the size of Griffith Observatory - at least on the ground. Trees can grow quite tall, but she won't be using a giant redwood to swat down an aircraft.
Limitation 2: The plants in the area have to be capable of doing what she needs at the time. For example, if there are no woody plants around, she won't be able to throw up a wooden barrier, and the bladderworts in a stagnant pond probably can't hear people all that well, even if she'd like them to.
Limitation 3: Yasmin is rather more flammable than you might expect, all else being equal. She isn't going to catch fire like match, but fire and flame give her substantial pause.
Limitation 4: Yaz has immense control over her own physical form, but that particular well of power is very limited. She doesn't have roots, she barely needs the sun, and her power to change herself comes from within herself. She might be able to grow a shield from her own arm or close up a bullet hole, but that kind of thing takes energy and material that she must have within herself already. She might be able to repair her own broken bones once or twice, but she cannot build herself a new leg with parts of the neighbor's Rhododendron. If you really need or want a detailed chart-and-time writeup here I can probably make that, but I'd ask that you trust me a little bit.
Limitation 5: While she might be tough, Yasmin is extremely, very mortal. Her physiology might appear to be that of an attractive human woman, but inside, none of the systems would make sense to a hospital or doctor. If she dies, that is the end of Yasmin as an individual - if the Wild Places choose to send another vessel into the world, it will be years later and likely in another place.
Other Abilities
Skills
Archery - Yasmin is a fine, and fast, shot with a bow and arrow. The bow is bespoke, the arrows are commercial. Most are for target shooting.
Musical Theatre - Yaz has a fine singing voice, and plays the guitar well enough to be entertaining around the campfire or impromptu sing-along. You'll rarely see her pass up an opportunity for karaoke.
Loadout
In addition to the things any sensible person would take, Yaz has a pouch of seeds from all over the world. They are not sorted, but they are from dozens and dozens of genera and cultivars.
Augmentations
Not applicable
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