Raii

Raii commands attention through confident ease and a vibrant presence. His skin is a vivid, deep emerald. The rich hue is intensified by the solar lamp he keeps in his quarters. It bathes him nightly in simulated sunlight. His complexion is stretched over a sharply defined physique shaped by both rigorous physical training and a genetic inheritance favored by Orion aesthetics.

Standing just under six feet tall, Raii’s body is a sculptor’s dream. He’s built with a wide, powerful chest and shoulders that square naturally. Long arms are defined from the sinewy muscle beneath the skin. His abdominal muscles are well-cut and defined. He walks with a deliberate, unhurried pace. Raii’s gait is more of a sway than a stride.

The Orion’s face is carved with the kind of symmetry that draws glances and holds them. A square jaw anchors his facial features. His cheekbones are high but softened by relaxed expressions. Raii’s smile is a wide, confident display that reveals a slight gap between his two front teeth. His laughter is contagious, vibrating deep from his chest like rumbling thunder.

Topping his head is a crown of fluorescent orange hair. Raii keeps the wild, expressive mass dyed several shades lighter than the darker orange of his bushy eyebrows. He wears his hair tousled into a kind of organized chaos, normally swept back in an attempt at order.

Raii’s most hypnotic feature might be his eyes. His irises are a brilliant, translucent hot pink. They’re almost gem-like in their intensity, flecked with facets that catch the light like crystal. They are always alert and always watching. Not with suspicion, but with curiosity, humor, and a touch of mischief. He maintains eye contact in a way that’s reassuring rather than intrusive. His gaze lingers just long enough to make a statement.

There is also his scent. He carries the unmistakable signature of Orion sage, earthy and spiced with a trace of citrus. It follows him gently, noticeable in close quarters but never overwhelming. The scent isn’t cologne. It’s the product of oils naturally secreted through his skin based on his diet.

Raii’s posture is neither slouched nor rigid. His arms swing loosely at his sides. Half-curled fingers often idly brush against a console or rail as he explores the ship. His voice carries a refined, slightly haughty accent. It’s not quite pompous, but articulate, with a slow, deliberate rhythm.

Lt. Raii’s personality is as vivid as his appearance. The Orion radiates warmth, confidence, and just a touch of trouble. Known throughout the Brawley for his magnetic charisma, Raii lives for the moments between duty. He spends those basking under simulated suns, watching fights in holographic arenas, or spending time in the mess hall with an exotic drink. Raii’s love of leisure isn’t just a pastime. It’s the core of who he is. Working out is one of his passions. His chiseled physique isn’t merely the result of Orion genetics, but of a daily regimen that mixes strength training with endurance routines. He often performs exercises shirtless beneath the artificial UV glow of his custom solar lamp. If anyone asks, he plays off his efforts and states the results are “just genetics.”

For all his discipline in personal aesthetics, Raii’s approach to Starfleet protocol is much more loose. He has a reputation for rushing through assignments. He delivers barely adequate reports with a smile that dares anyone to press him further. Efficiency means doing just enough to keep things moving in the budding JAG officer’s mind. Escaping to the holodeck to unwind with an Orion beach simulation or a romantic holonovel is more important. It’s no secret among the crew that Raii is hard to find when you need him. His comm badge has become something of a running joke, often pinging in locations far from his assigned duty stations.

What he lacks in punctuality and seriousness, he makes up for in social prowess. Lt. Raii is effortlessly charming. Flirtation is his first language. While many dismiss his antics as shallow or disruptive, others recognize that Raii just genuinely enjoys connecting with people. His frequent, beaming smiles make it hard to stay irritated with him for long.

This compulsive need to socialize often comes at the expense of his legal responsibilities. Once a junior member of the JAG Corps, Raii quickly built a reputation as an overconfident and lackadaisical trial lawyer. His courtroom performance was theatrical but inconsistent. He would deliver brilliant interjections or devastating cross-examinations one moment, only to underprepare a key argument or completely forget procedural rules the next. Raii displayed an impressive grasp of intergalactic diplomatic codes and starship navigation laws despite this. His legal instincts can be sharp when he chooses to engage with them.

It didn’t take long for higher-ups in JAG to decide that Raii’s skills might be better utilized somewhere far away from high-profile litigation. His transfer to the USS Brawley was as much a reassignment as an escape from him. They wanted to give him a few manageable tasks while placing as much distance between the Orion and Starfleet Command as possible. Flag officers speak of him with eye rolls and muttered warnings. He was a charming nuisance they couldn’t quite justify drumming out entirely.

Though rarely the most reliable officer on paper, Raii’s sheer likeability and odd brilliance have earned him a place aboard the Brawley.

Born in the steamy, vine-choked city of Rihlan’toor on Orion’s Kolar colony, Raii represented the first generation in his family to be born free. Just two decades before his birth, his family had still borne the invisible chains of servitude under Orion society’s complex, often brutal hierarchy. His father and uncle were both towering, silent men with the worn muscles and downcast eyes of long-service slaves. They had been bonded to one of the most powerful matriarchs of the northern hemisphere. Baroness Tishnu, Mistress of the Tempestuous Shadow, ruled with velvet ruthlessness and sultry charm.

Raii was her illegitimate son.

The truth of his birth was never stated outright, but everyone knew. Tishnu’s servants whispered it behind hands scented with ash-silk and lunar musk. Raii never spoke of it, but he walked through the Baroness’s estate with the confidence of a prince. His early years were defined by comfort and contradiction. He was not a slave, but his father had no rights. He could eat from silver dishes, yet never speak above his place. He trained with blademasters and navigation tutors, but was never allowed to use a family name. Raii learned charm, poise, and a little arrogance from the Baroness herself. She viewed him as both burden and indulgence. The boy was too illegitimate to formally claim, but too valuable to cast aside.

From a young age, Raii wanted to fly.

The sky became a symbol of the freedom his family had only just begun to taste. He would sneak out to the upper balconies of the estate to watch the couriers and skimmers shoot over the jungle canopy. By fifteen, he had convinced a merchant cousin of the Baroness to let him serve as a navigator’s apprentice aboard an intercolonial courier. From sixteen to eighteen, Raii bounced between freight runs, skimmer hops, and bulk supply jobs. He took any position that let him be near a starship’s helm, even if his duties were as menial as watching sensor telemetry or recalibrating navigation buoys.

He was not especially good at it.

Though he learned the language of spaceflight, he often did just enough to scrape by. He had a knack for directional instincts but lacked the discipline to keep his logs accurate. It was difficult to stay awake during the long, dull hours of each shift. His smile still got him through most inspections. By the time he applied to Starfleet Academy, Raii had assembled a shaky resume that was just convincing enough to earn him a seat in the basic flight program.

Raii drifted through the Academy. He charmed his instructors, made strategic friends in his dormitory, and developed an instinct for knowing exactly how much effort would earn him a pass. He performed decently in zero-g simulations, and his sense of spatial awareness was sharp. Raii was never a standout pilot. His habits of cutting corners and showing up late to drills earned him frequent disciplinary notes. None of them seemed to stick, thanks to his soft-spoken apologies and cheeky grin.

His downfall came during a senior training exercise aboard a photonic-range simulation shuttle. A routine scenario to test responses to unexpected sensor interference escalated into a sudden lightburst calibration test. Raii was too slow to drop the polarized visor over his eyes. His gem-like irises took the full brunt of a photonic detonation. While the medical team assured him no permanent damage had been done, he never regained his full ability to see in low-light environments. Night blindness quickly set in. His dreams of becoming a pilot were effectively over.

An academic counselor nudged him toward JAG. Raii had always shown a strange knack for understanding interstellar treaties, trade route regulations, and the tangled mess of diplomacy between the Federation and its fringe territories. His test scores in intergalactic law were surprisingly strong. His grades on history and legal codes were better than anything he’d ever done in a cockpit. With no better path forward, Raii shifted tracks and entered the JAG extension program.

He coasted there too. B- averages followed him like loyal pets. He offered just enough insight in his legal briefs to show he was paying attention. It was never enough to distinguish himself. Most of his instructors found him frustrating. Raii was brilliant when pressed, but terminally lazy. His legal writing was concise, but lacked punch. He often forgot case details, but could recit obscure treaty clauses by memory. Some professors told him he’d never succeed in a courtroom. Others were intrigued by his potential.

Starbase 21 was his first assignment. He was placed in the trial division under a moderately high-profile case involving trade sabotage between Tellarite and Andorian firms. Raii was assigned to the defense team as junior counsel. He bungled it by showboating in preliminary hearings and missing a procedural deadline. His supervisors had to scramble to salvage the defense, ultimately securing a negotiated resolution that left Starfleet Command deeply unimpressed.

That trial became the cautionary tale attached to his name in personnel files. The JAG office placed him in internal mediation roles, but he consistently failed to show up for meetings on time. When a visiting Senior JAG officer found him tanning on a holodeck beach during an interdepartmental review, it became clear that change was needed.

Raii was reassigned with minimal fanfare.

A brief stint handling minor claims and settlements between supply ships at Starbase 21 followed. His performance was adequate. Raii mostly used the time to socialize with passing dignitaries, flirt with diplomats’ aides, and avoid anything resembling sustained effort. His superiors were tired of his behavior. They still hesitated to expel someone with even limited legal value in navigational law and intergalactic treatise.

Then came the USS Brawley. The California-class utility vessel was far from the power centers of Starfleet Command. It was quiet enough for him to avoid the spotlight, but active enough to keep him busy if he ever chose to apply himself. It was the perfect compromise.

People know where to find Raii on the Brawley, even if he has a habit of forgetting his commbadge. You know he’s lifting weights, “getting a good green” under a sun lamp, or sharing a drink in the lounge.