|Birthdate:||February 29, 2403|
|Affiliation:||Bajoran Defense Force|
- Gruesome Injuries - As a former Trauma Surgeon, the thought of a new and exciting medical procedure generally catches her interest. Don't leave out the gory details.
- Medical Technology - Cybernetics, biosynthetic, anything ground-breaking and new that could potentially improve chances of survival to a patient.
- Vintage Clothes - Having spent almost a decade on Earth and setting up her home in San Francisco with her now estranged husband, she'd often spend her time looking at vintage Terran fashion, connecting with millennial styles.
- Good Food - Seldom free time, means when she goes out for food it has to be pretty good. She's been known to walk out if it's below par. She can cook one or two meals she proud of, otherwise, she won't bother in the kitchen.
- Synthahol - She's no means a synthaholic, but she'll finish off a shift with a good drink. There's a couple of bottles she took from her husband's collection, which she takes great pride in drinking.
- Shooting Range - Not being the best shot, she is pretty good with a rifle and can sometimes be found on the holodeck running a simulation.
- Adrenaline Junkie - Loving the feeling of the rush, free falling is something she's previously experienced, but is open to try almost anything.
- Music - Music is almost always playing, especially in her office and always in surgery. She is prone to singing along when she's on her own and has a beaten guitar that was given to her by Jackson for her birthday.
Love Gone Wrong - You+Me
The woman before you is clearly Bajoran, she's of average height and average build, with a barely there tan. Her near black hair is cut in a blunt wavy bob that finishes just below her sharp jaw and parts just off centre. Her slightly angled dark brows are neatly maintained unlike her hair, beneath are murky green eyes which are splattered with muddy brown. Her complexion is marked by a single mole on her right cheek, not far from her strongly ridged nose. Thin rosy lips are tainted with an unforgiving expression that is clearly forming some kind of judgment.
Visible from behind is the intricate lace work of a tattoo starting along her hairline on the back of her neck, and fanning out across her shoulders. The size of the piece is unable to be determined from most attire.
Black Cardigan and Ripped Jeans A chunky black waterfall cardigan gapes, it's lapels pool against her chest. Below drapes a generic off-white t-shirt, several sizes too big, and with it's sleeves removed. A well-worn pair of straight leg jeans are cuffed and stuffed into a pair of oversized military boots.
Cropped Sweater and Leather Skirt Orla wears a soft mid grey cropped sweater, its sleeves are pulls up and sit just below her elbows. Several inches of her midriff are exposed before her waist is covered by a delicately pleated knee length skirt. On her feet a pair of black chunky heeled Chelsea boots.
Biker Jacket and Cuffed Pants A loose lace trimmed black satin camisole is mostly covered by a synthetic leather biker jacket. Her grey chambray pants, are neatly pressed and folded into a two-inch cuff, exposing just above her ankles. A pair of well-worn white canvas pumps provide a little more comfort.
Flowing Pleated Maxi and Biker Jacket A pale rose pleated maxi skirt delicately flows from a thin brown belt around her waist, it billows slightly as it touches the floor - leaving her feet unseen. The feminity is quickly down played by a sloganed t-shirt underneath a synthetic leather biker jacket, it reads 'AWARKWARD IS MY SPECIALITY' in Bajoran.
Bajor, on a cool February afternoon as the tall grasses swayed in the eastern provincial breeze, Tira Kalah gave birth to her only child; her husband talked her through each step and kept her overbearing in-laws at an arm’s length. It wouldn’t be long before she would need to return to Starfleet and continue with her duties leaving Jo’len to care for their baby. Orla wasn’t in their plan, as they hadn’t really planned anything. Everything was heat of the moment for the new parents, and Kalah feared time alone with her child, taking the first opportunity to return to active duty with an engineering assignment on border patrol. Jo’len moved his infant daughter into Jalanda to be closer to his family. Bajoran tradition ran deep through his family, but Jo'len was the first generation not to embrace Bajoran beliefs of Prophets and something greater. He was keen to allow his daughter to form her own opinions of the universe and beyond.
With the formation of the Bajoran Defence Force came Kalah’s transfer from Starfleet, there was hope that she may return to Bajor as she was a citizen; but it wasn’t to be. The engineer spent little time with her daughter, proactive visits were made to her postings and the reassignment to Deep Space 9, Jo’len hoped things were taking a turn for the better. So With the news of devastating damage done to the stations Promenade reaching the surface, it took significantly longer for Kalah to be identified with the dead or missing. Too small to understand Orla focussed her attention on her grandmother, Noni, who refused to whitewash the truth from the child.
The Tira family had strong roots in medicine, which is unusual in comparison to most Bajoran’s who preferred physical work. Her father a general surgeon, her grandfather a decorated trauma surgeon and beloved Noni, Chief of Surgery for Jalanda Prime. Orla was taught about the ease of complicated procedures, how to hone her motor skills and anatomical recognition as if it were a game. Spotting medical issues became a second nature, and her ability to talk openly and honestly about such personal things quickly became a bone of contempt for many of the other children she studied with. Her brutal honesty was a trait that grew with her, often finding herself pinned against a wall for saying something out of turn but fought back able to find a point of physical weakness.
Shortly before her senior years she was pulled aside for complaints about her demeanour, being classed as a mean girl who gave no concern for the feelings of others. Noni didn’t mind what was said, more about how and when it should be discussed if at all. Humility was something she had yet to understand, but double checked with tutors, blatantly asking if was okay to voice her opinion without stating it directly. Six more years of basic studies took its toll and Orla’s interest in education waned, opting for the more social aspects of life. Tutors raise their concerns about the connotations her sharp tongue had earned her and that if she wasn’t careful a grievance would be raised, ending her studies and the potential of a civil complaint.
It was the work of her grandfather which refocussed her, the late night call that a Militia training exercise in Kendra had resulted in an explosion. Being left to sit in the gallery Orla witnessed what she heard as a critical injury to the lower extremities, a bloodied body on a gurney with partial mangled stumps where two legs should be. She’d never seen anything like it before, he was calm and decisive as he worked even with the vast amount of blood lost. The experience of calm under extreme pressure seduced her, listening carefully to the shouts from below and her hands pressed against the transparisteel. On finding the teen in the gallery Noni, dragged her out against the protests. Conversations were had that she should never speak of what she had seen, regardless of its outcome.
Serenely Tira Ma’jel joined his granddaughter as she sat in the waiting room with others who were expecting news, he told her that if she persevered she too could be the calm in the storm. Her sharp tongue still cut occasionally but she was far more selective about where it was unleashed, keeping her head down and spent evenings sat at the family table discussing medical specialities as if she were attending the next day.
Exams came and went, celebrations followed by further applications for Medicine to the University of Bajor which worked alongside Jalanda Prime. Orla studied hard and made sure her peers knew she wouldn’t hold anything back, where her written skills lacked she made up with practical’s. Picking up three generations worth of experience, proved to matter the situation she was willing to her and was more than capable of working independently.
At twenty-one, during an end of term visit to Earth, Orla found and agreed Mercy Hospital, San Fran (as she was told) would be a suitable location for her internship; close to the Academy, where incidents were bound to occur. Nights of wandering idly through San Francisco resulted in a large drunk obscene tattoo across her shoulders, which was quickly covered in a further visit to the pallor and a session with a dermal regenerator. Her family weren’t impressed but agreed it could have been considerably worse.
At the beginning of the academic year, with her belongings packed the transition from Bajor to Earth felt like a breath of fresh air. Orla braced herself for the intensity of being the lowest form of life in the hospital, her initial quietness was often mistaken for fear or inability in her peers. They were wrong. Though her social skills often left a lot to be desired, sometimes she offered patients the shock of information they needed. In dire situations she held her resolve, the continuous practice of her skills and procedures gave her the upper hand. She picked her speciality without a second thought, she belonged in the pit, ready for anything that might come through the doors.
It was an equipment failure that brought two Starfleet Cadets into the pit accompanied by their instructor, broken bones and plasma burns. The instructor tried to calmly explain the incident and was promptly told that wasn’t required and everything was in hand, he should concentrate more on writing his report to his superiors. It was that moment at started her persistent relationship with Jackson Moore. After three years they married amongst friends, while Jo’len and her grandparents remain oblivious until an uninvited visit; interrupting dinner in their converted townhouse.
Orla’s love of face paced procedures, lead her to often work with orthopaedics and cybernetics with the reconstruction of bodies to allow rehabilitation. Working so close to the Academy made her realise, that the best place for a trauma surgeon was in the field. She wasn’t keen to subscribe and be told what to do when there was so much more for her to learn.
Making A Name
Completing her residency after five years, there was no hesitation to offer Orla a position as attending. Over time there was a nomination for her techniques in complex arterial repair, she didn’t leave with the trophy but she had the feeling it was a stitch up anyway. Though she was a Tira, on Earth she made a name for herself and she wasn’t being watched from above in the same way Noni hovered around her.
With Jackson reassigned she was alone, Noni took the opportunity to bring her ‘home’ with the offer of the chief of trauma at Jalanda Prime. Promises were made that she would be left to do her job in the way she saw fit within the policies of the hospital. There was a pang of excitement as she remembers the sight of her grandfather working calmly in the theatre below. There were incidents, but it wasn’t like Mercy. The first few weeks brought in traffic accidents, farming mishaps and delinquents who couldn’t handle their synthahol. Silently she longed for something more challenging and gained a reputation for being a hard task master to incoming medical students who joined her service.
Distracted visits from Jackson during leave often told amazing stories of rescue and drama. Medical emergencies that would truly utilise her skills. She had already had discussions with Defence Force recruits as they came and went, often they filled the local bars before heading to the spaceport. The idea niggled at her and months after her thirty-first birth she submitted an application, an interview suggested that she’d be part of the intake the following years Naval Officers Certification.
It was done, she would complete her training after handing in her notice. Noni had retired, which made things a little easier, but she was the last Tira that remained at Jalanda Prime. Orla knew she would have to face questions, but her mind was made up. It was her final decision and she wouldn’t look back. Until the end she continued to push her students and reluctantly they were sad to see her go.
Rule, regulation and chain of command where a whole new ball game. Often she found herself being reminded that she wasn’t a civilian anymore; it was the right way or out. She had little to no experience with a plasma weapon, but it was just like surgery with the inclination to take a life. It felt like a missed opportunity, but she knew there was knew there was no do over and she could now make a difference where it was needed. Often she found herself as the onsite medic, with frequent cuts, bruises and STDs. She would often spend her down time honing her practical skills or reading up on surgical innovations, waiting for the worst to happen.
When the opportunity for leave arose, she grabbed it was both hands. Spending time back in a classroom she gained a thirst for the more extreme. Something to give her a rush, a days base jumping before a surprise visit back to ‘San Fran’. It wasn’t until she saw them together when she began to throw his replica vinyl collection from the hall window without a care in the universe. The locks were changed and Orla changed her mailbox ID. She didn’t care much for romance and it only made things easier to pretend he didn’t exist.
On her return to Bajor, it was never mentioned again, Orla was in her final few days and determined she was making the right choice now more than ever. Certification completed, it was now time to wait.
|March 2439||Accepted into BDF Naval Officers Certification|
|June 2439||Completes certification with the rank of Sublieutenant and assigned to the SBR Astraeus (MTIN-90031) as a Medical Officer|
|Sept 2439||Assigned as Chief Medical Officer of Astraeus|
|Sept 2439||Reassigned to Starbase Chandali as Chief Medical Officer|
Awards & Decorations