Moira

Moira looked across the table with heavily lidded eyes. She studied him for a moment, awaiting a punchline that never came. It appeared that his question was genuine, or at least, he intended for it to be taken as such. So she simply pursed her lips. "Of course I like money," she answered. "Doesn't everyone?"

The waitress plopped another massive coffee down, though this one was housed in a Styrofoam cup rather than priceless porcelain. Moira paid it, nor the waitress, any mind. Instead, she held the other man's gaze, more intrigued by his question than she'd like to admit. "In fact," she continued, "I don't think I'd trust anyone who said she didn't like money. She's either lying, or not the kind of person I'd want to fraternize with anyway."

Those amethyst eyes held a kind of mystery that Moira couldn't remember seeing within Aincrad before. Are these the sort of people I could have been interacting with all these years? she mused, with no small amount of regret. Instead, she had holed herself up on the beginner floors. What wasted time.

Brad was still babbling like a brook, but Moira's attention was solely reserved for Zackariah. 

He nodded. "I'll explain it all when you get back."

"You'd better, pal," the white-haired woman shot back, wagging a finger at him. "If I find out that you're just using us for free labor, I'll be seriously pissed off."

As if a switch had been flipped, Brad stopped mid-word, and swung to face Moira. "Hey," he whined, "that's not a good word. My mom says you shouldn't say stuff like that."

She grit her teeth, and her attempted smile was more like a grimace. He's a kid, she reminded herself. Be nice. 

"So are we gonna work together, like a team?"

Brad's newest question startled her. "Uh," she answered dumbly. "I don't think that's a good idea."

"B'why not?" The boy's big, baby-blue eyes gazed up at her with such childish confusion that she nearly choked. "We both have to find the stuff, right? And two eyes would be better than one!"

She refrained from correcting his eye comment, and merely heaved a massive sigh. He's a kid. You can do one nice thing for a kid. "Fine. Okay. Whatever."

"Your advice has to do with how to make money here in Aincrad."

Now that caught Moira's attention. If she'd been a dog, her ears would have perked up. As it was, she was suddenly hanging on the man's every word.

His eyes twinkled, as if he already knew just which of Moira's buttons to push. "The first thing you need to do is to gather materials. Travel into the woods, and find me the following items." From the pocket of his tunic, he withdrew a crumpled paper. How many people have received this same list? Moira found herself wondering as she accepted it. "Collect them, and bring them back here. After that, I'll show you what to do with them."

"And how to sell them for profit?" Moira asked with the sharp, matter-of-fact efficiency of a businesswoman.

But her question was answered only by one of Brad's. "We get to sell stuff?" he asked eagerly. "Like a lemonade stand? I had a lemonade stand once. My mom made up a bunch of the stuff, and we set up a little table on the sidewalk, and sold lemonade in little cups for like a quarter each. And we made SO much money, see, because it was so hot out, and-"

"What is it?" the boy demanded excitedly.

"Well," the shopkeep began, "I'm afraid I can't give it to you until I know both your names."

Now, the child was nearly bouncing on the balls of his feet. "I'm Brad." When the NPC said nothing, waiting expectantly, Brad turned to face Moira. "Tell him who you are!"

The woman drew in a small breath, exhaled, and answered, "Moira."At this, the old man's smile quirked into something more like a smirk. He finds this amusing, Moira thought to herself, mixed parts annoyed and baffled. 

"Brad and Moira," he echoed. "That's just wonderful. My name is Zackariah."

The sandy-haired boy simply beamed. "Nice to meet you, Zackariah!"

"And so polite, too!" Zackariah chuckled, shaking his head. "Now, are you ready for your advice?"

Brad said nothing, but nodded so violently that Moira feared his head would fly off. In fact, she had a very unusual visual of it toppling off his tiny frame and rolling right out the door. It was the sound of Zackariah's sage voice that drew her back to reality.

He gave a knowing smile, and answered, "Whatever kind you need."

Moira's lips pursed as she studied the man behind the counter. He was a NPC, a fact made clear by a close investigation, but he was behaving incredibly strangely. "I'm good," she stated tersely, deciding this whole situation was a waste of her time. "But thanks."

"I'd like some advice!" The third party to enter the conversation was a young boy, surely no older than twelve or thirteen. This, Moira knew, was a fellow player. If his tell-tale beginner garb didn't give it away, the bright smile plastered across his face did. So young, she mused. How terrible to be trapped in a place like this at such a ripe age.

The bearded NPC grinned down at the boy, reminiscent of a department-store Santa Claus. "Well, you're in luck, because I have some advice for you both." He cast a quick glance at Moira, and though he was a NPC, she could somehow pick up on his meaning. It's a kid. Don't ruin it for the kid.

"Can I help you with something?"

Moira glanced up from the shelf of bottles she had been studying. Each one was uniquely colored, some squaty, some long and slender. The liquids inside appeared distinct as well, though Moira did not know enough to be sure. The sunlight that filtered through the many windows glimmered off the fragile objects, giving them a sort of magical quality. It was a shame she was dirt poor.

"No," she answered easily, "but thank you. I'm just browsing."

"Can I give you some advice, then?"

Now Moira truly gave the man her attention, blinking owlishly at him, before answering, "I beg your pardon?"

He was tall and willowy, with a mane and beard of silver-grey. Eyes of brilliant green were mere slits beneath bushy eyebrows, but they sparkled with unspoken humor as he regarded her. "I was curious if  you might like some advice."

The woman's gaze narrowed with suspicion. "What kind of advice?"

When he commented on feeling better, Moira was slightly taken aback. "Oh," she replied dumbly, blinking owlishly at him. She hadn't actively tried to make him feel better, and yet, here she was doing it. The woman had never been one for pep-talks, which meant that this was an incredibly unusual experience. It took her a moment to compose herself, when she cut a thin smile across her face and added, with more finesse, "I am very glad to hear that."

Already slightly off-balance, his comment about getting a coffee for the road confused her. Moira's gaze dropped to her cup, which she realized was now nearly empty. She leaned forward, downed the mug, and placed it back on the table with a sharp clink. "Hey," she answered easily, "if you're buying, I'll happily take another." 

She stared down at the few drops of dark liquid collected in the bottom of the container, and sighed. She had no idea how long it would be until she had another. "This'll be my last one for a while," she mused aloud, giving her thoughts a voice. "I imagine you never have to worry about that, Mister Moneybags."

Moira shifted on her plush chair, draping one arm over the back, and crossing one thin leg over the other. It was a position of such casual, elegant ease that it simply oozed calm. Of course, under the surface, she was far from it. Was she really speaking with the top chef in the game? No wonder he was willing to shell out major col for a cup o' joe - he probably had cash coming out his ears. Besides, if he was really as high level as he claimed, he was important in his own right. That was certainly worth digging deeper into.

The woman gave her companion a smile, shaking her shaggy silver hair back from her face. "Aincrad's own MasterChef," she drawled. "I wouldn't have pegged you for it, but I suppose that's how things go sometimes." He looked more like some runway model than a chef, with his long, lanky frame, snow-white hair, and lilac eyes. But looks were deceiving, especially in this death game. 

"Sorry to hear it's been bugging you," she added, and she actually was. She knew how it felt to be weighed down by something, but she was also skilled in shedding the BS and moving on with her life. Perhaps it was time he do the same. "But if you were able to start a business like this, odds are it'll run without help. Just restructure it again. You'll be fine."

It was impossible to hide the flash of surprise when Sey mentioned business. To mask it, Moira took another indulgent swig from her mug while the man continued to speak. Then, slowly, she lowered the coffee back to the table. It made a soft clink as porcelain met glass, but she hardly noticed. Her blue-grey eyes, not unlike the snowy sky out the window, searched his face for a silent moment. Then, she gave a soft hum of interest. He really was fascinating.

"Business?" she asked, drumming perfectly manicured nails on the mug as she held his gaze. The corners of her pale pink lips turned up in a knowing smile. "I had no idea you were a businessman. Now that's something we can discuss over coffee."

There was excitement in her eyes now, with a hint of danger stirred in. "It must be quite exciting work," she continued, her voice steady, her gaze level, "to have death threats and executions involved." There was something silky in the way she spoke, like fingertips sliding over silk, when she added, "It's such a shame about your business partner."

He was playing along. As they waited for their drink, Moira cut the man a quick glance, feeling a sudden flare of admiration. Given his response to bowling her over, she had expected him to bulk at her demand for coffee. If not then, her impressive order should have been enough to scare him off. Yet here he stood, matching her order, and calling her bluff. Well now, she thought to herself, smirking a bit as she turned away. Isn't that unexpected.

When a pair of massive mugs were placed in front of them, Moira snatched hers up with the finesse of an alcoholic grabbing a fifth. She didn't even bother to thank the waitress before cupping the porcelain, lifting it to her lips, and sipping.

This time, she did loose a little moan as the hot liquid blossomed through her system. She was thanking every god and deity she could think of as she enjoyed the real thing. Real coffee. Nothing cheap, or fake, or watered down. She wasn't sure she had enjoyed something of this quality even before Aincrad. 

She peaked over the rim of her cup at the man, to see how he was enjoying his drink. Surprisingly, he wasn't. Instead, he sat with his face in his hands, his mug still steaming, untouched, at his elbow.

Buyers remorse? Had he spent more than he had on two coffees? Curiosity, and a pin-prick of pity, caused her to violate her precious none-of-my-business rule. "What's wrong with you?" 

Moira took a moment to summon her menu, hardly hearing the twinkle of bells over the chatter of the crowd. With a few practiced motions, she flung her salvageable items into her inventory, saving her the trouble of carting the dirty bags around. When she dismissed the HUD, she blew out a long breath, watching it hover like white smoke on her lips.

In truth, she had no preference where they had their coffee. Moira had so little col to her name that she'd been existing off the cheap stuff for far too long. Now that she had dedicated herself to venturing out more, maybe she'd be able to afford the real stuff. Until then, however, she'd make the absolute most of this chump's kindness.

"Hmm," she mused aloud, pursing her lips as she scanned the nearest storefronts. She selected the one that looked the most posh, the most expensive, and stalked toward it. He'd keep up, she figured, if he'd stay true to his word.

Tugging open the door, a blast of warm air hit her with the force of a freight train. Moira had to bite her lip to keep from moaning, relishing in the heat of the upscale coffee shop. "Thank god," she crooned softly.

There were few people in the shop, perhaps due to the high prices outlined on the fancy scroll-work menus. That was fine with Moira. Practically salivating at the thought, she selected the most expensive cup they had, and ordered the largest size.

Moira grit her teeth, partially in anger, and partially to keep them from clattering. Her pants were grime-covered, and she wiped at them once before deeming it a lost cause. As the other player wasn't making any move to do so, she finally turned and began to collect her belongings. Food she wouldn't eat again, as much of it had been trampled by passersby. Stained fabric, tattered scarves. "Just peachy," she growled under her breath, before sucking on her teeth in a gesture of annoyance.

His apology seemed genuine enough, as did his offer to make it up to her. But considering the fool did nothing to help her clean up, she doubted his true sincerity. "Sure," she finally answered flatly, "you can make it up to me. Buy me a coffee."

The request came to her out of nowhere, and hearing the words surprised even herself. But her head was beginning to pound, and she was frozen - a cup of liquid heaven seemed like a good choice. She'd be willing to put up with his company if it meant free coffee.

The fourth floor was one of the most popular in Aincrad. Be it the snow, or the festive Christmas feel, players seemed to flock to the winter wonderland like flies to manure.

Moira just didn't see the appeal. The air was too cold, and her chest burned as she drew deep breaths. Goosebumps raced up and down her skin, as it was covered only by a simple long-sleeved shirt and black trousers. So many other players milled about as if they couldn't feel the chill, while she fought to hide her tremble. Hell, in Sword Art Online, it was entirely possible that some skill kept the bite at bay. She had no idea, meaning she didn't have such skill, meaning she was really effing cold.

But as so many people preferred the fourth floor, many of her favorite shops were established there as well. Moira was forced to venture this way every few months for a bit of shopping, and her arms were filled with bags, as she strode purposefully toward the transport.

The bags went flying as a hard body rammed into her.

Moira swore viciously, rounding on the other player instead of stooping to collect her spilled purchases. "I sure hope you're blind, pal," she snarled, eyes flashing dangerously, "as that's the only excuse you've got for running into me."

"Right," she answered, and was unable to stop the smirk from forming. There was a sort of gleam in  her blue-gray eyes as she rounded on her foe. As it was a level one boar, 'enraged' did not actually mean a whole lot. But at one HP, it moved with the sporadic jerkiness of a robot on the verge of destruction. Whether or not the boar would take her out with it was the question.

The creature moved with a swiftness she had not anticipated, stubby legs propelling its squat form far too quickly. It closed the distance between them in only ten speedy strides, and in a moment of weakness, Moira fell back on the game's mechanics to help her out. Of course, her skills were severely lacking. Where she expected sharp reflexes and a cat-like agility, she found herself taking one quick stutter-step backward instead.

It wasn't enough. The boar plowed into her, tusk gashing across her midsection before she could ready her spear. Even with the game's adjusted setting, the pain that bloomed was explosive and startling. It had been literal years since Moira had experienced pain of any sort, preferring to play it safe within the town limits. The sensation first appalled, then annoyed her.

Even as the boar was galloping away, Moira lifted her weapon, and heaved it toward the creature's rump. The sharp bounced pitifully off the thick skin.

Straightening, Moira paused to wipe at her mouth with the back of her hand. Then she sighed, and stated, "I suppose this is the part where I make the obligatory joke about skewering the pork." She said it with such nonchalance, gaze still watching the crazed beast as it turned for another pass.

Total noob here, but still available.

The injured boar gave a high-pitched squeal of enraged agony, and cut a wide arc as it prepared to attack again. It's health had taken a considerable hit, but it was far from dead. A snarky comment danced on the tip of Moira's tongue, and she had half a mind to let it bite him, but she refrained. Why? Part if it stemmed from the fact that, just maybe, this man didn't deserve the full brunt of her snotty nature. The other part was sheer exhaustion.

Her sword art had left her drained, and while she wanted to celebrate her victory, she just didn't have the strength. It had taken a real force of will to simply lift her hand and accept the loot from her kill. I'll have to build up my stamina if I want to be successful, she mused, before clenching her teeth, and turning back to the approaching mob.

There was absolutely no way that she could trigger another skill, given her already weak state. Moira realized how fortunate she was that a even single drop of energy returned, just in time for attack. There was very little oomph behind the jab, and she knew she barely broke the skin. But a flash of red stood out from the brownish-black hide, and that was something.

"Finish it," she heard herself tell him, and surprised even herself.

The boar, it seemed, did not take kindly to being poked. It gave a snort of rage, throwing its head in a manner that made its tusks glimmer in the setting sun. Moira winced, dropping lower in her ready stance. She muttered another series of oaths, tightening her hold on the battle spear. This wasn't going to be pretty.

As predicted, the pig's front-right hoof pawed with sharp, jerky rage. There was suddenly a lump in Moira's throat, and she had a difficult time swallowing around it. Get a grip, she scolded herself. It's a level one boar. You will not allow this imbecile to show you up.

That was the thought that rang out clearest. She could not allow herself to be upstaged. Not now, not ever. The boar lunged for her, tiny legs galloping in a way that might be comical if it weren't so terrifying. Moira remained in its path, watching its beady black eyes as it thundered closer. And closer. And closer.

"Enough!" she bellowed, contorting her body at the last moment, and allowing the creature to thunder by her. At the same instant, she pivoted on one toe, sending the hem of her light armor flapping as she spun. The boar's attack missed, but her's did not. She plunged the point of her spear into the animal's flank, twisted it, and yanked it free.

It slowed, trembled, and collapsed into a pile of shimmering pixels. 

He really was an idiot.

With reckless abandon, the fire-haired player threw himself into the fray. Did he have a strategy at all? Moira shook her head, her own mop of cropped white hair falling into her face. No, he didn't strike her as the planning sort.

"Don't be stupid," she barked, closing the distance in short, hurried strides. Hours in the gym had honed her body and mind, but her in-game stats were severely lacking. So instead of the graceful shift into combat, Moira's approach was clumsy and awkward. Damn, she thought, gritting her teeth. I have a long way to go.

"We're weak," she called out - there was no point in tip-toeing around the truth. "We shouldn't take on too many at once, or we'll die before we see level two."

It was a risk, drawing a single boar from the herd, but it was the only way that Moira could see a successful outcome.

With as much power as she could muster, she plunged her weapon into the porkchop's side. But to her horror, the spear slid along the boar's side, dealing no damage at all.

At the man's comment, Moira's chapped lips pulled back from her teeth. Then they pursed, as if she were deep in thought. "Honestly," she drawled back, "I'd love to watch you get trampled. It would just be the highlight of my day."

Yet even as she spoke, Moira swung her spear up and into position; it cut the air with a satisfying whoosh that she found she quite liked. "But I could use the experience," she continued. "Maybe I can kill these boars and see you get stomped on." Her gray eyes flashed with devilish delight as she bent her knees, dropping into a ready stance. Or, at the very least, what she assumed was a ready stance. She had never actually fought anything within the floating castle, and this was not exactly how she had pictured it all taking place.

Still, she could not stand by and let this idiot steal her kills. They both might be amateurs. but she could still show him up.

Her prized pig darted forward, like a bullet fired from a gun. Moira tensed, prepared to defend herself, but the mob was loping away from her. First, confusion contorted her features. Then, as the reality of the situation set in, that confusion darkened to anger. She saw now that she had not been alone in the field. Instead, a small herd of boars crested the nearby hill. And, scampering after them like some nightmarish demon-shepherd, was another player.

His red hair swirled around his head, giving the impression of a man teetering on the edge of madness. His mighty shouts did nothing to change her mind. This man was a lunatic, and perhaps it would be him she would end up taking down. It was a bit of an inconvenience, she supposed, but at least it would be in self defense. Her cursor would remain as green as the day she donned the Nerve Gear.

Still, Moira was content to stoke the fire of rage before falling back to the defensive. Judging by his attire, and his complete disregard for strategy and skill, he was as inexperienced as she. Or, if he were acting, he was exceptionally good at it. "Watch it, asshole," the woman barked when the man drew nearer. "You're scaring them all off."

@Ashrah

Closed to Ashrah

There was nothing delicate about the sunset. As the great, glowing glob of hot gas slipped below the distant horizon, it left a dazzling light show in its wake. Stark oranges, electric yellows, and rich golds smeared across the sky, a canvas that seemed to hum with power. While some might have seen the day's departure as soft and romantic, Moira basked in the energy that hung heavy around her. Her eyes closed, and she drew in a deep breath of air growing colder with the dusk. Nighttime, and its approach, had always seemed to rejuvenate her.

Like the sunset, there was nothing delicate about Moira, either. When her eyes opened again, as clear and colorless as the water babbling below, they were hard with purpose. That morning, she had made the decision to close her shop, and tackle a new challenge. After so many years, the world of business was growing stagnant, and Moira was not one to accept complacency. Instead, she had done a bit of research into weapons, builds, and strategy. Col had transferred hands, and the result was Aincrad's newest warrior.

Dressed in low-level light armor, the woman swung her equally unimpressive spear, testing its weight. She smiled into the cool breeze, satisfied with the end result, before propping the butt of her spear on the ground. The setting sun bathed her surroundings in an almost holy light, and she paused to appreciate the beauty of it. But only for a second, before sweeping her gaze back to the field. Upon the game's initial launch, and in the year after, this place had been swarming with new players eager to level up. Now, however, those who had intended to fight were already doing so. This little patch of grass, located outside the Town of Beginnings, was as silent as a church. Save, of course, for the soft series of snorts just over the nearest hill.

Carefully picking her way toward the noise, Moira was reward with the sight of a lone boar. It's dagger-sharp hooves dug angrily at the hard-packed earth, and its tusks scraped as it searched for food. She slowed when the beast lifted its heads, paper-thin nostrils flaring as it tested the air. Had it scented her?

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Username: Moira
Real Name: Moira Phillips
Age: 24
Height: 5'4
Build: Petite
Eyes: Blue-Gray
Hair: White

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Personality: Moira is a stark, unapologetic individual. She speaks her mind, even if the result is a complete catastrophe. She is well-versed in social norms, as they were beat into her as a child, but she often chooses to ignore them altogether. She is competitive, temperamental, and easily offended. She is a woman used to getting what she wants.

History: Moira was born to a pair of wealthy entrepreneurs. The getting married and birthing a child routine was merely a check in a box, and a song-and-dance they both felt obligated to go through. A such, Moira was raised almost entirely by a parade of nannies and tutors. She became well versed in the art of deception, manipulating those around her to accomplish her every goal. That's not to say she was a bad person, of course. Instead, she simply lacked the warmth and compassion that a more functional family unit might have provided her.

When she came of age, Moira attended a small, prestigious school for business. Quickly bored by the curriculum and tedious classwork, Moira locked herself away and began experimenting with various video games. When it was revealed she would be trapped within Aincrad, she did not mourn. Rather, she was intrigued by the concept of a new life. Moira is in no hurry to clear the floors, and return to the way things used to be. She spent the first few years inside Sword Art Online establishing a business, and examining the game's system for flaws to exploit for personal gain.

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Dedicated: When Moira sets her mind on something, she fixates until the task is complete. She views giving up as a sign of weakness, and she refuses to admit defeat. Only if she determines that the objective is no longer worth her time will she abandon it.

Daring: As a woman who has never been truly threatened, she considers herself to invincible. She's happy to throw herself in any sort of danger. In fact, she gets an odd thrill out of it.

Intelligent: Moira is an incredibly intelligent individual. She can improvise, and work her way out of a tough spot with a potent mixture of charm and ambition. Though some see this as manipulation, Moira sees it as just another tool in her expansive toolbox.

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Emotionally Unstable: After a lifetime of wearing various masks, Moira struggles with the actual emotions she experiences. Crippling sensations like sadness and loss leave her flustered. She struggles to sort through these overwhelming feelings. Her default setting is temper, leaving her with a short fuse.

Detached: Moira has learned to depend on no one but herself. As such, she has a difficult time connecting with others. Though she is capable of forging friendships, she struggles making them genuine. She hesitates to place her full trust in anyone.

Competitive: Raised to be the best from a young age, competition runs hot in Moira's veins. She is hell-bent on being the best, so much so that it sometimes consumes her. This, paired with her desire to always accomplish her goal, creates a dangerous combination.

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Points Available: 0

Non-Combat:
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Passive:
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Combat:
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Weapon Skills:
» One Handed Assault Spear [Novice (1)]

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• Uncommon one handed assault spear (+1 damage).
• Uncommon light armor (+1 mitigation).
• (5) Starter Healing Potions (Heals 50 HP).
• 2,500 Col and (10) Tier 1 materials.

Written by Shelby