LCpl Pandorian Ajtai
Michael Biehn
Michael Biehn as Pandorian Ajtai
Name: Pandorian Ajtai
Alias: Panda
Age: 21
Hair & Eyes: Brown hair, Green eyes
Faction: Marines
Position: Rifleman, Lance Corporal, Jerkwad
Colony: Leonis
Play Times: 10PM-3AM GMT
Timezone: EST

Biographical Info


This is the life of Pandorian Ajtai, first son and second child of Reginald and Laurine Ajtai, the last embers of a local family whose fortune once blazed golden over the steppelands between the Western Herald Range and the Austreth River. His birth was celebrated in as grand a fashion as the modest businessman and his wife could afford, complete with the traditional dinner of lamb for the entire clan — who were less puzzled by their quaint cousin's adherence to ancient rituals than by the question of how he could afford such extravagance.

His childhood was focused around discipline first, harsh and often cruel. Forced kneeling, suspension from the wrists or ankles; slapping, kicking, and brief choking; being chained to the dog house while the animal slept in his room; a whole gamut of "medieval" (that is, far more tortuous) punishments were meted out for failure or even disappointment. There was no "time-out," save after a painful physical correction. Even then it was more varied than other childrens': Sometimes he would be hogtied and left on the floor, other times tied up until he could escape, or forced to stand on his head until blacking out. The same punishments were rarely meted out to his elder sister Katherine, but Pandorian was taught that this was because as first son he had to prove worthy of and strong enough to protect not only the much vaunted family fortune, but the family itself.

Pandorian was pushed further and held to higher standards than other children. Father's dogs were sicced on him whenever he arrived home — off the leash once he turned ten. He would regularly ride into the steppe with his father, who would abandon him for the weekend to fend for himself. He was called on every failure, even in public; his grades were constantly compared to his sister's, despite a decidedly obvious academic deficiency. He learned to endure, to sublimate the self for the best interests of the family. Sometimes those interests were social, to appear as a great family. Other times, they were practical — eating a "special, men only meal" of fasting with father during lean times, so mother and Katherine could eat. Under all circumstances, he was expected to face problems head-on; what he came to lack in expressiveness he made up for in spades with courage.

All was not, however, cruelty and suffering. Long were the nights when father would point out the stars to him, reciting the family's proud litany and the stars their ancestors were said to inhabit. He was held to a high standard because, father and mother declared, just as his teachers said, the brightest stars were under the most pressure. Someday he, too, would be expected to be worthy of a star in the eyes of traditions the boy would never know to be long dead.

Never, that is, his fifteenth year. The year his parents ceased to be.

That year was a whirlwind of terror as the iron tower of his home life was battered by a hurricane of reality. Parents horrifically annihilated in a shuttle landing gone thermally wrong, there was no longer any guiding light reassuring the boy that he was better than others. The weight of social pressure crashed on him as his sister — barely an adult yet — was forced to care for him. Private (often fly-by-night) tutors teaching courtly manners animal husbandry gave way to public education and students who had little use for his arrogant concepts of nobility. Fine foods and privelige crumbled into meals of bread and cheese provided by the charity of others. All the lessons drilled into his head had taught him that it would be HE who provided Katherine a life of leisure, that this was what the stars and sands had dictated since time immemorial. And yet here SHE was, working until she dropped, to provide them both with but a meagre peasant lifestyle.

He endured, though. After all, the will had stated that there was a trust fund to provide him a proper education, one which would provide him the knowledge and opportunity at so prestigious a school that never would they have to suffer again. When he was eighteen his sister was able to take an opportunity to join the Fleet, leaving him mere months before the fund activated on his secondary school graduation.

The fund, as it turned out, was another of father's wild fantasies; like an airship of yore, it was held aloft more by hot air and hope than anything of substance. What it yielded was, after administrative fees to release it for general use, enough to keep him drunk out of his mind for three months. Then he went to the Fleet like his sister, pride screaming at being the follower. Still, becoming a pilot like her would at least make him an officer, and that would be a form of nobility. Besides, since birth he'd wanted to fly like the eagles of the steppe.

Unfortunately for Pandorian's dreams, he was too much like his father: Both of them trusted their own instincts before the learning of others. His aptitudes came back distinctly lacking in anything useful to piloting save spatial awareness. Distraught, he immediately did as he had been taught: Lashing out at the Marine who delivered the news. Under his father's guidance, maybe he would have lashed out with words, come up with a narrow-minded, bureaucratic answer. With fires lit by the crumbling of his entire life, he used his head physically as a weapon. There was something in his reaction, in his eyes, that the Gunnery Sergeant saw as he bodily subdued the young man: No matter what, the boy kept fighting. The office was trashed, but when a Sergeant came in to see what the problem was, the old Gunny and the young man, sweaty and bruised, were signing his contract for six years as a Marine. Once he'd seen the fight in the boy's eyes, the Gunnery Sergeant knew all he had to do was frame it as a challenge.

Pandorian kept in touch with his sister while he went through Marine training, finding the letters and calls as reassuring as he hoped the lies he fed her were. It was not so difficult to maintain the chain of deception: Between her training and his, there were really very few opportunities to screw it up. He kept it simple, complaining of "hard classes" instead of, for example, the insipid Leftenant that constantly misallocated his recon unit to assault during exercises.

Eventually, the months of gruelling training paid off: Pandorian spent his first three years in the Valkyrie's recon element. His excellence at close combat and infiltration during exercises and in shipboard competitons won him a steady supply of day passes and a an accelerated promotion rate. As a Lance Coolie, he was assigned to be his unit's Combatives (hand to hand combat) Instructor.

Upon promotion to Corporal shortly before War Day, he was assigned to the Kharon in the MP detatchment. The irony of using his father's atavistic punishments to tie up rowdy crewmembers and "interrogate" fellow Marines (some call it "hazing") was not lost even to his rather linear thinking. It was in fact what prompted a fit of self-awareness in him, that he had been turning into the same reactive animal his father had been instead of a proactive, sentient human being. It was this that prompted him to write a letter to his sister explaining and apologizing for the lies, baring his soul in simple (and often vulgar) words. That letter was never finished: It was being written on War Day.

It was the worst possible way to be reminded that he had fallen out of contact with his sister over the past year. The chaos that ensued in the days to follow mixed with the distressing news steadily streaming in left him hopeless and despondent. He has since War Day been a mild trouble case, one of the "faceless Marines" getting into fights at the cantina. It culminated with a reduction in grade to Lance Corporal, and reminder that had conditions not been what they were, he would have been drummed out entirely. All that is about to change: He's found his sister, alive and well and on the very same ship.





Reputation (or Mil. Service)

Recon, Drinking

Distinguishing Features

Placeholder. Just less offensive than what it was.


Dumb. Real dumb.
His signature is, as with most people, an indecipherable scribble. He does however always write "RULES!!" in big bold letters after it, without fail.


Breakin stuff.

On the Grid

Known Associates

Lt (jg) Katherine "Kitty" Ajtai Kitty's my big sister. In the entire universe, this is the most important person there is. I owe her so much for taking care of me when our parents were gone. I would debase myself to keep her from disgrace. Sometimes I'm afraid she'll be the one to disgrace herself. Either way, as heir to the family it is my duty to protect her, even if it's at the price of her happiness in the short term. This is something, I fear, she will not understand.

After Kitty, people I know can be placed in two categories:


Sgt Barnabas Volker A brother Marine, but more. Mawfraw got shot in the FACE! And lived!! He's my Sergeant, and I'd follow him through hell and back: The man clearly knows the territory.
Pvt Damon Cavalera Bro's badass. I guess he faught in the Resistance on Scorpia, then volunteered to be assigned to Kharon and train as a M'rine. He's doing good, real good, but everybody seems to treat him really… weird. I think it's the hair. If he'd just wash it, you know?
Lt (jg) Castor Leda Leda means well, but he's no good at it. Every time he fraks up, he gets one step closer to taking an unscheduled nap.
Lt (jg) Xanthus Spiros So Fleet LT's are like Marine Captains: The Corporal of the Officer World. Xanthus here understands that reality; hell, he embraces it! If you didn't have to be an officer to fly, I don't think he would've bothered. Always looks right past you, like he's distracted thinking about some heavy stuff.
Cpl Benjamin Jacobs Corporal Buck Sergeant Benjamin Jacobs is in medical. There's two kinds of Marines in medical. You got the kind who want to be a medic first, and then you got the kind that wanna beat the Fleettards at their own game — regs. Jacobs is a good medic, but I'm thinking he's the second kind. Or maybe I just gotta figure out what the man drinks.


CA Calistia "Callie" Manfrin This girl is so damn cute, it's scary… but I've asked, we're not letting minors into the Fleet yet. She's just an incredibly adorable, frighteningly innocent girl. And I've got no idea how long it'll last, and I hope when it ends she'll still be Tassel Ass to my Nip Man, but for now? She's my girl. Just keep that in mind.
Cpl Epiphany "Epi" Jarot Alright so, see, we got off to a bad start. See, she was in the chow hall begging people to Falcon Punch her because she got preggies. And then she goes off about how she ain't gettin' any from a man, and how this like junior high kid runs her ragged. I put two and two together. I also flunked math. Just puttin' that out there.
Marissa "Mimi" Delann A former rescue pilot from Aquaria, Mimi's in training to be a pilot. She reminds me of Kitty a lot: Just like angels they're both beautiful, smart, and fly. I think if there's something I can't go to Kitty for, I can talk to her.
Seriy I don't even know her full name. She was talking to Kitty in the Chow Hall, and just… Look, she looks like some kinda fairy princess, and talks like one too. Like little frakkin silver bells ring when she speaks. And her skin… that hair… I just get stupid around her. Uh, well, extra stupid.

Timeline of Events



  • Nature Everything in nature has its cycles, and where these cycles meet there are again cycles. It is the rhythm and harmony, the flow and blending of nature as a whole or her individual parts that captivates Pandorian.
  • Physical Exertion This could have been fighting, hiking, exercise, or any number of things, but they all revolve around the same satisfaction of having physically done something.
  • Glasses They're totally hot. Especially when combined with…
  • Stockings Humminahumminahummina…
  • Fire Blame it on all the nights camping or staying up late listening to father's tales before the fireplace, but Panda is drawn to fire.
  • Books Now Pandorian isn't the sharpest brick of cheese, but there's something special about the weight and heft of a book in hand, the smell of the pages like an aromatic meal for the mind.
  • Babies?!? It hasn't come up, no, but Panda has a soft spot for babies.


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