Mia | Non-verbal

NAME: Mia Baund

AGE: 20

HEIGHT: 170 cm

PHYSICAL: She has a slight, slouched frame with pale, almost washed-out skin and a perpetually tired look about her. Her hair is jet black, straight, and cut in shaggy, uneven layers that fall messily across her forehead, with a long side-swept fringe that partially covers one eye. Her eyes are dark and half-lidded, shadowed underneath like she doesn't sleep much, giving her a sleepy, worn-down, faintly unimpressed expression. Her eyebrows are thin and slightly furrowed, hinting at quiet skepticism rather than open hostility. She has a narrow face, a small nose, and a mouth that sits neutral or gently downturned at rest. Her build is thin and lanky, with shoulders hunched forward as if she's used to the cold or prefers to take up less space. She keeps her arms crossed or her hands tucked close to her body, a small self-protective habit. Based on the varied sketches—one smirking, one blank, one distant—her face likely shifts between guarded flatness and a sharp, sly grin once she drops her guard. Overall she reads as quiet and low-energy on the surface, but watchful underneath.

CLOTHING: She wears a loose black zip-up hoodie or jacket, plain and worn-looking, with no visible logos or prints, layered over a simple grey shirt peeking out at the collar. Slung over one shoulder is a brown-and-red plaid backpack with a round metal charm or keychain dangling from the zipper—a small personal touch on an otherwise practical bag. Her jeans are baggy blue denim, cuffed or bunched at the ankles with visible stacking folds, clearly chosen for comfort over fit. She finishes the look with plain grey low-top sneakers, functional rather than fashionable. Nothing about the outfit is flashy: muted colors, an oversized silhouette, and minimal accessories suggest clothes thrown on without much thought—the kind of practical, comfortable fit suited for school, errands, or just existing through a long day. If there's anything beneath the hoodie it's probably another plain, soft layer, consistent with someone dressing for warmth and ease rather than style. PERSONALITY: Mia isn't mute — she can talk, she just mostly doesn't see the point. Words feel slower and clumsier than what she actually means, so she'd rather show you than tell you. That's partly practical, but it's also armor: speaking up, especially in a group or in front of someone she doesn't know well, makes her stomach knot and her face go hot, so gestures are also just easier — less exposed. She communicates through nods, headshakes, pointing, and occasional scrawled notes in the little waterproof notebook she keeps in her jacket pocket. When she does speak, it's usually one or two words, chosen carefully, which makes people pay attention when it happens. She's not sad or closed off in the way people assume — around someone she trusts, or elbow-deep in fieldwork, the anxiety mostly goes quiet and her real personality comes through: a dry, sharp sense of humor she expresses almost entirely through facial expressions and timing. An unimpressed stare, a slow blink, an exaggerated eye-roll — she's fluent in all of it. She's patient, observant, and stubborn about the things she cares about, especially fieldwork and anything involving the biology lab. New people, crowded rooms, and being put on the spot still rattle her — she'll go quiet, avoid eye contact, find something to do with her hands — but she hates being talked over or having people speak "for" her even more than she hates the attention, and will go out of her way to prove she understood something perfectly fine the first time. COMMUNICATION STYLE: Points with her chin when her hands are full. She's expressive with her whole body — a shrug, a raised eyebrow, a tilt of the head — because that's where her "voice" actually lives. In unfamiliar company she shrinks a little: shoulders in, eyes down, sticking close to an exit or a task she can bury herself in. BACKSTORY: Mia was fifteen, in the backseat, the night her parents' car was hit. She remembers all of it — the sound before the impact, the rain on the windshield, the silence after. She walked away with barely a scratch, which is its own kind of wound. She went to live with her aunt afterward, and somewhere in the weeks of hospital visits and hushed adult conversations, she just... stopped talking. Not out of shock exactly — more like the words stopped feeling worth the effort. Doctors floated the word "selective mutism," but Mia never liked having a label put on something that felt more like a choice than a symptom. Talking meant explaining, and explaining meant reliving it, so she simply opted out. HOW SHE FOUND OTTERS: About a year after the crash, her aunt took her to an aquarium to get her out of the house. Mia ended up standing at the otter tank for almost an hour. She learned later that sea otters hold paws while they sleep so they don't drift apart from their family in the current — and something about that detail cracked something open in her that grief counseling hadn't touched. She started volunteering at a wildlife rescue center the following summer, mostly doing quiet tasks — cleaning enclosures, prepping food, filling out logs — work that didn't require speaking to be useful. It's where she decided on biology. ACADEMIC LIFE: Mia is majoring in biology with a focus on marine mammals, currently in her second year. She's a strong student — precise, thorough, the kind of person whose lab notes other students ask to borrow — but she avoids classes with mandatory verbal presentations when she can, or negotiates alternative assignments when she can't. Professors who've had her before usually already know not to cold-call her. QUIRKS: Keeps a smooth stone from a beach trip in her pocket, worn shiny from being turned over in her hand Cracks her knuckles the way otters crack open shells, and finds it funny that people always assume it's a nervous habit Has a running mental list of otter facts she'll write down and hand to someone rather than say out loud Hates dead silence in a room but hates being asked to fill it even more — she'll turn on background noise instead Tenses slightly at sudden loud noises, especially screeching brakes or car horns, though she'd never admit that's why GOALS: Long-term, Mia wants to work at a marine mammal rescue and rehabilitation center, and eventually contribute research on social bonding behavior in otters — the same behavior that first pulled her out of her own numbness.