TESTING - goway.

[BlackMageLeah]

xxxxxxxxxxxx WHERE: location xxxxx WITH: company xxxxx STATUS: feeling

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"Dialogue!"

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Thoughts and such.

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[BlackMageLeah]

x x x x x x x▇▇▇▇▇▇▇ ▇▇▇▇▇ ▇▇▇ ( ★ )
x x x x x x xGIL DASEVA
x x x x x x x x x x x x x Smuggler
x x x x x( ★ ) Male
x x x x x( ★ ) 24
x x x x x( ★ ) Presumably Human
x x x x x( ★ ) BlackMageLeah







▇▇▇▇▇▇▇ ▇▇▇▇▇ ▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇ ▇▇▇▇▇ ▇▇▇▇▇▇▇

GIL ★ DASEVA

★ Smuggler

xxxxx Ⅰ :。 ＢＡＳＩＣＳ ◟

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★ ❜ NAME

━━ Gildas'eva, or Gil Daseva outside Twi'lek circles. The Twi'lek pronunciation translates to "One with a Steady Hand" in Ryl.

★ ❜ ALIAS

━━ His youngest sister calls him Gilly, but really, he'd prefer just Gil.

★ ❜ AGE

━━ 24

★ ❜ GENDER

━━ Male

★ ❜ HEIGHT

━━ 6'0''

★ ❜ WEIGHT

━━ 145 lbs

★ ❜ EYE COLOR

━━ Dark blue

★ ❜ HAIR COLOR

━━ Black

★ ❜ MARKINGS

━━ Gil's hands and forearms are covered in small scars, presumably from combat. He's also got a jagged scar stretching from his chest to his left hip that looks distinctly like someone tried to gut him. On his back is a colorful tattoo of folded insect wings coming out of his shoulder blades.

★ ❜ RACE

━━ Human, he's pretty sure.

★ ❜ RACIAL TRAITS

━━ Humans tend to pick up skills pretty quickly, and Gil definitely shows that trait. Otherwise, everything special about him has more to do with who he is than what he is.

Ⅱ :。 ＳＵＲＦＡＣＥ ◟
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★ ❜ ITEMS

━━ A commlink, a handheld holoprojector, a datapad, some lengths of wire, a toolkit, a backpack full of largely useless odds and ends.

★ ❜ WEAPONS

━━ A cortosis weave vibrostaff, as well as a rather standard blaster.

★ ❜ ARMOR

━━ Some very lightweight armor he can hide under his clothes. It only goes so far, but it's better than nothing, and he can move in it.

★ ❜ ABILITIES

━━ Gil's a pretty good pilot, and he's got a knack for holochess. He also prides himself on his ability to sweep most given ladies (and gents, and others, of course) off their feet. To his credit, he is pretty charming.

★ ❜ MARTIAL ABILITIES

━━ Championship-level K'thri artist with ample experience using it in practical situations, gifted vibrostaff combatant. Also, a handy shot with a blaster. It takes skill not to be dead in the circles he tends to run in, and he's definitely not dead.

★ ❜ LIGHTSABER FORM

━━ N/A

★ ❜ FORCE ABILITIES

━━ N/A

★ ❜ PERSONALITY

━━ Despite his rather unusual upbringing, Gil is actually a fairly easygoing person. He takes life in stride, and very few things actually get him down. He's friendly, outgoing, and cheerful to a frequently annoying extent. To his friends, and especially to his family, he's loyal through and through, and is willing to go to extreme lengths, including compromising his morals, to see to it that nothing bad happens to them. His views on the value of life are a bit inconsistent. While he firmly believes that if there is an option to save innocent life, even that of a stranger whose situation he has nothing to do with, that option should always be pursued, at the same time he has very few qualms about killing his enemies. As for things like property law and politics, he has fewer moral concerns, and is more concerned with making a comfortable living, which is really what led him to smuggling in the first place.

Perhaps Gil's most prominent quality is the fact that his an huge, unabashed flirt (and then some). It seems to be, along with sass, his most used conversational tactic, especially under pressure. And he is, of course, interested in more than just flirting - he'll bed anything that can say yes, gender and species be damned. The more of a challenge something is, the better a story it makes for, and Gil is all about having stories to tell. Expect him to regale you with tales of his conquests at with very little provocation.

All in all, he's generally a great guy to have as your friend, and an large, potentially deadly pain in the collective asses of his enemies.

Ⅲ :。 ＳＴＯＲＹ ◟
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━━ It's hard to tell Gil's story without first a bit of someone else's. Many years ago, a twi'lek named Sula Daseva rose out of humble and unfortunate beginnings to become a rather successful bounty hunter. Eventually, she would take on the job of eliminating a pair of humans(?) and returning with proof of death to the Hutts for her pay. Sula caught her targets unaware and eliminated them with ease. It was then, however, that she discovered the baby. It seemed cruel to just leave it to die, and, unable to have children of her own, she had always wanted one, so... She made the decision to take the baby with her and raise it as her own. Not knowing the child's name, she gave it a new one in her own language. Gildas'eva, the one with a steady hand. That could have have implied many things, but its intended meaning was clear - and it was readily apparent that the child's general career path had been decided for him.

Gil was trained to fight from the day he was able to walk. His "mother" began with K'thri training as early as possible, and he would eventually come to find the form as natural as walking. Later she would introduce work with a vibrostaff, then with a blaster. All in all, she worked hard to craft her "son" into the perfect successor. And it seemed taking children wasn't a one-time deal for Sula, as over the years Gil eventually found himself with six younger siblings, all taken in under similar circumstances to his own - Eta and Yenno, a female and male pair of Kage twins (currently 22); Des, a human male (21); Venth, a Zelosian male (18 ); Luca, a Lowen female (17); and Senli, a Theelin female (14).

Taking well to the role of the eldest child, Gil grew up remarkably well-adjusted, given the direction his life had taken. He was happy to be the leader of the children, and took their well-being very, very seriously. Even after he set out on his own at the age of 19, family continued to be vey, very important to him, and he was always willing to drop everything and come to their aid when needed. Even outside of crisis situations he kept close tabs on them, especially the younger ones. Once on his own, he took all sorts of odd jobs, be they bounty hunting, bodyguarding, or smuggling. Smuggling eventually won out over the others, with the excuse it gave him to travel all over the galaxy, and... well, that's gotten him into a fine mess these days.

[BlackMageLeah]

NPC : ITWARD

This is an NPC post. It is short, sweet, and gets the job done. Shouldn't be longer than two paragraphs.

[BlackMageLeah]

x x x x x x x▇▇▇▇▇▇▇ ▇▇▇▇▇ ▇▇▇ ( ☢ )
x x x x x x xMEFION CHO
x x x x x x x x x x x x x Rebel Engineer
x x x x x( ☢ ) Female
x x x x x( ☢ ) 26
x x x x x( ☢ ) Twi'lek
x x x x x( ☢ ) BlackMageLeah






▇▇▇▇▇▇▇ ▇▇▇▇▇ ▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇ ▇▇▇▇▇ ▇▇▇▇▇▇▇

MEFION ☢ CHO

☢ Rebel Engineer

xxxxx Ⅰ :。 ＢＡＳＩＣＳ ◟

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☢ ❜ NAME

━━ Mef'ioncho, Mefion Cho to the galaxy at large. The intended pronunciation translates to "child of purest light." She hasn't exactly taken it to heart.

☢ ❜ ALIAS

━━ Mef, to those that actually know her.

☢ ❜ AGE

━━ 26

☢ ❜ GENDER

━━ Female

☢ ❜ HEIGHT

━━ 5'6''

☢ ❜ WEIGHT

━━ 130 lbs

☢ ❜ EYE COLOR

━━ Pink

☢ ❜ HAIR COLOR

━━ N/A

☢ ❜ MARKINGS

━━ Both of Mef's hands are artificial - she lost them exactly how you'd expect. She usually covers them with gloves. Her lekku are covered in spots of a darker purple than her skin, but the rest of her body is quite even as far as pigmentation goes. From wrist-stumps to elbows, her lower arms are covered in countless scars of all shapes and sizes. Her chest is splattered with the burn and puncture scars that could only have come from blaster bolts.

☢ ❜ RACE

━━ Twi'lek

☢ ❜ RACIAL TRAITS

━━ Mef bears the grace and flexibility of the dancers of her species. She also holds their certain knack for seduction, when she puts her mind to it.

Ⅱ :。 ＳＵＲＦＡＣＥ ◟
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☢ ❜ ITEMS

━━ A few tools, a pair of protective goggles, some snacks. She travels pretty light.

☢ ❜ WEAPONS

━━ Explosives. If it blows up, Mef probably keeps it stashed somewhere. On her person, she always has at least one thermal detonator, and often other things. All the rest of her weapons are in the droids she builds. She does carry some grenades, though.

☢ ❜ ARMOR

━━ Armor isn't worth it - won't save you from a bomb.

☢ ❜ ABILITIES

━━ Mef can build one hell of a droid, from the ground up if need be. She's also a pretty damn good dancer.

☢ ❜ MARTIAL ABILITIES

━━ Mef is an explosives expert. She doesn't usually fight herself - she'd rather string up an area with all sorts of things that blow up then herd her opponents into it with her battle droids. And in a pinch, she's got a pretty good arm when it comes to lobbing grenades.

☢ ❜ LIGHTSABER FORM

━━ N/A

☢ ❜ FORCE ABILITIES

━━ N/A

☢ ❜ PERSONALITY

━━ Mef is not well - no way around that fact. She's frantic, neurotic, and often paranoid, and has destructive tendencies both self- and otherwise like no one's business. Her people skills are lacking, and she compensates for them by projecting an aura of not a single ******** given. Plying people for reactions is her best known way of interacting with them, so she tends to toe the line of how far she can push without consequences with almost every step. In truth, she does long for interpersonal connections, but has no real idea how to go about forging them. That makes the ones she's found by chance all the more precious, and it's the main reason she's so attached to Ty. Despite the mess that is her emotional state, Mef's actually an optimist, in a sense. She's got a knack for seeing the silver lining, and for the most part genuinely believes that things will work themselves out in the end. This mindset does get pretty heavily disrupted when she panics, though.

Ⅲ :。 ＳＴＯＲＹ ◟
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━━ Mef's rebel compatriots, even Ty, know very little about her life. They know that, a little under four years ago, Ty found her in a heap of garbage, nearly dead, and brought her back to the base. She made a slow but successful recovery and decided to stick around, becoming a valuable engineering asset for the group - and it's damn good she was valuable, because she was certainly hard to deal with. About two years ago she blew her hands off in an explosives misfire, and managed to get a hold of a pair of high grade artificial ones, heavily modded once she had them on her wrists. She continues to be an unstable, unsettling, and questionably committed member of the rebellion to this day.

If asked about her life before all this, she will offer an obvious and outrageous lie that tends to be different every time.


Mefion was born in a small village on Ryloth to a very poor family. As is sadly common, she was sold by her family as a slave at the age of twelve. She was kept as an attendant and status symbol with several other Twi'lek slaves, learning to dance from the others as well. Her life wasn't exactly good, but it wasn't as horrible as it could have been. However, when she was eighteen, she began showing signs of her mental instability in a rather disturbing way, and her master chose to simply sell her rather than address the issue at all. This continued for a little over three years, Mef being passed from owner to owner, each one quickly selling her off again once her defect came to light. Finally, one man purchased her with full knowledge of her deficiencies, and set his mind to "fixing" her. After months of brutal and violent "treatments" and "cures," though, he declared her a lost cause. Not expecting to get any money for her, he instead simply disposed of her, shooting her several times in the chest and leaving her assumed dead body in a garbage heap. This is where she met Ty.

[BlackMageLeah]

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"Dialogue!"

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Thoughts and such.

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WHERE: location xxxxx WITH: company xxxxx STATUS: feeling

[BlackMageLeah]

text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text

"Dialogue!"

text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text

Thoughts and such.

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WHERE: location xxxxx WITH: company xxxxx STATUS: feeling

[BlackMageLeah]

NAME-Gildas'eva, or Gil Daseva outside Twi'lek circles. The Twi'lek pronunciation translates to "One with a Steady Hand" in Ryl.
AGE- 24
GENDER- Male
TITLE- Smuggler
SPECIES- Human(?)
HOME PLANET- Unknown
PERSONALITY- Despite his rather unusual upbringing, Gil is actually a fairly easygoing person. He takes life in stride, and very few things actually get him down. He's friendly, outgoing, and cheerful to a frequently annoying extent. To his friends, and especially to his family, he's loyal through and through, and is willing to go to extreme lengths, including compromising his morals, to see to it that nothing bad happens to them. His views on the value of life are a bit inconsistent. While he firmly believes that if there is an option to save innocent life, even that of a stranger whose situation he has nothing to do with, that option should always be pursued, at the same time he has very few qualms about killing his enemies. As for things like property law and politics, he has fewer moral concerns, and is more concerned with making a comfortable living, which is really what led him to smuggling in the first place.

Perhaps Gil's most prominent quality is the fact that his an huge, unabashed flirt (and then some). It seems to be, along with sass, his most used conversational tactic, especially under pressure. And he is, of course, interested in more than just flirting - he'll bed anything that can say yes, gender and species be damned. The more of a challenge something is, the better a story it makes for, and Gil is all about having stories to tell. Expect him to regale you with tales of his conquests at with very little provocation.

All in all, he's generally a great guy to have as your friend, and an large, potentially deadly pain in the collective asses of his enemies.
BIOGRAPHY- It's hard to tell Gil's story without first a bit of someone else's. Many years ago, a twi'lek named Sula Daseva rose out of humble and unfortunate beginnings to become a rather successful bounty hunter. Eventually, she would take on the job of eliminating a pair of humans(?) and returning with proof of death to the Hutts for her pay. Sula caught her targets unaware and eliminated them with ease. It was then, however, that she discovered the baby. It seemed cruel to just leave it to die, and, unable to have children of her own, she had always wanted one, so... She made the decision to take the baby with her and raise it as her own. Not knowing the child's name, she gave it a new one in her own language. Gildas'eva, the one with a steady hand. That could have have implied many things, but its intended meaning was clear - and it was readily apparent that the child's general career path had been decided for him.

Gil was trained to fight from the day he was able to walk. His "mother" began with K'thri training as early as possible, and he would eventually come to find the form as natural as walking. Later she would introduce work with a vibrostaff, then with a blaster. All in all, she worked hard to craft her "son" into the perfect successor. Almost all of his childhood would be spent onboard a ship. And it seemed taking children wasn't a one-time deal for Sula, as over the years Gil eventually found himself with six younger siblings, all taken in under similar circumstances to his own - Eta and Yenno, a female and male pair of Kage twins (currently 22); Des, a human male (21); Venth, a Zelosian male (18 ); Luca, a Lowen female (17); and Senli, a Theelin female (14).

Taking well to the role of the eldest child, Gil grew up remarkably well-adjusted, given the direction his life had taken. He was happy to be the leader of the children, and took their well-being very, very seriously. Even after he set out on his own at the age of 19, family continued to be vey, very important to him, and he was always willing to drop everything and come to their aid when needed. Even outside of crisis situations he kept close tabs on them, especially the younger ones. Once on his own, he took all sorts of odd jobs, be they bounty hunting, bodyguarding, or smuggling. Smuggling eventually won out over the others, with the excuse it gave him to travel all over the galaxy, and... well, that's gotten him into a fine mess these days.
PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION- Gil is an inch over six feet tall and thin as a rail, though there's more muscle to him than meets the eye. He has pale skin, tousled black hair, dark blue eyes, and a somewhat gaunt facial structure. He dresses casually and comfortably, though there's some lightweight armor hidden under his clothes. His hands and forearms are covered in small scars, presumably from combat. He's also got a jagged scar stretching from his chest to his left hip that looks distinctly like someone tried to gut him. On his back is a colorful tattoo of folded insect wings coming out of his shoulder blades.
WEAPON(S)- A cortosis weave vibrostaff, as well as a rather standard blaster. He's also incredibly proficient unarmed, being a championship-level K'thri artist with ample experience using it in practical situations.
OTHER- Gil is force sensitive. However, he is all but completely unaware of this fact. He has no training or relevant education whatsoever.

[BlackMageLeah]

↘ xxxx Lily Maria Calder xxxx ↙
|_________________________________________________|

↣ Daughter of the Calder Family ↤



"So he told me, is something burning? I mean, I guess maybe he didn't actually tell me. I'm sorry, were you talking to me?"

⋙ Vampire
⋙ Female
⋙ 54 (appears 16)
⋙ Straight

⋙ Absent-Minded Lily seems to miss a lot. She's easily distracted, and more often than not seems to not quite be paying attention to her surroundings. She's forgetful as well, and has usually wandered off elsewhere by the time it's come for her to do what she's been asked. She's not intentionally disobedient, she's simply... unreliable. She doesn't mean to, she swears!

⋙ Inquisitive Lily is intensely curious. As soon as she sees something that piques her interest, she abandons all current activities to investigate. She has a tendency to happen upon things she isn't supposed to know, and has found herself in trouble accordingly. Still, that hasn't seemed to stop her.

⋙ Dreamy Lily lives her unlife in a dreamlike haze, a blithe smile on her face and not a care in the world. She's peacefully blissful in almost all situations, and seems to accept odd things happening as though they're completely normal. Even her voice has a distant, half-asleep quality to it.

⋙ Tactless Lily does not think before speaking, or before she does much of anything else. She says what she feels, not unconcerned about how it will affect people, but simply oblivious to it. Her ability makes this even more troublesome, as she has a bad habit of responding to things that haven't actually been said aloud.

⋙ Parasol
Locket
Current pet

↣ A b i l i t i e s
¯ ¯ ↘
⋙ Mind-Reading Lily hears other people's thoughts, quite simply. She picks up on surface thoughts with next to no effort, but with a little concentration (which is admittedly not her strong suit) she can go digging in someone's mind for whatever it is she's looking for. Going to deep isn't necessarily safe for the target, though.

⋙ Bird Handling Lily is very good with birds. Her canary, Marco, responds to her every whim, though she can even approach wild birds without difficulty. She feels bad for vultures, since they're too ugly for most people, but she still likes hawks better.

⋙ Botany Perhaps fitting to her name, Lily knows her flowers quite well. She's adept at growing them, and enjoys making arrangements. It is not uncommon for people she comes to like to be presented with frequent bouquets.

⋙Languages Though she speaks only English fluently, Lily has a certain ear for languages, and has picked up bits and pieces of quite a few others. She's fairly proficient in Spanish, speaks a bit of French, and small amounts of several others.

↣ M y S t o r y
¯ ¯ ↘
⋙ In the year 1844, a girl - no perhaps a young woman - named Lily worked in a brothel in a town in northern Arizona. She had no parents, no family, no real money save what she earned herself. She'd been orphaned many years prior, and taken in by the madame of the brothel. It hadn't been a great life, but she was clothed and fed. She'd run errands and done small chores at the brothel until the age of fifteen, when the madame put her into more traditional service, catering towards men who fancied a little ingenue. Dressed in white, she serviced the men of the town, as well as travelers who passed through. It wasn't a good life, but it kept her off the streets.

But one day, a man named Calder found her. She didn't know what it was he saw in her, but it was something. He brought her into a new life, an eternal life, and took her in as his daughter. Lily was happy to leave the life of a whore behind, and embraced this new existence with open arms. She also found herself snooping in on things unsaid, whereas in the past she'd only been able to eavesdrop on what was actually said aloud. But that was the new normal, and she was quite content to accept it.

She's never really been happy with her family's isolation up in the mansion outside Calder's Pit. Since its founding, she's taken every opportunity she can find to go down to the town and mingle with the townsfolk, who doubtlessly find her very odd.

↣ P u p p e t e e r
¯ ¯ ↘
⋙ Username BlackMageLeah

⋙ Skype the.speck

⋙ Activity Eastern

[BlackMageLeah]

Asana Feine

▬▬▬▬ ⊱ b a s i c s

◢alias: Known in some circles as "The Cold Fire." Very near and dear friends may get away with calling her Sana. Otherwise, Captain will do.
◢role: Captain
◢age: A very gracefully aged 38.
◢gender: Female
◢sexuality: Bisexual
◢race: Twi'lek
◢height: 5'6''
◢weight: 140 lbs.

▬▬▬▬ ⊱ i n v e n t o r y

◢inventory: A high quality datapad and a high quality blaster. She doesn't need to be weighed down.

◢skills: While she is a crack shot with a blaster and significantly beyond just competent in hand to hand combat, Asana's real skills lie in her brain. She's a master strategist, and knows how to take an unfavorable situation and turn it around to suit her. She relies more on her environment than on the things she carries with her, and plans several moves ahead of her opponents. All that said, she's not afraid to get physical, and if you anger her, she absolutely will.

◢armor: No-nonsense lightweight armor, worn under her clothes for subtlety.

▬▬▬▬ ⊱ p s y c h o l o g i c a l,,,p r o f i l e

◢personality: Captain Feine lives up to her nickname - she may be cold and calculating, but a fire burns inside her. That fire usually takes the form of varying degrees of irritation that can escalate into murderous rage with very little warning. She appears to show very little more than that simple irritation, though, since by the time she displays actual anger she's usually in the process of shooting or otherwise eliminating the source. There is compassion buried deep down inside, but it's hard to draw out, and is usually only directed at the people she's allowed herself to become attached to and protective of - and she does become protective. Unable to have children of her own and unable to justify adopting one into the life she lives, Asana instead adopts her crew and defends them as though they were her own flesh and blood.

Perhaps her most defining quality is her intelligence. The captain is a strategic mastermind, able to stay several steps ahead of her opponents and hardly ever get taken by surprise. She approaches problems in a cold and calculating manner, and it serves her well. She is perceptive to both her environment and the emotions of people around her, though this should not be mistaken for actual empathy. If someone is not one of "her people," Asana doesn't care about them in the slightest. She's not a monster, but she's absolutely no angel. If she's not getting paid, don't expect her to save you.

◢bio:
> born to a poor family on Ryloth with a twin sister, Enoni
> the twins are sold together to a wealthy human, Anton Yir at the age of 14
> both trained as dancers by Yir's other slaves
> terrible conditions lead to Enoni's death at 19. Asana grieves, then plots a slow burning revenge. She begins making herself useful to Yir intellectually rather than as a dancer, and comes to be valued for her strategic and tactical advice. Over the next several years, she becomes his advisor and confidante. At 23, when his trust for her is unwavering, she kills him and steals his ship.
> Asana flies alone for two years, building a reputation as a cold and calculating hunter. Then she meets Ryves, a male Twi'lek of the same profession. The two become friends, then partners, then lovers. They gain renown as a relentless and deadly competent pair.
> Asana is around 29 when she begins to consider settling down with Ryves and having a family of her own. Despite the pair's best efforts, they are unable to conceive a child. Medical examination reveals Asana to be completely infertile. They mourn the loss of their potential future by throwing themselves even harder into their work.
> Less than a year later, Ryves is killed on a hunt. Asana buries her emotions deep, finding solace in cold unfeeling.
> In the eight years since then, she's solidified her reputation as the Cold Fire, becoming known as brilliant, capable, and absolutely deadly.

◢username: BlackMageLeah

[BlackMageLeah]

Character Name

Role
"personal quote goes here"

Aliases/Nicknames:
Age: [26-32]
Gender:
Height:
Build:
Notable Physical Features: [Scars, tattoos, implants... you name it.]

Occupation: [Describe in a little bit of detail.]

Bio:

Personality: [Divided into two sections!]


Childhood:

Current:

Personal Implant: [Describe what the project put in them and a little of what it does.]

Theme Song: [optional but fun!]

RELATIONSHIPS

[Free space to describe your character's relationships with other characters. Format it however you like.]

Username

[BlackMageLeah]

Cecil Fenn


The Smooth-Talker
"You must have me confused with someone else. Who is an idiot."

Aliases/Nicknames: The Messenger, though technically that's a secret.
Age: 30
Gender: Male
Height: 5'9''
Build: Lanky and thin, not particularly muscular
Notable Physical Features: First and most notably, Cecil is an albino. He can often be seen wearing sunglasses to shield his sensitive eyes, and when visible those eyes are a memorable pinkish color. Once you get past that, you'll notice that his left arm is prosthetic from the shoulder down, and the scars extend a couple inches up from where his flesh ends.

Occupation: Cecil is the Messenger, the founder and head of the Mercurials, a powerful information brokering network. His identity as such, however, is maintained as a complete secret, with only perhaps one or two of his underlings actually knowing who he is. For day-to-day work, he poses as one of his own mid-level employees, though works directly with particularly powerful people on occasion, perhaps more powerful than the average mid-level employee would. He'll go out and do his own dirty work, though, and will go to some pretty extreme lengths to convince someone to purchase some secrets... or to part with their own.

Bio: Cecil was born on February 2nd, 2328 to a single teenage mother, who put him up for adoption as soon as possible after birth. He was never adopted, and spent the first eight years of his life in foster care, generally finding himself rejected for his unusual appearance. He somehow still found himself well-socialized, though, and learned to talk his way into getting what he needed, with social graces and force of personality far beyond his years. He also excelled in school, despite several moves and incredibly inconsistent "family" life. The social workers handling his case considered it a damn baffling shame that no one seemed to want him.

No one, that is, until Project Apex was formed. He was brought in in its infancy at the age of eight, one of their first candidates. It was the first time in his life that Cecil felt wanted, felt that his talents were being properly recognized, and his self-confidence went through the roof. Finally someone saw him how he saw himself - better than the average lowly human. Finally he was surrounded by people that could almost be his equals - almost. No one ever worked to temper that overblown sense of self-worth, since the raging confidence in everything he did tended to make his already silver tongue gleam even brighter. He blossomed in the eight years he spent with the project, soaking up knowledge, social cues, and political savvy like a sponge.

He was genuinely distraught when the project was disbanded. The idea of going out and surrounding himself with plebeians disgusted him at first. But he soon began to see it differently - this was a chance to build his empire, to prove that he really was as good as he said. He declined offers from several of his instructors of a place to stay and instead struck out on his own, accepting nothing from the defunct project but a small amount of money to resettle himself.

He was only sixteen, so he knew he might not be taken seriously, but he didn't mind starting small. He found an apartment, enrolled in an online university, and began to hit the streets of the Old City, ferreting out secrets and selling them to whoever was willing to pay. In every transaction, he claimed to work for someone called the Messenger - someone who, at the time, did not actually exist. But this was all part of the plan. The rumor of this Messenger figure spread, and Cecil did good business. After six months, the Messenger hired another streetear. After two years, he had twenty employees. The organization grew and grew, and Cecil adopted the mantle of the Messenger himself, bringing the figure into reality. He managed the business from a steadily upgraded series of apartments, though continued to run the streets himself, keeping his actual professional identity a secret.

He finished his bachelor's degree in political science at the age of eighteen, and saw no particular reason to pursue further education - he had an empire to build. The organization, by this point known as the Mercurials (a reference to the messenger of the Roman gods, as well as their own fleet-footed, slippery natures), grew in size and power, and seven years later, at the age of twenty-five, the Messenger was one of the most powerful figures in the Port North underworld.

That was the year that the secret got out, at least to one person. Cecil obtained the secrets of the leader of one of the gangs of the Old City through less than upstanding business means, and sold them to a rival gang for a massive profit. And that gang leader was vastly more clever than most, and managed to connect the smooth-talking albino with the mysterious Messenger - exactly how, Cecil does not know to this day. That man and some of his particularly well-augmented underlings cornered him in one of the Old City's many shady alleyways, and forcefully removed his left arm from his shoulder, leaving him to bleed out. He, of course, survived that incident [maybe bring The Doctor in here?], but it left scars both physical and mental. Once he'd recovered, he pulled every string he could manage to have every single member of that gang slaughtered - he wasn't taking chances with his secret getting out again. Being the Messenger in public was far, far, far from safe. It was better to remain discrete.

The past five years have gone without any major mishaps, or at least nothing major compared to the last incident. The Mercurials are now one of the most powerful and influential organizations in Port North, and their workaholic leader runs among them, though next to none of them are aware of that.

Personality:


Childhood: As a child, Cecil was nothing if not confident. He was well aware that he wouldn't get what he wanted if he didn't work for it, and he was absolutely willing to work - or, in his case, talk someone else into working for him. Manipulation has always been his strong suit, even from a young age. Even without his implant he was dangerously persuasive, and with it he was a serious force to be reckoned with. Despite his grace with directing people to his own ends, though, he had difficulty making actual friends, and very rarely opened up to anyone. Those who did manage to get past his barriers would find him no less self-assured, but significantly more willing to act on a sense of empathy.

Current: These days, Cecil's confidence borders dangerously on narcissism. While he doesn't believe himself to know everything, he's well aware that he knows quite a lot,
and usually more than the people he interacts with. He's willing to put a lot on the line for his organization, and isn't above violence, coercion, or even selling his own body to get what he wants out of someone. He's a bit of a workaholic, really, and even on his "time off"
he still thinks in terms of business. His organization is his life, but he still enjoys the finer things, and has made plenty enough money to partake in them.

While he is in no way a kind and loving person, Cecil does in a way care about "his people,"
and is quite willing to take action to defend them, though he prefers to do so in a way that prevents the recipient of his protection from ever knowing who it was that pulled the strings to keep them out of trouble. Debts are the way of the market, and he's not afraid to incur them, though he much prefers to work things out so that someone else is in debt to him.

He sees your average person as beneath him, and if they're not one of his, he puts very little value on their life and general well-being. He enjoys pulling the strings of his many puppets, and revels in the fact that he has several powerful people completely in his back pocket - some through "friendship," others through blackmail. He's a world class schmoozer, and with his implant, people just tend to like him, as much of an a** as he may be - and that makes gathering power a hell of a lot easier.

His greatest fear is being alone and forgotten - he thrives off socialization, and being cut off from it terrifies him. And to be forgotten entirely... well, let's just say he takes serious steps to avoid that. He also deeply fears his identity getting out again, and still has nightmares about the loss of his arm.

Personal Implant: A pheromone generator. It's active all the time, and while it's certainly no mind control, it does tend to make people feel positively towards him, and make them much more inclined to agree with him. Without his trademark charisma it wouldn't go very far, but coupled with that, it seriously goes the distance. People find him wittier, more attractive, and generally more pleasant to be around than they perhaps otherwise would. If you know what's going on it's possible to ignore it, but it takes some conscious effort, and no one but the rest of Project Apex knows it's there. And that's a secret Cecil makes very certain not to sell, second only to his professional identity.

Theme Song: Centuries ||
Fallout Boy

RELATIONSHIPS

+ Cassea
[relationship]

+ Magnus
[relationship]

+ [Hired Gun]
[relationship]

+ [Guardian]
[friendly rivals]

+ [Doctor]
[grudging respect]

+ [Corporate Insider]
[relationship]

+ Kurt
[relationship]

BlackMageLeah

[BlackMageLeah]

Eyes slightly glazed over, Dr. Jackson Hartford drummed his fingers on his desk and sipped idly at a glass of water. He’d been quite focused on his reading, but that focus had waned with the first hints of morning light. It seemed he’d neglected to sleep again this past night – not an all-together unusual occurrence since he’d gotten to Hell’s Refuge, but it didn’t exactly do his mental acuity any favors. His usually neatly combed brown hair was in disarray, and there were visible bags under his icy blue eyes. He’d discarded his waistcoat in the wee hours of the morning, and his cuffs were undone. All in all, he looked a bit of a mess, and he counted himself rather fortunate that there was no one here to see it.

His office, in stark contrast to his appearance, was impeccably neat, sans the desk, which was strewn with books and papers and decorated with many unintentional inkblots. The chair at the desk was well worn and comfortable, impressively so given that he’d only been in town for six months and change – he certainly spent a lot of time in it. In truth, he hated how sedentary he’d become since he’d gotten here. Back in Chicago, he’d dashed from incident to incident, rarely ever a dull moment in his life. Someone always needed a bullet removed, or a knife wound stitched up. He’d felt useful, he’d felt valued. But here… no one appreciated his skills here. And that was their mistake, of course – he could pack up any day he wanted and go find another town! It would be that simple!

Or at least he could if he’d had the money to resettle again. Packing up and leaving everything behind wasn’t cheap. And besides, he wasn’t sure how he’d get out of the little deal the big man of the town had forced him into without… well, he wasn’t sure what Mr. Cormac would do to him. He’d come to expect the way the leaders of the gangs of Chicago dealt with those who ran out on them, he wasn’t sure what to expect from some big tycoon this far out west. Still, it was probably best to assume it was roughly the same thing, which meant that he was effectively stuck here for the time being.

With a wide, jaw-cracking yawn, Jackson rubbed at his eyes and fumbled for the waistcoat he’d tossed to the floor. Fishing his watch out of its pocket, he flipped the silver contraption open. Five in the morning. Well, he clearly wasn’t getting any more reading done now – it was practically time to get up, anyway. Perhaps he could go for a walk, watch the sun rise on the outskirts of town. It might clear his head for the day’s work, at least. If there were no patients today, though there tended to be at least someone, he had administrative work to take care of. New supplies to send out for, patient records to organize… hell, if there was time, the clinic could stand to be cleaned. He supposed it was for the best – he’d go mad with boredom even more than he already was if there was absolutely nothing that needed doing.

Pushing out his chair and making his way to his feet, Jackson glanced out the window for a moment. Maybe he’d go look for Taima, if time allowed for it. That would make his day at least marginally more interesting, if not significantly so. Something about passing along his knowledge made him feel particularly invigorated, and he found himself enjoying the woman’s company regardless. It would keep things from getting too horribly dull, if nothing else.

Exiting the office with the discarded waistcoat in hand, he ducked around the corner into his small bedroom. It only took a few minutes to pull on a fresh set of clothing and tuck his feet into his shoes, and then he was out and down the stairs into the clinic proper. A brief, obsessive moment was spent straightening up the examination room, before he made his way out the door. Carefully locking up behind him, he stepped into the street and took a slow, deep breath, wrinkling his nose slightly. In all honesty, he preferred the city air. Around here, it smelled too much like dust. It was cloying and choking and he didn’t particularly enjoy breathing it.

He walked for quite a while around the outskirts of town, lost in his own thoughts. He barely noticed the time pass – that was one advantage to this place, at least. When he was alone, the only thing that marked the passage of time was the sun, as long as he didn’t look at his watch. It was almost meditative, wandering around aimlessly as the sun made its way over the horizon. Jackson enjoyed the solitude while it lasted, but once the sun had firmly risen, he regarded his watch with a sigh. It was time to start the day’s work.

It didn’t take all that long to walk back into town, but by the time he’d reach the more populated areas, Hell’s Refuge was unusually abuzz. Frowning slightly – what could possibly be going on that things needed to be this noisy at this hour? – Jackson wandered a bit closer to the nearest gossiping group, and was nearly floored at what he heard.

Henry Cormac, that greedy old b*****d, dead?

This was… this was fantastic news! But Jackson very carefully kept the gleeful smile off his face. That was most likely not the appropriate response to the current situation, and would likely get him odd looks at the very least from the simple-minded townsfolk.

It wasn’t hard to locate where the body must have been. A crowd had gathered to gawk, and they stuck out like a sore thumb. Unperturbed, the young doctor began to push and elbow his way through the crowd. “Let me through!” he ordered in his best world-weary voice – no sense being too impressed with this. He figured he’d surely seen worse. “Let me through, I’m a doctor!” It worked well enough, and soon he was in front of the crumpled body on the dusty ground. With little to no regard for the townsfolk around him, Jackson set about straightening out the body and examining it for signs of what might have happened.

Really, though, it was just a curiosity at this point. As far as he was concerned, Henry Cormac could rot in hell, and his body could feed the crows.


location: at the scene of the crime
company: just the rabble
status: just fine, thank you
ooc: that took... longer than it should have 8I