Orpheus D'aulaire / M / Human / 23 / 5'10" / 135lbs
Orpheus does not look like a trustworthy character at first glance -- his coarse, red-brown hair is pulled carelessly back into a pony-tail, and looks like a wash might not go astray; his clothes are reasonably old, and fairly obviously well-worn; his soft boots look scuffed and ancient (which they are. They are also premium-grade leather, which is a little unusual); his fingernails are a little short of clean... and he looks generally a little battered. With all this, along with his almost gaunt, long face, and his dark rust-coloured little goatee, he looks like he would smoke, were it not for the fact that he spent so little time in-atmosphere. His flat grey eyes are generally half-hooded, and he really looks as though he is watching the world with very little interest. This is, however, largely untrue.
Oddly for someone who spends so much time shielded from tan-producing stellar radiation, Orpheus's skin is a light tan, rather than the typical fair glow. Of course, if he spent more time soaking up the UV, he would be very much olive-skinned.
Orpheus's usual attire entails a coarse-woven, scoop-necked kind of shirt, usually cream-coloured, which may occasionally slip awry to reveal the intricate, tribal-looking tatoos across the left side of his back, and the upper part of his left arm. The black trousers or jeans he favours are always well-fitted, albeit worn. Something easy to run in. His boots are a dark brown real leather, soft-soled and heavily scuffed. They are his special treasure. His weapons belt does not match them at all, being a completely different, reddish shade of brown.
His weapons of choice are an old NS-9 "Charon" pistol, its ceramic body marked and scuffed... but in far better nick that it appears, and the beautiful, sleek, silent, and utterly ancient black monster of a rifle, Arande's CAM43 "Mercutio", which he carries slung across his back. In belt-pouches and pockets, he carries what ammuntition he has been able to afford for the weapons. Out of neccessity, he as become a very good shot with both: a bullet can cost him as much as -- if not more than a meal.
Orpheus started out life on Lusitania, and from the age when he could first understand the idea that there were other worlds out there he longed and planned to leave. The level of education available to him was not ideal, but he worked hard at it. Outside of his school time, he also worked hard in one of the workshops, in a bid to secure that crucial extra little bit, that extra rations coupon for his mother.
At sixteen, his opportunity to leave Lustitania arose, in the form of an opportunity to be on the crew of a smugglers' ship. After a run-in with the criminal group who had commissioned them, a crew member had been lost, and Orpheus had managed to put himself in the right place at precisely the right time.
He spent the next four years on various smugglers' vessels, and through his attentiveness and interest, learned much of the knowledge essential to running a ship: from the mechanics of the engines and life-support, to food choices, to how to fly the things -- something for which he displayed a particular aptitude, though nto so much so that he is ever going to win any prizes for it.
Eventually, he amassed enough credits to purchase his own vessel -- a fairly run-down Vauthian Cutlass 9631-E, which he christened the
Nightingale. Over the past three years, he has been progressively improving it, but most modifications are scarcely more than what is required to keep the accursed thing flying.
He has stripped out some of the heavier weaponry to make more cargo space: initially, at least, this was to be a light-cargo smuggler vessel. What remains is only a marginal improvement on the weaponry the antiquated ship had when it was dragged out of the factory. This has, however, been sufficient so far.
Because of the money to be had from such a career path, Orpheus began to tend toward bounty hunting not long after acquiring his new vessel. While he is certainly no-one of note, he does manage to keep himself fed and flying largely on the bounties, with just a little careful smuggling when pickings become thin.