Futuristic 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐀𝐮𝐝𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 - 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘋𝘳𝘢𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘴 𝘗𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘰𝘯𝘢𝘦

[qunqun]

𝑪𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝑵𝒐𝒕𝒆𝒔

✦ some roles are already reserved, so please read through them carefully!
✦ that being said, the creation of roles is not only allowed but encouraged. reach out to me!
✦ lgbt+ and diverse characters are very much welcome.
✦ please keep characters somewhere in the 18-35 range. old age and hard criminal lives don't usually go hand in hand
✦ for the sake of simplicity, i am highly discouraging the creation of aliens
✦ quality > quantity
✦ this will not be first come first serve.
This code has a hidden scroll, with the sheet below!



𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑨𝒖𝒅𝒊𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏 𝑺𝒉𝒆𝒆𝒕

Full Name:
Nickname: (if applicable)
Age: (18 absolute age minimum, 35 absolute age maximum. 20s preferred.)
Gender:
Sexuality:
Ethnicity:
Mask: (if creating a new role either dm me a description or write one)

Faceclaim: (realistic preferred)
Appearance: (if using a faceclaim, you can delete this or add bonus info)

Personality:
Background: (if you need worldbuilding things to know about please tell me)
Strengths: (try to keep strengths and weaknesses balanced)
Weaknesses: (try to keep strengths and weaknesses balanced)
Extra:
Reputation: (very much optional but just a bit of fun to add)

Feel free to add anything to the sheet! I highly encourage asking questions and communicating if worldbuilding is needed!

 

[qunqun]

click!

River

pulcinella...

full name

River Malkav

nickname.s

Rivy

age

26

gender

River (any pronouns)

d.o.b.

February 3rd

ethnicity

White

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  I'm tired of your grey faces, I want a pink world full of color

  
  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  appearance

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  height

  
  

  5'11

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  weight

  
  

  65 kg

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  hair c.

  
  

  Varied

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  eye c.

  
  

  Mud

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  hair styling

  
  

  River is not the most consistent person when it comes to their appearance. Blue one day, red the next, right now they've settled upon dying their hair black. Changing their hair up on whims, they also can't seem to decide on a specific length. Right now, it's about chin length... Perhaps the most natural looking of their hair choices thus far.

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  build

  
  

  Perhaps not the tallest, but certainly not the shortest, River has an average build, perhaps a bit on the lean side. They live a life of crime, but they basically do everything in their power to not actually fight people. And yet somehow, they're also always the first to manage to weasel their way into eating... Therefore, leading to a distinctly "average" frame.

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  style

  
  

  They have a draw towards the more punk aesthetics and draw from what they consider to be "whatever looks good." Wildly colorful, somehow it usually coalesces into looks that actually, strangely, look really good... If not made from the scattered pieces and stolen items pilfered from the ship.

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  body mods.

  
  

  One of the few tells from their previous life is the tattoos that they have spread across their body. Expensive ones, too. They've seemed to turn their body into a work of black ink and beautiful art, glittering bits of silver adorning their ears. Though, in the eyes of the ship environments, it's a bit too dirty for them to approve of it.

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  faceclaim/voiceclaim

  
  

  Damiano David

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
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  personaggio

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  Just a little bit mad, with a flair for dramatics, despite a humble position they are one of the louder personalities. And perhaps one of the more offputting. They are unabashedly devoted to being themselves. And, as one could imagine, that has come into direct conflict with the more conformist society that they've had to grow up in. Completely unwilling to compromise their morals, there's a willingness there to fight for what they believe in and to allow themselves to become martyrs. A deep yearning for authenticity.
  
  Though, let this not be obscured for cruelty. After all, they are unabashedly themselves, and who they are is not a particularly mean or cruel person who wishes ill upon others.To the core, they are a confident and mature person for their age. But wrapped in a mirage of antics and dramatics and allusions to poetry that is much older than them. And a complete lack of any kind of ambition.
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  virtues

  
  

  Kind, Nonjudgemental, Authentic, Honest, Wise

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  vices

  
  

  Confusing, Stubborn, Nonconformist, Vengeful, Dramatic

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  likes

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  River above all holds authenticity to a high degree. As such, they enjoy people that dare to go out of the box. They enjoy creative thinking and creative works,. Freedom of expression is very important to them, it's only if you are hurting someone actively that they tend to draw the line. They enjoy the aesthetics of smoke and old literature and people watching. They have a fascination with the old world before space travel became actualized.
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  dislikes

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  River despises pretention and conformity. If that is a thing which brings people joy and is their personal authentic self, then River doesn't mind. But, they hate the idea of imposing it upon others. They hate condescension. And they have very strong morals that cannot be broken... but funnily enough, they also despise being centers of authority.
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
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  Overture

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  Esordio

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  River, funnily enough, grew up in a planet colony. The planet's resource? Something a bit more esoteric. It was a trading hub, primarily, a large grungy city that boasted a variety of talent that came from the area. One of the few places where the climbing of the social ladder could actually occur... if you knew and impressed the right people, of course.
  
  River's parents were both successful scientists who had become educators in the massive city. And they gave birth to three kids before River, all of which became successful in their own rights. A lawyer, a scientist, an opera singer... and then the fourth in this family of geniuses came River. The wild child. The mistake, if their parents had been meaner.
  
  But River's parents did not believe in mistakes. Kindness and soft words and gentle disciplines formed River's childhood, alongside the careful support of River's tendecies for the dramatic and the old world's literature. They fell in love very quickly with poets and stories from the old world that had been kept mostly for posterity sake. And they slowly began to perform, showing a natural aptitude for capturing crowds and maintaining people's attention with their flamboyance and their propensity for carefully crafted metaphorical lyrics.
  
  It wasn't long until the rich from the space colonies noticed them and decided to invite them, the next genius of the Clan Malkav, to join their ranks.
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  Intermezzo

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  Brought up towards the light, River was made to be a dancing monkey for the rich, high society that he'd been placed into. An entertainer by trade, and little more than a fleeting starlet, the singer found the entire deal to be a drain upon their soul as they were forced to conform more and more to the standards of the society around them by fussy managers and a small but slowly growing fanbase. They'd always been anti-establishment, and they were being used to peddle carefully constructed rebellion songs without causing actual harm to the people in charge.
  
  They found a lot of distaste towards the life that they were starting to go down. And they found that the society around them was too detatched from the realities of everything that was going on outside of their little spaceships. So River created a plan to bring a little shock to the system, using the small amount of fame and the fledgling career that they'd started to fuel this break from comforts.
  
  So, they did a set that was jarring and loud and called the people at the highest order out for everything that they were doing, and quickly, the broadcast was shut down. But the performer had garnered too much attention for themself to be dealt with with a bit of lead to the head. So River was quietly forgotten about as the higher ups made sure that they would never perform for high society again... Nay, even get close to the spotlight ever again.
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  Attacca

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  So River was cast out from the light and into the darkness where they found a surprising joy to life. Despite the hardships that awaited them as a life destined for destitution, there was a relief to the lack of facade that the people around them put up. So they began to stowaway on ships and hitch rides as they traveled from port to port, doing just enough menial labor to feed themselves.
  
  And yet, despite how strange they were, they were charismatic enough to talk to others and hear the latest on what was going on in the ports. And through the web of connections that they'd made came a beat up explorer's vessel that had made its way into port without an owner. Opportunity for a life of even more freedom, not bound to the wills of whoever was flying them to the next place whispered in River's ears, so they quietly pulled it into their grasp and fixed it up. They brought one or two others on this new journey of discovery and adventure.
  
  The realities of living as vagabonds on the run, though, eventually set in with low fuel and grumbling stomachs and increasingly foul tempers. But there were others around that seemed to be doing better, and after a small consultation, they learned that theft from the corporations that floated about was the way to go in order to truly live.
  
  So they stole. And success tasted rich in nutrients and fat, cleverness mixed with beginner's luck. And like flies to honey, it attracted other downtrodden fellows.
  
  And so the band of two expanded and grew until River looked about and realized that they'd created a pirate crew. But River had never been one for ambition or greed, so instead of taking upon the role of captain, they took on control of the radios and the intercoms.
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
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  Miscellaneo

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  Role

  
  

  Pulcinella. The person manning the intercoms and the communications to the outside world. The buffer between the general public, and the Commedia. Whoever put River on the job that exclusively requires them to relay important messages is probably an idiot, but they haven't gotten into too much trouble over the entire thing... yet.

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  Reputation

  
  

  Strange. Almost like a mold or a mascot. Somehow, despite their aversion to fighting, they've managed to cling on board for whatever reason. The members that have been around for longer generally understand why, the ones that are newer... Well, River's personality is strange where people either get incredibly confused and angry at them or they like them. It's a good hazing for newcomes as an introduction to the strangeness of the ship as a whole. Those that don't mind them tend to stay, those that don't like them tend to not last very long.

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  Strengths

  
  

  Surprisingly charismatic and a natural performer, they make for an excellent distraction when they don't have to cover up what they're doing and why. They're surprisingly good at dodging and weaving attacks, though are thoroughly uninterested in actually hitting back.

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  Weaknesses

  
  

  They are not ones for covering up truth or lying about who they are and as such, most undercover options fly completely out of the window. They also have an aversion to bloodshed and fighting and violence.

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  now playing...

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  Modern Day Cain

  
  
  
  

  IDKHOW

  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[Gao]

"BAPTISTE"

# DOTTORE

# Jazzelle Zanaughtti

♡coded by uxie♡

click!

BAPTISTE

"IL DOTTORE"

FORMERLY

VITTORIA VOLTA

PRONOUNS

THEY/THEM

ETHNICITY

MIXED

age

Twenty-Six

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  CAN I SAY JINKIES NOW? FINE. WHAT ABOUT NOW? NOW? NOW?

  
  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  appearance

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  height

  
  

  5'11"
  (180cm)

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  weight

  
  

  161lbs (73kg)

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  hair c.

  
  

  Bleach white

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  eye c.

  
  

  Dark brown

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  Build

  
  

  Mostly leg, Baptiste is a slim and lanky individual of few curves. Motions lackadaisical, bones jointed double with a chirpy habit to their walk.

  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  Hair

  
  

  Their halo is a staple feature, glacial platinum slicked into serrated spires. Upkeep is frequent but no source of ire, as perhaps bleach is slowly soaking through the scalp and into their brain.

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  Eyes

  
  

  Rich terracotta lined in charcoal. Baptiste pencils blade-thin lines, hearts, or occasionally smiley faces as brow substitutes.

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  Scars

  
  

  Skin boasting history like accolades, the palms and soles of their feet are raked with scars. Whilst not appearing to mind questions about it, (justice to curiosity), answers are shaped to avoid integral parts of their history. I climbed some sharp rocks, tends to satisfy most.
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  Distinguishing

  
  

  Like a teenager phasing through new bands and style-changes, discovery has been of sawtooth trajectory. Outfits are fun, colourful, sometimes strange even by space pirate standards. They garner glee from the freedom of creativity, and as such, indulge themselves (and others) ravenously.
  
  A few matching tattoos inked by past crewmates, seemingly nothing of real importance, as most resemble poorly done doodles.
  
  Canine teeth capped in gold shells.
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  Face-claim

  
  

  Jazzelle Zanaughtti
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
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  personality

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  Traits

  
  

  Upbeat, honest, eccentric, individualism, extroverted, outspoken, perceptive, sincere, creative, cool hair, devil-may-care, arbitrator, blunt, volatile, instinct-follower, mildly sinister, gambler, addictive, food-pincher, messy.

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  In Detail

  
  

  Having lived a life constrained to fickle gridlines, pinned by the crucifix of camera lenses and led by careful scripts and silent affirmation; Baptiste bleeds for authenticity. A need that consumes them further than eat or sleep, daily they scrub at the grimy media personality that lingers embedded beneath skin.
  
  Within this, insecurity lies that they are a walking hoax, that their strive for authenticity has made them counterproductively fake; identity a mosaic of unrest, undeciphered, they regularly resemble a newborn fawn or a puppy still to grow into its too-big paws. It borders desperation, the tremor of bone and weak sinew to drag themselves to a stand. Sipping from an amphora of guilt, trying to dig a ravine between historic actions and the present one handful at a time.
  
  In their path for authenticity, it often veers the territory of blunt. Refusing to save face and soften a blow at the price of hiding the pressing reality of a situation, flippant blurs with sinister, and can leave some with a bitter taste in their mouth. Unusually caustic from the likes of Baptiste, it is the diplomatic dregs of a news anchor that holds tarlike to their skeleton.
  
  They are happy, and there is no delusion to this delight. The funky outfits, the humming, by all counts a break of daylight to temper any crux of molasses. Having lived life caged aloft a pedestal and sheltered from much, they’re naive to freedom. Crafting one's own opinions is unfamiliar territory, taking sides nigh impossible, a lapse in habit that occasionally stirs from silt depths to seek endorsement from those nearby.
  
  Coherent, yet detached. Behaviour not always rooted in the present, history blots through the parchment of their silhouette like bleeding ink. Reciting numbers, phrases, nail biting, sudden posture changes and interlaced fingers, they’re restless and rewound with repetitious hauntings, not always strictly chronological.
  
  Trust is capricious, fragile as glass, and retains fractures once reassembled. A holder of grudges and one to make it known through slights and private conversations, those that openly lie or falsify aspects of themselves may have trouble interacting with Baptiste. Calcified in a shell of scepticism, any traitorism, needless violence or lack of empathy brittles their saccharine exterior to something unseen. It should be in best interests to stay on the right side of the Doctor, lest a wound is sewn a little too rough, bandaged a little too loose, and oh, would you look at that? Seems we’re out of painkillers, sorry hun.
  
  There’s some oddity, yet nothing too alarming. Easy enough to get along with, granted your presence sits well with their gut.
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  Fears

  
  

  Wet bread, agoraphobia, flashing lights and their home planet.

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  Strengths

  
  

  Their medical skills are only average, yet in comparison to other shipmates, the most feasible option. Good with chemicals, or at least what they should smell like.
  
  Cuffs and narrow spaces are no match for Baptiste’s hypermobility. Flexible joints that can almost resemble rubber, they are difficult to grab and hold onto, much like a wretched little worm.
  
  Before their time as a news anchor, Baptiste was a Meteorology intern. The interest hasn’t dissipated, still enjoying weather phenomena. Upon noticing anything strange in the atmosphere, they may advise the ship is steered elsewhere.
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  Weaknesses

  
  

  Will throw a punch, but unneeded violence, let alone killing, is not their best interest. If in the predicament of taking life, Baptiste isn’t sure what they’d do.
  
  A desire to try everything that is new has more vices than virtues. A tad reckless, they aren’t known for executing a lot of thought to their decisions.
  
  Addiction. It’s no secret Baptiste has a thing for inhalants. Behaviour grows erratic when without a fix.
  
  Years of reading under a glare of lights has damaged their vision.
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  likes

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  Dissections, gambling, collecting dog bobble-heads, taking things apart, greasy food, huffing chemicals, casinos, colors, shimmy dancing, handmade things, feather boas.
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  dislikes

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  Putting things together, deception, stickers, having long hair, perfectionism, tomatoes, sugar-coating words, injustice.
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
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  history

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  VOL. ONE: LUCI.

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  An underground city peppered neon, spewing smog that would plume like fish membrane and break into dissipation against their crowned canopy; edifices stood akin to reeds in black silt water, levels often so thick with smoke it’d salt and ulcerate the linings of wet lungs.
  
  Heaven, their Paradiso was not dressed in milky pearls or yellow yolk halos.
  
  Nurturing a flavour of sickness, they’d suffer under garroted silence of the heart; throat, mouth. All oddities swallowed like a hot coal to be extinguished in the suffocating gut of militia, severe faculty and undying conviction of weapon caches.
  
  In the sediment of the slums, thin voices wired taut with grief. Hands grease-slick and cracked with kerosene, swollen with burns, fluid, blood. Lambs of soft plush skin filled with quaking blood held underfoot in a flattened carrion state, many Paradiso stories went as thus.
  
  Violence bred anger, permits to eat, sell, live, breathe, carving hatred and rebellion through sternums. Like funereal flora from gravestones they’d rise, holding fire in their lungs, their fists, the vast unheard. Their very lives, mouths that could not close until met with the curve of soldier retribution, knuckles breaking opal bone into bruised magnolia.
  
  Truth is our priority, the motto would recite over street-laden speakers, and we give justice to your curiosity.
  
  Through the twilit undercurrent, a glow. Screens reflecting pixels, a cubed, crystalline display of neverending data. Essere pronto, sat militarian, back pressed to a seat designed for one, in solitude and in limbo. Ice-vein limbs and anxiety thrumming within the hollows of a chest, fuelling desire to trace fingers along the edge of the smooth table, touch their nose, soften crescent nails between white-blade teeth or pull strips of cadaver lip skin to sit something, anything, on the tongue.
  
  Tre, the number would flicker.
  
  Due. Networks of cable puppet strings to feed rampant consumption, a countdown till the next stimulus feeding.
  
  Uno. Lights branded skin, stirring the cold asleep in veins and coating every surface with ice.
  
  Siamo in onda. Catacomb silence, as one cannot move against the tide when its moon holds steel-court.
  
  My name is Vittoria Volta.
  
  Unseen cinders burned flash imagery into coal retinas.
  
  And you’re watching Paradiso News.
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  VOL. TWO: MOTORE.

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  Weather intern turned news anchor at its predecessor’s disappearance; Volta was a mouthpiece to spread subtle control like vapour. A televisual puppet, sweetheart turned sour, translated available not valuable and very very replaceable.
  
  Truth is our priority, and we give justice to your curiosity.
  
  Ensnared by an ouroboros lense of lies, circling soft skin on a knife of hope to those below. Guilt was carried like a nail hammered into the roof of their mouth, sat upon a throne of deception and crowned by fake credibility. Binding those in a digital web, a gleaming star quality withered with rot.
  
  Tre, due, uno. Pull a smile, remove wet fingers from gnawing teeth. Siamo in onda. Eyes drilling holes into marrow from behind cameras— claustrophobic warnings. My name is Vittoria Volta, sterile air and sterile script scoured authenticity, that much is true.
  
  There was absolution to existence, rearing shadows in the descent of sunlight, lungs flaring with oxygen, the meeting in which rain becomes snow, fruit-skin blemished soft and spoiling wet. Kismet pools in desert cavities of sun-bleached bones and hot sand, some portions wanting, some portions withstanding. For years Vittoria thirsted for nothing, but want is the original sin of the human body, and they had wandered far from the dominion of a cathedral whetstone.
  
  In violet screens they’d multiply, a blurring of crumbled identity that befogged the body, self, and reality of the dying city beneath them. A mirror that yearned to be shattered, different faces of the same face with the same words staring back between fractured fissures.
  
  Essere pronto.
  
  In rheum eyes, a desertified host. They’d found personal revolution in fumes, a constant resonance that left them thirsting for salt. Thoughts fluid and of bird bone weight, cranium bursting ultraviolet, champagne gold, a taste of electric blue. A bitten nail pinching between teeth, tender spike against pink gums. Tre, due, uno, siamo in onda. Eyes torched by studio blaze, rolling to ivory white. Vittoria Volta.
  
  Only a sentence to become fugitive, name labelled vagabond, inheriting the grief of every fallen thing.
  
  Control is their priority, justice is what they deem.
  
  Sever the connection.
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  VOL. THREE: AZIONE!

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  Bodies and faces were made of something forgotten. Hidden in the liminal space of the soul, a quiet echo of family voices where they’d never speak again. Grief held as unspoken love, blooming lilies between headstone ribs and watering them with tears.
  
  Please, listen to me. It’s the reverse and replay of such scenes that haunts them: as they bang against a door and learn how to ask for forgiveness. Fists coiled taut as iron-wrought key rings. My name is tre, due, uno, Vittoria Volta, welcome to the News.
  
  Surface ostracization foreordained death, inhospitable soil and dirt-dry air. Outside, above their cavernous night-life home, a land so bright it felt like snow. Truth is priority. Abandoned coastal, a cut-foot roamer, threaded along by nothing but hunger and the push of wind. Justice to curiosity.
  
  Tre, due, uno.
  
  Welcome. Essere pronto.
  
  Fog recollection, when left unbridled and restless. Scorched lips and lacerated soles, a martyr to be found alone out in the nothingness by a merchant ship. Waking to blood dried brown, dew-slicked eyes and a familiar siren scent burning the sinuses.
  
  Hey, Sugar. You holdin’ hydrogen peroxide?
  
  They’ve been in over their head since the beginning, shaken and never quite redeemed. Carrying guilt spurred rusty and jagged in the throat, grown to want their own remedy; help others instead of hiding their downfall. Intern by trade, news-anchor by enforcement, doctor by engrossment. Vittoria’s penance, keep your tongue from evil and your lips from telling lies, anything than to be touched by the angry dark.
  
  Akin to a sunbeam through mangled forestry they’d hop ships, planets, sharing the comfort of freedom that had become so integral to their nature. They shaved their head, administered themselves with a wet slather of bleach; christened Baptiste.
  
  Lying men want them to be a lying man, or they want them dead.
  
  What a privilege to have an option.
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  EPILOGUE: REPUTAZIONE.

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  Baptiste is not well-known. A strange individual materialising from nowhere, those that aren’t uptight probably enjoy their laidback presence. There is a weird charm, probably stemming from their drive to be helpful and overall weird behaviour.
  
  Vittoria Volta, however, could be described as Paradiso’s sweetheart. Stardom haunts the name, as do rumours of their disappearance from the colony.
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
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  MISC

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  Headcanons

  
  

  ➢ The Majesty of “are you gonna eat that”
  
  ➢ Cha cha real smooth.
  
  ➢ Never has any money, as it’s wasted as soon as they get it, often scrooges for spare change from shipmates to get a new bobble-head or hairpin.
  
  ➢ Peels stickers off things and puts them on whoever's stood next to them.
  
  ➢ Touches the tip of their nose with their tongue when bored.
  
  ➢ Counting, tre, due, uno.
  
  ➢ Struggles with keeping appropriate speaking volume. Whispering when there’s no reason to be whispering. Screaming “JINKIES”.
  
  ➢ Sniffing most things they come into contact with. Food, drink, people.
  
  ➢ Cracking jaw and spine.
  
  ➢ They assign colours to smells. Some are fitting, some aren’t.
  
  ➢ If you deconstruct something there can be no underlying secrets. Perhaps that’s why Baptiste enjoys dissections, both items and people.
  
  ➢ Likes tall shoes, yet alas, are not the best at walking in them.
  
  ➢ Can replicate animal sounds really good. Don’t know why.
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  Extra

  
  

  Pin board + spotify playlist here eeeee
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  now playing...

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  Seven White Horses

  
  
  
  

  Starbenders

  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[demonology]

"EARLY"

columbina

gerard way

♡coded by uxie♡

HUGE WIP​

click!

early

columbina

full name

Earline-Byron Eagleton

nicknames.

Early, E.B. (formerly)

age

twenty-five

mask

columbina

d.o.b

April 3rd

sexuality

abides by the rule “if they look pretty, I’m swooning”

gender

amab nonbinary; will answer to all pronouns but typically uses they/he

ethnicity

tkethnicity

• .
• .
• .
• .

• 
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  shut up! i'm trying to express upon our hostages the Commedia's eminence.

  
  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  appearance

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  height

  
  

  5’6’’

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  build

  
  

  Scrawny, sinewy

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  hair

  
  

  Scruffy, floppy black.

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  eyes

  
  

  black.

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  details.

  
  

  tkdetails

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  hair.

  
  

  Scruffy, floppy black hair that they often equates to string. Likes to keep it semi-short, tucked into an unflattering, black skull-cap where the ends peak out.

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  eyes.

  
  

  Deep amber in the sun, turns an almost black in the dark

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  body mods

  
  

  Unknown to many, but Early has a prosthetic, metal left foot. Beyond this, they have a tattoo of a hand reaching out to an eye stemming from their neck to their mid-back. If asked, they will be hard-pressed to explain the significance, but they will tell you about how the eye is the evil eye, supposedly protecting his back from foes of all walks.

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  distinguishing features

  
  

  tkfeatures

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  style.

  
  

  tkstyle

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  aesthetic

  
  

  tkaesthetic

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  faceclaim

  
  

  gerard way

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
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  personality

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐈𝐄𝐖: jovial, funny, lackadaisical, expert-level procrastinator, extremely lucky, charismatic, wary, highly competent in very few areas, emotionally-obtuse though often considered overly emotional by many, unhinged by some metrics (not their own, though), instinctual, energetic
  
  𝐈𝐍-𝐃𝐄𝐏𝐓𝐇: tkindepth
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  virtues

  
  

  tkvirtues

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  vices

  
  

  tkvices

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  fears

  
  

  isopods (as a concept), the thought of their ship exploding, or the harrowing unknown of dying (please don't ask them about their thoughts on death, as we will be here all day)

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  quirks

  
  

  Taking off their beanie and putting it back on after messing up their hair, braiding stray threads off their worn clothes together, taking their [ring](https://i.etsystatic.com/6254579/r/il/670274/1066318683/il_1588xN.1066318683_ppqm.jpg) off and flipping it across their knuckles.

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  strengths

  
  

  tkstrengths

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  weaknesses

  
  

  tkweaknesses

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  reputation

  
  

  tkreputation

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  likes

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  songs with trumpet or bass, screaming, feeling out of control, interrupting people (it's only because they have something 1. much more urgent to say or 2. you're boring him!), talking, being late, novelty lighters, joking about things that make others uncomfortable (in particular, cracking up about his foot in front of his uncle)
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  dislikes

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  being put into a state of urgency, phantom pains, not doing their morning routine, getting shot at, tears, side-eyes from his uncle, the end of the month, being late, was getting shot at already mentioned? Early cannot recall, tripping and falling, people they deem to be 'too stiff'
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
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  history

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  overview

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  Once they consisted of a world of juvenile beauty that Early still tries to replicate. E.B. had ten toes instead of five, and they were of pure planetary matter instead of rusted stardust. Falling into his uncle's possession early in life, his name was quickly changed from Earline to Early, forgetting E.B. altogether. Uncle Cab sought to make them his own, in whatever way that could be interpreted. Eventually, by the time Early was fourteen, the nickname E.B. ceased to be uttered. They had quickly become a velveteen puppet, performing to humor the man who pulled their strings. An image of someone else’s manufacturing.
  
  However, prior to the fall, Earline was average. Father was average, so was Mother. Nothing to report on the starlight homefront, with calm eons of space to soothe the soul. While born on tkplanet, the family quickly took to a more nomadic lifestyle, one that Early mimics even now. He tried desperately to craft a stage so believable that it feels as though they are a child again, watching his parents mann the WillaKatt, even if the actors are tkIl Capitain and their second.
  
  But the cosmic connection between the Comedia and Earline goes beyond the tender wounds of innocence lost. Before there was a crew to rescue them, there was an uncle. Cab Calloway, known broadly as an intergalactic drug smuggler, a made man, and a rebel to the consigliere that forged him, also has the unfortunate nephew known as Earline. He found them, tucked away in the ductwork. A villain, when Early had first watched the inked man rip them from their hiding spot, but quickly the screams turned to sobs as they realized who it was.
  
  Adolescence bred mutiny when raised by the moon’s alpha. Being born a nuisance made him a crime against a criminal’s code, and Early continues to uphold this proposition. The teenage years were murky, but no less politically inclined than his current state. Everything, from the way they shook one person’s hand to the manner in which that same hand snubbed another’s in favor of his hair — it was a show. A stage that they mann and a show they star in. Silken tongue and chiffon lies allowed them to survive the iron will of Cab, a life served for death, until finally they rage their own mutiny on the Comedia.
  
  They are well-bred for this kind of life, rife with intel and a full address rolodex. While their reputation may precede them, ever so slightly, Early is largely seen as an independent entity to the infamously callous Calloway. Their connections, though found via him, have been conserved through careful penmanship of the personae. People, from bottomfeeders to plucky do-gooders, have come to know and enjoy the company and business of il Columbina and the Comedia.
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  THE END

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  The END — a brief interlude of how Early ended up in the care of Calloway
  
  Minnie Eagleton was setting the Katt up for launch, preparing to leave the station they had stopped at. Hudson Eagleton was cooking dinner. They hadn't found any new work in a few days, finally around E.B. long enough for him to get some much-needed socialization. Early was happy, jubilant, to have their parents home, not being sent off to find some unknown riches they barely saw a pinch of.
  
  In a way, Early was glad his mother was killed first, shot upon their entry. They hadn't bothered to cover their faces, and E.B. saw the aquiline features of the one with the gun, his mouth popping open into a petite O in surprise. His first reaction was not to cry, but rather to look at his mother, who was crumpled on the floor. Their father heard the noise from the kitchen, leaving the rice on the stove to burn, and scooped up Early. Tucking him into the vents, Hudson trapped E.B. in the same hiding place for his gun, which he picked up in a fluid motion. Then, he left his child, rounds pinging across the ship.
  
  When it was finally over and Early stopped covering their ears, they waited, hoping for their dad to come back. When he didn't, E.B. still waited. The heat from the stove continued to warm the under-belly of the pan. The stir fry started to burn, and E.B. smelled it. Tempting fate, in hopes of saving the ship from destruction (after all, Dad was coming back), E.B. left their hiding place, shifting the vent cover and clambering out. Scurrying, he reached up and turned the knob off, saving the WillaKatt from certifiable fire.
  
  The perpetrator walked into the kitchen. E.B.'s eyes widened, shocked into place, as he saw the slumped body behind the criminal. The man smiled, almost appearing sweet, and held out his gun towards the child. E.B. turned to run when the shot rang out. However, it was unsettled by Hudson, who had tackled the man unleashing it. Instead, the bullet settled into the back of E.B.'s ankle, cutting his Achilles tendon and shattering his tiny foot. It wasn't death, at least. The young child crawled back to the vent, unwilling to look behind at their father.
  
  Hidden again, E.B. listened as fists were thrown, grumbles resounded, and two more bullets pinged about. Then, a gravelly voice echoed, "Where's the little shitter?" Another twenty minutes passed, and Early was petrified that the blood from their ankle would eek through the vent. Their hands were stained red, and they began to cry, silently. Finally, the same voice eeked out as he passed through the kitchen, "I don't know what to tell you. He disappeared. Probably bleedin' out somewhere." Another voice chimed in, saying, "It's just a kid. Doubt he even knows about what his parents do." A final voice spoke with a determined disposition. "Fine." Somehow, this was enough for the criminals. Their footsteps vibrated through to the metal of the vent, until they were faint, and then they were no more.
  
  When E.B. left the vent for a final time, they studied the blood they were leaving behind. Then, they went to their father, who had stopped breathing. Finally, to their mother. The next day,their eyes were almost glued shut with the effort and the swelling of shedding tears. Much of this isn't even known to Uncle Cab, who came after Early contacted him, using his father's communication device. He tried to ask Early about what happened, but he wouldn’t budge.
  
  The WillaKatt, named after Willow, the family cat, was carted away and sold for parts, which helped to fund Early's prosthetic. This is a crime that Early still fuels any punishment arched towards their uncle, though even they admit it was a necessity.
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  NEW GENESIS

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  NEW GENESIS — a potential tale of how Early joined the Comedia
  
  From the onslaught, they were a crime. Rather, an accessory to crimes, but still, a criminal all the same. Even after the death of Early's parents, Uncle Cab found it unavoidable to involve Early in the same fate of thievery and pirate delinquency. To his credit, this was also out of necessity, much like the selling of the WillaKatt. Uncle Cab, better known as Calloway by the general public, carried the family tradition (much like his brother) of involving himself with the seedier underbelly of the Solar System, and being quite good at it. Calloway is known for smuggling illegal materials, in particular drugs produced by other members of the Vincetti family. As a former businessman, he came into the dealing industry prepared to wow, which is why most Vincetti-produced illegalities have a certain type of branding unfounded by many other illegal substances. Cab created a self-image of badassery, referred to as Sir above all else. His employees, while provided health care, are forced to kiss his knuckles before speaking. He became a king, by all definitions, and this forced Early into the royal family. It was only a few days after Calloway had whacked the Consigliere of the Vincetti family, thusly forming his own, that he adopted Early.
  
  Early fit into the business in one important way: unassuming business dealings. Before he’d proved himself, he was actually an errand boy, a glorified janitor in many ways. They were either bottling items, pasting on labels, carrying boxes from one ship to another, hiding the shipments in boxes marked for cereal, etc. This went on for several years, from the age ten until fifteen. Then, finally, Earline was ready for their metaphorical crowning. Rather, they could now pilot a ship, and that made them viable for a promotion: errand boy, again, but this time his face would appear alongside Calloway, his number in the criminal addressbook, and worst of all, a bounty on their head larger than any sum they’d actually seen. Thus began Early's life of being a transporter, hiding shipments in the belly of his new ship: WillaKatt Two (the only upside to the gig) and discovering the merits of misdirection and general charisma. In particular, Early impressed strangers, fellow members of the Calloway Crew, and even those more powerful than Uncle. Early avoided the suspicion of most via utilization of the stage they lived on, always. A security checkpoint would give way to a delightful conversation where Early would sit on the one box with illegal exports, engrossed in a comedy of their downfall, entertaining the guards. Given his age, Early was seen as a planet-hopping orphan, and their bright demeanor often allowed them to get away with most. Furthermore, he wasn't known outside of criminal circles for his connection to Cab, who had by and large neglected his old identity in favor of a new, fabricated one. It worked quite well for a time, until it didn't.
  
  WillaKatt Two was infiltrated while, ironically, Early was stopped. They had been in the kitchen, and a duo of grifters had snuck in. One shot at him, clipping his ear, but they had made the mistake of thinking they caught Early off guard. Pulling the gun out from the waistband of his pants, he shot both of the robbers, unsurprised to later find out they were from the Vincettis.
  
  Sirens rang outside, and they were caught. They were nineteen, and something about the fact that they had gotten away with this scheme since the inception of their time as a pilot was bound to frustrate the law. As what happened to all of Cab's employees that were caught, he did not come to Early's aid. This was expected, but it didn't hurt any less.
  
  When law enforcement attempted to discern Early’s identity, unable to find any identification (seeing as they had eaten their pilot’s license), they locked them away. Acts unspeakable, unable to be repeated as their existence upon Earline’s stage is a tragedy with no entertainment value. They’d finally escaped, finding a key left in their hands by a miscellaneous guard. Calloway had come through.
  
  Early returned to Cab, who thought that business would proceed as usual. He gave no explanation, and when Early asked how he’d managed to pull off their escape, Calloway looked at them with puzzle pieces for eyes. “Huh?” It had instead been a mysterious benefactor, who chose to reach out almost perfectly after the reveal of Calloway’s betrayal. A note appeared on Early’s phone, directing him towards a rendezvous point where he’d meet his new crew. That is, if they could leave dear Uncle behind.
  
  Intrigued and deathly reckless as always, Early went, and Early found the Comedia.
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
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  extra

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  headcanons

  
  

  -headcanons tbd

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  now playing...

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  mayor of simpleton

  
  
  
  

  xtc

  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[cowboy_without_a_boy]

ANTOINETTE LEBLANC

il capitano

full name

Antoinette LeBlanc

nicknames

Ant

age

twenty-six

gender

female [she/her]

sexuality

demiromantic pansexual

ethnicity

caucasian, french heritage

theme songs

my tears richochet - taylor swift
unprodigal daughter - alannis morisette
w.i.t.c.h - devon cole
big bad wolf - roses & revolutions

appearance

height

170cm (5'7).

hair

natural blonde, but keeps it dyed a deep brown.
long and wavy, often worn loose or in buns.

eyes

slate-grey

modifications

wip

face claim

Amelia Zadro

❝ I didn't have it in myself to go with grace, and so the battleships will sink beneath the waves... ❞

persona

personality

Ant excels in a leadership position. She exudes an air of steadiness, unshy of making decisions, tough or easy. There’s an arrogance about her, subtle enough to come off as eternally confident. As such, it’s often difficult to really tell how deep the waters actually run with this one.

In affluent circles, there are two survival skills of utmost importance. The ability to be a bitch gracefully, and the ability to take it when others are bitches to you. In other words, charisma and thick skin. A charming persona, Ant has mastered both.

Rallying speeches, encouragement, reassurance, fury – Ant can provide it all. She likes to know her crew well, so she can run them well. She knows how to talk, and perhaps more importantly, how to listen well, so that she may find the right words to say to get what she wants, whether her interests lie in resolving crewmate disputes or elsewhere.

<one more paragraph abt ambition bcos she ambitious, yo>

strengths & weaknesses

strengths:

resourceful
clever
intuitive
people's person




weaknesses
arrogant
spiteful -- doesn't like to be slighted
stubborn
selfish
likes to be in control

fears

vulnerability

skills

Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Pellentesque quis aliquam metus. Morbi vulputate dui eget est laoreet venenatis. Etiam in finibus est. Aliquam vehicula sem vitae ante volutpat, at semper erat egestas. Aenean scelerisque felis felis, ut bibendum dui bibendum ut. Ut non purus sem.

background

As with most of the others aboard the Commedia, Ant is extremely tight-lipped about her past. But not because the makings of who she is now were forged through hellfire and tragedy... but rather, the opposite.

Before she was just Ant, captain of the Commedia, she was Antoinette LeBlanc, second born child of legendary trade tycoon Henri LeBlanc. Her father is renowned as a figure almost synonymous with that old cliché idea of 'hard work = success', celebrated for the way that he moved his corporation up through the ranks to dominate much of the trade along the Silk Roads. After all -- fortune favours the brave. Never mind that the LeBlanc family came from old money (that particular fact is, Ant thinks, conspicuously absent amongst all those who sing her family's praises). Never mind that her family's techniques of staying on top of the trade monopolies are ruthless and cutthroat -- and never mind that they're certainly not all as legitimate or fair as the colonies are expected to believe.

If everyone wears a mask, then the one that Antoinette grew up wearing was privilege. She was raised amongst the highest of the haughty, her childhood playground a world of reckless decadence and extravagant galas. Exploit a system long enough and one will begin to see the cracks and flaws, but most benefactors of such a system know better than to rock the boat. Key words most benefactors...

Henri LeBlanc built himself a trade empire, with stakes in many of the exports and imports travelling across the trade systems. Every empire, of course, needs a heir. Antoinette learnt the politics of business easily, a natural at navigating the fair weather friendships and alliances of the rich. She learnt how to take whatever threads she was given and weave them into influence, into power, dedicating much of her energies of her youth into helping to support the family business, even going so far as to arrange a marriage between herself and some other pompous rich businessman.

And then came the fatal blow. As the second child of the LeBlanc family, she was never ever going to inherit the position as head of her father’s company, no matter how much of an asset she made herself. That responsibility would instead be gifted graciously to her elder brother. And as is so painfully commonplace for those who have their whole life set for them, her idiotic brother never really cared for the ins and outs of the responsibility he was set to inherit.

Slighted by the decision and recklessly angry, Antoinette chose to abandon ship. To leave behind all she had ever known and still prove she could make her own way. So on the day that was to be her wedding, the young woman left, forging herself a place instead among thieves and vagabonds in the lower ends of society -- and eventually, working herself up to the rank of captain.

name

relationship

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name

relationship

Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Pellentesque quis aliquam metus. Morbi vulputate dui eget est laoreet venenatis. Etiam in finibus est. Aliquam vehicula sem vitae ante volutpat, at semper erat egestas. Aenean scelerisque felis felis, ut bibendum dui bibendum ut. Ut non purus sem. Sed at mattis nisl. Ut lorem orci, venenatis a velit eu, egestas auctor turpis. Duis in nibh ut diam pellentesque eleifend ac vel nunc. Pellentesque nec viverra massa. In hac habitasse platea dictumst. Morbi hendrerit varius pretium. In faucibus et dui ac varius.

name

relationship

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coded by natasha.

 

[geminiy]

Scan Fingerprint

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• Basic
  Bio
  Tactics
  ERROR
  Suspect Name \\ Beatrice Ginerva D'Arco
  Aliases \\ Bea, Tris
  Age \\ Twenty-Seven
  Gender \\ Female
  Sexuality \\ Heterosexual
  Ethnicity\\ Caucasian
  Mask \\ Pantalone
  
  Descriptors \\
  Beatrice D'Arco is known to stand at around 5'7" with an athletic physique. She has light green eyes and pale skin. D'Arco has most recently been spotted with long, dark hair that is often worn down with several braids. She is often wearing a heavily worn leather jacket and tall, knee-high boots with silver buckles. If seen, do not approach and contact local authorities immediately.
• Basic
  Bio
  Tactics
  ERROR
  Persona \\
  Beatrice is a big personality. Bea has a natural edge to her while still retaining elegance. She is someone that naturally commands groups and her very being demands attention, making her a skilled leader. Beatrice can make friends wherever she goes by throwing on a face that belongs to another, masking her true identity until the truest version of herself needs to come out.
  
  First and foremost, Beatrice is a social creature. Although not particularly kind or warm, Beatrice shows her affection through caring for others. Often struggling to express her thoughts and emotions, she instead looks to her dedication and selflessness to her loved ones to show what she means. Beatrice has no tolerance for hatred or bigotry, opening her home to anyone in need. You will never catch her dead acting sweet and overly caring despite her naturally protective disposition. Do not expect her opinion of you to not be swayed either, Beatrice's trust must be earned and maintained.
  
  Beatrice is also a woman that has seen struggle and hardships that has left her soul guarded and her actions calculated. Bea does nothing by accident and, thanks to her natural intelligence and years of work, can quickly adapt to most situations. She can see all sides of an equation, making her especially lethal on a social front. Beatrice will find out your secrets and delegate the various members of the Commedia to take care of you. Don't let the charm and dazzling smile fool you: piss her off and you're ending your evening in a shallow grave.
  left
  
  Bio \\
  Beatrice's beginnings were difficult and far from polished. Born to a brothel worker in a big city, known for casinos and fancy bars to cater to the mega rich, Beatrice was raised in the streets alone by her young mother. It is unknown who her father is or if she has any siblings or extended family.
  
  From a young age, Beatrice had to learn how to steal, lie, and cheat her way into success. Nothing came free and without trouble, even if acquired by a five finger discount. Without a stable family or society to lean on, Beatrice was known to create her own. She created somewhat of a crime ring out of local children, stealing and lying to get what they needed. Beatrice found a particular knack in conning the rich with her charm and grace. As she aged, this talent only progressed more. Beatrice graduated from conning drunken men in bars to pretending to be wealthy and rich to get in with the powerful, only to turn around and sell the information she collected. Eventually, Beatrice became known as a local legend, using her ties to buy and sell information on a rather large scale.
  
  Eventually, authorities caught on to Beatrice's activities. With police hot on her tracks, Beatrice packed up and left her home world, travelling across the stars as a stowaway on a trading vessel. Despite the authorities and fear of being prosecuted, Beatrice still bought and sold information to get by. She also seemed to have a little family wherever she went, using the people under her command to find valuable resources and information to profit on.
  
  Beatrice was tracked for many years until she was finally arrested by an undercover agent on a mining colony, where she was planning on the mass exposure of the leaders of the mining colony. Beatrice was to be transported to her home world for prosecution. While in custody, Beatrice stole a gun and shot the agent twice in the chest, fleeing into space.
  
  There is a period of time where D'Arco is unaccounted for. Some say that she laid low, running a small stand in a market somewhere, though these rumours have no evidence to back them up. Others claim that she returned to her home world, waiting for the right time to move back into the galaxy. The only confirmed sighting of Beatrice D'Arco was around five years ago when she was spotted with the beginnings of what is now known as the Commedia. Beatrice is known to still sometimes sell connections and information and has since been tied to several assaults, thefts, and even murders. She is also believed to be in a leadership position with the Commedia, her days of information pedaling largely over.
• Basic
  Bio
  Tactics
  ERROR
  Known Acquaintances \\ Crew of Commedia
  
  Family \\ [REDACTED]
  
  Strengths \\
  Natural Leader; People tend to listen to Beatrice. Knowledgeable, organized, and powerful, Beatrice knows that she is in charge and the people around her respect this fact. She takes a great deal of enjoyment from organizing her peers and, despite her edge and coldness, is considered to be quite a maternal figure to the people around her.
  
  Charismatic; Beatrice is known for her mind. Known as charming and flirtatious, this charisma is what makes Beatrice so dangerous.
  
  Resourceful; Beatrice has a plethora of information and connections across the galaxy. Secrets are difficult to keep from the observant and highly intelligent woman, though her days of information selling is over.
  
  Weaknesses \\
  Physical Fighting; Although highly slippery, Beatrice is not considered gifted with hand-to-hand combat. Records show that Beatrice is known to avoid physical confrontation and can be out-maneuvered if physically attacked.
  
  Attached; Beatrice's main weak spot lies with her friends or family, whichever group she is found amongst. Historically, hitting her loved ones hits her too. If you hurt someone she cares about, Beatrice will come out of hiding,
  
  Deceitful; From the time of her youth, Beatrice is a skilled liar. Although generally trustworthy, Beatrice can easily and skillfully lie to just about anyone.
  
  Reputation \\
  Beatrice D'Arco is a slippery figure, difficult to catch and near impossible to expose. She has been tied to several violent and criminal acts, though it is believed that Beatrice did not commit many of these acts herself, rather recruiting people to do it for her. If seen, DO NOT APPROACH and call your local authorities.
• Basic
  Bio
  Tactics
  ERROR
  Music \\
  
  

  Music \\

code by Ambiloquous

 

[CozyGamer]

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• 04

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  general

  moss

  full name

  Krysa Jax

  nickname

  Moss

  age

  19

  gender

  non-binary (they/them)

  sexuality

  queer

  date of birth

  May 29

  "I think that I could fit in that vent just fine, thank you very much"

  ethnicity.

  Black
  
  

  Mask.

  Pedrolino. The social wit who keeps the play moving. Voluntarily instigates confusion, with a child-like delight in practical jokes and pranks. Moss is strictly here for a good time, and will create a good time for themself if there is none to be found. When not causing problems on purpose, they do care about the crewmates who gave them a home, and will help out around the ship however they can.
  
  

  known languages.

  Knows a fair amount of dialects and languages, and knows enough of them to get by. Does not know enough to pass himself off as a local, however this does not stop them for trying to convince people that they are neighbours.
• 04

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  visage

  01

  moss

  ht

  5'5"

  hair

  Can be a short buzzcut, longer braids arranged in an intricate design, or anything in between. Currently, their hair is very short, and styled in twists.

  eyes

  Brown

  appearance

  A smaller frame, which makes it easier for Moss to pass as an urchin child, or pass unnoticed as simply part of the scenery. They are athletic enough to run away from anything, even in platform boots and large, cumbersome, trenchcoats. Underneath the dark exterior, they are normally wearing either white or bright coloured clothes, adorned with many belts and chains.

  mods

  From the elbow onwards, their right forearm is replaced with a robotic prosthetic. It's well taken care off, shiny enough to look new (even though it is a few years old). Ear and nose piercings add to the metal contained within their body.

  fc

  Willow Smith
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  persona

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  moss

  • fillersss
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  • likes & dislikes

    misc

    strengths

    Can blend into the background or become the center of attention as needed. Is fairly well-traveled for a young adult without their own ship, and has learned the ins and outs of pretending to belong in whatever situation you end up in. Takes in lots of details, and knows a bit about robotics thanks to the care and upkeep of their prosthetics.

    weaknesses

    Is excitable and easily distracted, which is the main reason behind them being discovered as definitely not a local (the few times that it happens). Doesn't always stop to think about what's about to come out of their mouth, and can sometimes come across as immature (which they are). Does not know enough about robotics to consistently keep their arm functional, normally resulting in a few weeks of one-handedness until they come across a mechanic who does know enough about robotics to help them.
  • likes & dislikes

    misc

    likes

    
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    dislikes

    
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    fears

    
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    fun facts

    
    I'll fill out the extra stuff eventually, it's late and I'm tired
    

  personalità

  A child at heart, with the experience of an adult who has seen both many planets and horrors. For all the bad they've been through, Moss will more than likely be enthralled with whatever beauty they can find, whether it be in the native flora of whatever planet they happen to be on, or the street lights reflecting off of the pool of strange liquid they step through in the back alleyways of the industrial sectors of the various colonies they've passed through. This wonder and amazement at the universe's beauty is tempered and grounded with the knowledge that staring up at the stars is the easiest way to walk into a knife (which they know from personal experience, trust them). So their gaze stays stuck to the ground and the path in front of them, and the appreciation of beauty lasts as long as the object of their attention is in this view.
  
  While traipsing through the vastness of the universe, they prefer to blend into the background of whatever theatrical set they happen to be on, whether it be the loud market of a mining colony or the bustling industrial space port connecting various parts of the universe. It is only once they are on their own, or in the presence of those they are comfortable with, that their energetic personality comes out. Armed with quick quips and sarcastic eye rolling, they can never stay still for very long. If they make a fool of themselves (as they are want to do), keep it to yourself. But whenever the theatrics are finished, they are the first to cloak themselves back in the long, dark trench coat that makes their frame slightly boxier, and return to being a set piece of wherever the path in front of them will bring them next.
• history

  03

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  01

  moss

  character name

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  character name

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  character name

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  coded by natasha

  il monello di strada

  Moss barely remembered their parents, having been young when they died? Left? Never came home? They weren't sure anymore. They knew which star system they had been born in only because they remember leaving it. Before they left it, however, they were one of many orphaned children, running around through the crowded streets in the village and playing in the abandoned factories which used to produce ship materials until all the nearby asteroids had been mined out of all possible ores. Their home planet had many layers built on top of each other to hold up the growing population; Moss stayed on the lower levels, distracted by the small mammals which lived alongside the humans. Many children didn't survive life on these levels, between the day-to-day health hazards of being orphans which no one cared for, as well as the threats of the smugglers and traffickers which were all too eager to snatch up anyone who seemed to not have anyone come looking for them. Moss had almost been one of the later, many times - their boisterous personality and loud laughter made them a bright target. They eventually came to realize, hiding in a dark alleyway in the rain, blood streaming from their nose and split lip, that they needed to blend in to survive. Like the Moss, on the brick walls around them.

  il clandestino

  Moss grew bored of the same streets on which they had grown up, and left the star system of their birth before they were a teenager. The abrupt departure was definitely not due to finally being caught by traffickers. If they had been caught by traffickers, somehow, then they had been lucky enough to slip away before being thrust into a cage, and the thugs were convinced that Moss had slipped out of the ship itself. They hadn't, in this completely hypothetical scenario, however, and thus began their role as a stowaway, tucked between cargo boxes as the spaceship rattled between stars they had never seen before. That's where they stayed for almost a month, sneaking out only for the barest amount of food. Once they landed at the traffickers destination, they watched their friends be dragged off to their doom. Moss stayed hidden, as the smuggler ship loaded back up with more supplies, and rattled back off into the stars. It wasn't until the ship landed on another planet, the thugs ready to capture more victims, that Moss slipped out of the ship for real, running into the night lit up by bright blue stars. This planet had stars which made beautiful streaks of colour across the skies; it was almost enough to distract Moss as they kept running. Almost.
  
  Moss would love to say that they learned from their childhood antics, and that they grew to traverse the cosmos on their own accord, never again being caught off guard. They would be wrong. As they grew up, they learned how to be part of the background of wherever they found themselves, be it the back streets of a dark mining outpost or the bright lights of a fancy public dinner party. They could never squash their childlike delight and wonder, however, and were prone to getting distracted, or making a fool of themselves for being too eager and loud. This had had dangerous outcomes in recent years; being distracted by the strange amount of rotten cheese wheels in the wrong part of a dangerous area and making the offhand (idiotic) remark about the gang controlling the area being akin to mice with poor taste ended up with them almost losing their life. They were able to once again slip away, but the bones in their right forearm were shattered beyond use. Turns out the cheesemakers-turned-violent-criminals were still incredibly defensive about their trade. Turns out this backwater cheese planet also didn't have the highest standard of medical care, and Moss had their right arm amputated just below the elbow.

  il pedrolino

  Moss eventually got a handle on themselves, and the amount of life-threatening incidents they encountered decreased drastically. They got better at blending in, and only being their excitable, distractible self when it was safe to do so. Now their travels were dictated less by needing to flee imminent death, and more by their interest in seeing more of the universe. Sometimes, "interest" equaled "finding the least boring thing", and sometimes, finding the least boring thing involved jumping ship at a space port from the cramped cargo freighter to a larger, much more less boring ship called the Commedia. This ship was large enough that Moss was able to explore most of it without becoming bored, moving about when they figured most of the occupants were asleep. But the more distracted they became in the ship around them, the less aware they were of certain individuals in the ship which may have become aware to their presence. After getting caught sneaking a meal in the ship's kitchen, and failing to convince their captor that they had always been on the ship, they must have not noticed them among all of the other vermin present and why was their lack of attention Moss' concern, thank you very much, the individual they came to know as River must have determined that Moss was harmless (or amusing) enough to warrant a permanent place on the Commedia. And honestly? Moss didn't mind having a stable place to call home, and let loose some of the childish antics which would otherwise get them killed. And the Commedia's crew promised enough entertaining travels for them to keep seeing the entirety of the cosmos, which was a plus.

left

 

[FloatingAroundSpace]

Zhen, Qiang

the Pierrot

• .
• .
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• i

  ii

  iii

  iv

  full name

  Zhen Qiang

  nicknames

  The Chameleon, Red-Eye

  Age

  Twenty-seven

  date of birth

  August 26

  gender

  Male

  sexuality

  Pansexual

  ethnicity

  Chinese

  Faceclaim

  David Chiang
• i

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  height & weight

  6' 2'' (188 cm), 194 lbs (88 kg)

  hair

  Jet black and thick, he grows it out to about chest length and ties it up either in a tight bun or a braid most days. On occasion, he lets it down and free, though these incidents are few and far in between.

  eyes

  Dark brown and intense. Piercing, and where he gets his nickname from, as some claim that in moments of intense concentration, one can see a ring of red around the iris. Whether these rumors hold truth or not is unclear, given his task is often solitary and requires his eye on a scope.

  physique

  As a former mercenary, Qiang has kept up his physique. He is broad-shouldered and has enough muscle to be able easily haul around his equipment to wherever is best suited for his task. In additional, he has trained himself up to be able to stand his ground in a fight, though whether or not he would be able to win it is another question entirely, as he relies on his weapons more than pure physical prowess.

  style

  Basic and simple, with neutral colored tops and bottoms that are virtually interchangeable. He doesn't fuss over his state of dress frequently, and there are plenty of rather suspicious stains and holes on most of his clothing. When things are perhaps a little more sensitive and dicey, however, he tends to wear more body armor in an effort to protect himself, donning vests, helmets, goggles when charging headfirst against those that might threaten the crew.

  scars & modifications

  There are several tattoos on his right side, on his ribcage; they are the name of the mercenary parties that he has been a part of before, written in gold and blood red and black. He also has quite a few scars across his abdomen: a gunshot wound underneath the tattoos on his ribcage; a deep, jagged cut on the other side; a large scar on his left collarbone where a knife had sunk in and attempted to bleed him out.
• i

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  strengths

  Qiang is literally quite strong. He is not an overly burly figure and utilizes weapons as a first, second, and third resort, but can hold his own in a one-on-one if it comes down it. He is capable of utilizing a wide variety of firearms, both traditional and non-traditional, and has excellent long and mid-range aim. A formidable foe on the battlefield or off of it, he is quite observant, and able to pluck out his targets' weak spots in moments, and is able to keep a relatively level-head, even in high-stress situations.
  
  He is also incredibly loyal, especially to his fellow crewmembers and isn't afraid to do what must be done in order to get everyone out of sticky situations. He is the one that is most willing to grit his teeth and take the shot, or plunge the knife in as it were.
  
  

  weaknesses

  Qiang's expertise lies with weaponry and winning fights, and it shows painfully so in just about every other area of his life. Over his years aboard the ship, he has learned more about the subtleties of negotiation and the history of the universe around him, as well as basics on how to repair a ship, but there are still large gaps in his knowledge that can be surprising to others, who would expect a man approaching his late-twenties to be able to identify edible plants.
  
  Additionally, while he is quite resilient in the midst of a fight, able to set aside his morality, adrenaline, and fear, once there is a moment of respite, the story is drastically different. There is weight on his shoulders that he has placed on them to spare the others, and it can be crushing most of the time. While it has yet to affect his work, there are times where other members of the group can find him vacant-eyed and hollow, completely unresponsive.
  
  

  reputation

  Having trained since his mid-teenage years as a mercenary, Qiang has developed quite a fearsome reputation as a deadly shot. His experience in the field runs the gamut of delicate operations require his fabled red rimmed eyes to simply acting as another body, another set of fists and teeth to rip and tear. Like plenty of others within his field, he has been branded a turncoat for having switched loyalties between mercenary groups, as well as his abandonment and whispered betrayal of his last group, though this he can hardly recall. All he knows is that something happened on his last mission, and that since then, most have declared him person non grata, or alternatively too unstable to work with. Either way, his reputation is now stained-- even more so than the usual gunner.
  

  personality

  For the first handful of years that Qiang was aboard the ship, he was a rather quiet man. He didn't speak much unless spoken to, though he was never rude in his replies, and he seemed to prefer his own company, often taking meals alone in his quarters. On occasion, a crew member could find him wandering the halls of the ship or staring out at the darkness of the universe, alone and silent, as if contemplating something deep in the recesses of his mind, his face blank and eyes vacant. It was simply assumed that he did not enjoy the company of other people, as he completed his task and role without complaint or error whenever the situation arose that they might need their gunner on deck.
  
  That shifted nearly a year and a half into his tenure aboard the ship, when he seemed to finally come out of his shell more. He began to eat his meals with others, showing some enthusiasm to learn more about those he was surrounded by, questioning them on what had happened that day in their roles. Like many others on the ship, he kept his cards close to his chest and declined to answer questions about his scars, his nicknames, his past in any form, and he respected the silence that settled after certain topics were brought up. Slowly but surely, he showcased a side of himself that seemed capable of enthusiasm, and some soon came to see his initial quiet as a concern that he would end up embarrassing himself, as it became clear that he had been relegated to his role as gunner and hadn't really been taught much else, meaning that there were quite a few messes that he made whenever he attempted to lend a helping hand. Still, he was boundlessly curious and eager to learn, a sort of enthusiasm that seemed to buoy him through the good-natured teasing he received whenever he fucked up a relatively simple and straightforward task.
  
  In general, Qiang is eager to spend time with the other crew members on off-hours, learning more about their own skills and mimicking them (frequently poorly). He has proven himself to be an excellent listener who takes care to check in with the companions that he has developed a deep relationship with. Overall, he appears to be a caring individual, deeply so, though he never appears to be able to shake off the vacancy completely, a heavy chain around his neck never seeming to let him go entirely. His joy is present, but it is tampered by something, and there are still times where he wanders the ship, his mind absent, the body vacant.
  
• i

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  childhood

  Like many others born to parents who worked under the thumb of the corporations that owned the planets they lived on, Qiang grew up in a system designed to make him a worker rather than a person. His mother and father worked their hours and came home exhausted, barely able to entertain the endlessly curious child that they had been saddled with. As such, his earliest years were spent playing with other children of the community without adult supervision, often pushing and shoving and chasing one another down the street, guided by the older children to know where to avoid potentially prickly adults that seemed to have no patience for the joys of youth.
  
  The first handful of his years were thusly uneventful.
  
  When he entered schooling and slowly but surely was shaped by it that he found himself becoming more and more disenchanted with the life he seemed destined to live. The freedom that he had tasted still felt so close, and there were plenty around him who agreed. After school, they would find themselves playing the same games, following the same beats of their true youth without a care in the world.
  
  The next handful of his years were thusly uneventful.
  
  

  teenage years

  The first worker's rebellion, the first strike that Qiang witnessed was one that he and his fellow friends found themselves caught up in, swept up in the mob, the chaos, the screams and the shouts. Unbeknownst to Qiang and his friends, who had kept themselves occupied with their schoolyard games, this was the result of years of tension that had finally reached a peak, of people perishing in the perilous working conditions they were forced to endure, or returning home only to waste away day by day from exhaustion. There were some that claimed their slow death was the result of the working conditions, as there was surely poison in the ground, the walls, the way it made them cough and stained their fingers. But it was denied, over and over, and their labor was demanded, over and over, until finally, finally they had enough.
  
  It was bloody.
  
  The corporations declared that the first attack came from the workers. Qiang believed this line, having found himself carried into the bodies of screaming adults, desperate and dying, their faces red with anger, spit flying from their lips. He found himself separated from his friends, crushed between bodies, hardly able to breathe, trapped, trapped, until--
  
  There were shots, and the crowd scattered, and he found himself on the ground. Looking up, he saw a figure before him, the face obscured by goggles and a helmet. The figure reached out for him, kneeling down to aid Qiang to his feet, walking him back to his parents, who had barricaded themselves in their residence for the night and reacted with abject terror to the sight of their son, his face splattered with blood, his clothes, too, and the mercenary that had marched him home.
  
  He would be luckier than three of his friends that night.
  
  After that, there was a marked shift. The rebellion had been quelled, the evidence of it blindly obvious the next day, as bodies were removed and blood was scrubbed away. Qiang found himself disturbed and furious with himself for being unable to do anything. He recalled the figure, the way that it seemed to emerge from the chaos, the way it had led him home, protected him.
  
  He discovered that it was a mercenary group, and he discovered that they were always looking for potential members. At once, he elected to join, determined to prevent such an incident from ever happening again.
  
  

  entering adulthood

  The mercenary group that Qiang joined was named Wretched Shade, their symbol a swirling black droplet. They were a decently sized band of individuals, with some members reaching well-past middle-age, though their duties were largely to train up the next group of potential recruits. Similarly to his youth, Qiang found a group of those around his age that he frequently took his meals with, commiserating over the terrible instructors they got, and comparing healing wounds from said instructors. He found his second community there, and though the memory of that terrifying night never seemed too far from his grasp, he found that he was able to put it behind him, satisfied that he was taking steps to prevent such an event from ever happening again. During these initial years of training, he additionally found himself pursuing a handful of intimate relationships, though they all seemed to fizzle out due to the intensity of their day-to-day lives.
  
  After a few years, it had become clear to those at the Wretched Shade that Qiang had a special skill when it came to his sight. He was able to hit targets on his own with deadly precision and it was declared that he ought to go out into the field soon, perhaps a touch before his current cohort so they may utilize his skills and so that he may start paying his way through the debt he had incurred with the group from his room, board, and equipment. He gladly took up the first opportunity presented, a minor contract that had a specific individual in mind. He found himself pulling the trigger to solidify their deal, and the praise that was heaped on him helped soothe the shake in his hands from the sight of a dead corpse that he had placed, looking far to similar to the bodies of those he had seen on his home planet.
  
  From then on, he was often called to fulfill missions that required precision, and he proved himself over and over again, earning his nicknames given how easily he seemed to blend into his surroundings, and how accurate he seemed able to find his targets. Slowly but surely, time after time, shot after shot, the shake in his hands stopped, and he found himself steely and prepared for the next day.
  
  He was not prepared for the future, however.
  
  

  early adulthood

  The Wretched Shade had provided Qiang his skills and the opportunity to prove himself, but as it had been when he was a child, he found himself itching for freedom, the opportunity to do something other than the standard work he had been commanded to do over and over again. He discovered yet another group, the Chapter of Smoke, one that went out on bigger mission, with greater pay, providing more downtime between hits and an opportunity to experience something other than the constant continual death that his career demanded of him. At the first opportunity, he changed his loyalties, and though there were plenty that were furious or wary of him, there was no honor among killers, and most did not blink an eye to the fact that he had become a turncoat. Plenty were in the dog-eat-dog universe, and those who marked their path by blood were disproportionately full of those who did what they had to-- or wished to do.
  
  The first couple years gave Qiang an opportunity to round out his combat skills further, training his hand-to-hand combat and close-range fighting skills, which he had sorely been lacking since he had been given the nickname Red Eye. At first, it seemed that his desire to find a group that would permit him the freedom to make merry between jobs was fulfilled, and he was fulfilled, finally able to maintain personal relationships for a prolonged period of time.
  
  Then they received notice that they were to put down a worker's rebellion. A command that he had seen a few times before, a command that he had answered a few times before. A command that he knew, a command that he had done.
  
  This time was different.
  
  There was blood and there was screaming, and at first his hands did not shake, his gaze remained focused, and his sight and shot remained true. And then he found another one of his companions, and he watched as they lowered their weapon, as they reached out to aid a cowering civilian--
  
  And another one of them, another one of their own, raised their weapon, and fired two shots.
  
  Qiang could not recall what he did afterwards. He could not recall if he fired his shot or if he simply fled, but all he knew was that something happened afterwards, something that left him with a broken nose and split knuckles and a face wet with tears and blood. He wandered about in a haze for days afterwards, seeing the bodies, all the bodies, of his past towering over him, toppling over him, plunging his senses into despair-- what was that? What was that? He had failed. He had told himself that he would not permit such a thing to occur again, that he would never let those that he had held as true companions fall, and yet, and yet.
  
  The universe was a dog-eat-dog place. He had no appetite for such, it would seem.
  

coded by natasha.

 

[Wandering Owl]

click!

brooke

Arlecchino

full name

brooke ellison

nicknames

none yet

age

23

gender

trans girl

pronouns

she/her

ethnicity

mixed

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  you know, i'd get it done a lot faster if you stopped asking me so many fucking questions.

  
  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  appearance

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  height

  
  

  5'6

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  build

  
  

  lean

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  hair c.

  
  

  dyed blonde

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  eye c.

  
  

  dark brown

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  hair styling

  
  

  shoulder length and naturally curly, seeming to have a mind of its own even when tied up out of the way.

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  style

  
  

  often features bright primary colors. her clothing choices are practical by priority, simple and form-fitting to avoid loose threads getting caught in machinery. despite first impressions, she takes care of her appearance, especially when around people she wants to impress.

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  body mods.

  
  

  pierced ears, and a couple of clumsy, easily-hidden tattoos. scars of all sizes are scattered across her skin. she’ll tell you their stories if you ask.

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  faceclaim

  
  

  tori kelly

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
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  personality

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  Brooke doesn’t always come off well on a first impression. She’s blunt, unafraid to criticize another’s work, and tends to keep any vulnerable emotions under lock and key. Her confidence in her own abilities can seem like arrogance when stated without hesitation, though she’s pretty accurate in her predictions. Internally, however, she’s just as hard on herself as she is on others. She constantly pushes herself to improve, unafraid to go outside her comfort zone as long as there’s a good cause. Moving up the ladder - going from actually doing the work to simply overseeing it - has never appealed to her. Maybe that’s a by-product of growing up being told she would never be able to, but Brooke likes being a big fish in a small pond. She knows her world inside and out, and relishes being a vital part of a ship.
  In contrast to her down-to-earth outlook on her work, Brooke is quite the idealist about the bigger picture. She still holds an almost childlike image of Pleiades and similar organizations, all too willing to dismiss criticisms or unsavory stories as exceptions in an inherently good system. Since joining the Commedia, cracks have begun to show in this perfect ideal, but she continues to cling to the belief, even when it pushes the bounds of common sense. It’s a system that gives her life a greater meaning, that motivates her to keep going, and the fear of losing that far outweighs the risk of being wrong.
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  virtues

  
  

  inventive, hardworking, observant, moral

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  vices

  
  

  idealistic, blunt, overconfident, perfectionist

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  likes

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  knowing what she’s doing, stories about earth, coffee, singing
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  dislikes

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  her family, being judged, fake people, sweet food
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
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  history

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  act i: nebula

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  Brooke grew up on the colony ship Pleiades. Her parents were municipal workers, brought onboard by a mixture of luck and nepotism. They were never the most honest hardworking citizens. Never anything enough to merit permanent punishment - more constant, low-grade attempts to push the boundaries of what was acceptable, how much they could get away with for their own benefit. (Though she’s never brought it up to them, Brooke’s wondered for a long time whether having a child was just another method to gain sympathy and resources.) As such, the Ellisons were viewed with suspicion by those around them, especially from the people who supervised the manual work Brooke’s parents did. She can’t remember a time when that didn’t extend to her too.
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  act ii: star

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  As Brooke grew, she began to see more and more clearly how wrong her parents were about right and wrong. She’d had to take on parts of her parents’ responsibilities for a while, but now it was more than just an obligation, it was about doing the right thing, being a useful part of a system that helped so many people. She idolized the ideal of the colony ship, seeing her family as a single dark spot within its beacon. Transitioning as a teenager wasn’t all easy, but she took pride in carving out her own identity away from everyone’s expectation of her, away from the image of “that good-for-nothing ellison boy”. As soon as she could, she took the opportunity to move away from her parents, and threw herself into her work. Brooke knew that progressing out of this job wasn’t common, but she made a name for herself with her skills in mechanics, and for her ability to find solutions to problems when the standard procedure just wasn’t working.
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  act iii: supernova

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  She thought she was free of it. Maybe she was. Maybe it was simply her own flaws that drew the ire of her superiors, her own bad luck that meant her protests weren’t listened to except as another strike on her record. Or maybe it was all the baggage she’d worked so hard to shed, coming back to haunt her one last time. Regardless, Brooke was suddenly faced with the prospect of being dragged back down to the dirt, and she couldn’t take it.
  She doesn’t like to admit that she had an escape route planned, not even to herself. The truth of the matter is, she would not have got out without one. And yet she found herself, drifting in a small escape vessel, watching everything she’d ever known fade out of sight behind her.
  It’s not easy to find honest work when any form of identity gets auto-flagged as Fugitive, but Brooke refused to stoop to the level she’d been condemned to. Even when it meant rationing out meager supplies, pushing to go further and further on less and less fuel, grasping onto the rapidly fragmenting hope that she’d stumble into something better than this.
  And she did, in a way. Stranded, empty, on the outskirts of the Silk Road, one miscalculation too far from safety. The Commedia wasn’t the salvation she might have dreamed of, but she knew deep in her chest that it was the only one she was going to get.
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  epilogue: black hole

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  sometimes, brooke looks up at the stars and her heart sings with the knowledge that she is destined for so much more.
  sometimes, she hears her parents’ voices, and they tell her she could never have been anything else.
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
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  extra

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  strengths

  
  

  Brooke’s a damn good engineer, versatile and capable of coming up with solutions based on whatever limited resources the ship happens to have. She can keep cool and focused in an emergency, and her flat affect makes deception come off surprisingly smoothly.

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  weaknesses

  
  

  She doesn’t have a whole lot of experience with fights, especially combat that takes place between ships rather than human beings. She’s also not too skilled with weapons of any kind, and struggles to act as anyone other than herself, whether that’s for a cover story or simple social decency.

  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  now playing...

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  difficult things

  
  
  
  

  orla gartland

  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[PenguinFox]

Scan Fingerprint

• .
• .
• .
• .

• Basic
  Bio
  Tactics
  ERROR
  Suspect Name \\ Elizabeth Bishop
  Aliases \\ Liz, Bishop
  Age \\ Twenty-Eight
  Gender \\ Female
  Sexuality \\ Bisexual
  Ethnicity\\ Caucasian
  Mask \\ Mezzetino
  
  Incident Reports \\
  - Yshjira VII Mining Base Incident -
  Mining planet of Yshjira VII reported a large explosion in their Sector 8 mining facility. Massive structural damage led to the collapse of several tunnels and a breach in a large deposit of natural gas. Multiple veins are now inaccessible, doing a significant blow to the economy of the planet. Bishop was suspected to be the cause of the incident but insufficient evidence was found to fully convict. Assigned public service aboard Yshjira's Wind
  
  - Raid on Yshjira's Wind -
  While on the Silk Road Yshjira's Wind came under attack by pirates. Their distress signal was reacted to quick enough that the pirates seemed to be scared off. Minor losses reported, suspect nowhere to be found. Presumed to have joined up with pirates.
• Basic
  Bio
  Tactics
  ERROR
  Persona \\
  Elizabeth Bishop was born to be a pirate. She is the type of person who craves the freedom of answering to no one and doing as she pleases. This isn't to say she doesn't work well with others, she is smart enough to know when to listen, but rigid structures are not her place. She is a generally carefree person and easy going so long as you don't get on her bad side. She has a quick wit and is always ready with a joke or sarcastic retort.
  
  Hell hath no fury like Liz. The woman is as fiery and dangerous as the the explosions she loves, and just as quick to go off. It's not a difficult feat to anger her and lord have mercy upon those that do because she absolutely will not. She is not above killing, she just only does so if she deems it necessary. Besides, there are fates worse than death.
  
  Liz is also a woman of many vices. A lover of drink, a lover of money, and just generally a lover, there are many things that distract her gaze. She loves to gamble and is pretty decent at it. While not necessarily a romantic, she is definitely what one might call a flirt. Usually it seems her luck is spent in the gambling though, as she never seems to have much luck with people. Buy her a drink, and you've got a friend for...well at least the next week.
  
  A highly intelligent woman, people often tend to underestimate her, but it takes more intellect than most would think to do her job. Her years of destruction and "military" service taught her how to best destroy, and maintain the things that do the destruction. She knows just what kinds of energies are needed to melt, pierce, explode, or even stun. While not an engineer, she is quite capable of building and maintaining weaponry. Just don't ask her about engines.
  
  While not necessarily a trustworthy woman, Bishop is extremely loyal to the Commedia. She would never dream of betraying those that gave her the life she always desired. Probably. Okay, she theoretically could but it would take a lot of money and promises to do so. More than anyone really has, so let's not worry about that.
  
  Bio \\
  Born and raised on a mining colony Elizabeth Bishop had a love for all things destruction from a young age. She highly enjoyed watching things burn, collapse, crumble, disintegrate, demolish, or otherwise be destroyed. She never quite got the knack of building things but she was sure good at disassembling things. Early on this wasn't so much a problem for a miner, but she soon became obsessed. She wanted to see everything be destroyed, not necessarily in a malicious way, just as a fascination.
  
  As a teenager she started her criminal career. As it turns out, it is illegal to just destroy government property. Who knew? It started out small; breaking a mining drill here and there, but she grew smarter and wanted more. After....'accidentally' causing a major explosion in a mine that caused the whole operation to shut down she was sentenced to serve as protection aboard a trade ship for the planet.
  
  Liz spent her twenties aboard the Yshjira's Wind, hating every second. The pseudo military life was absolutely not for her. Rationing alcohol? Having standards and needing to be official? NOT BLOWING EVERYTHING UP? It was the opposite of everything she stood for. Add to the fact that she was never even needed, she was going insane...until the ship was actually attacked.
  
  At first Elizabeth Bishop was just excited to see some action, then she got to thinking. Pirates have a pretty good life. They go and do what they want, answer to only themselves, and get to destroy things? Sign her up! So that's exactly what she did. She assisted the pirates in raiding her former employer, offered her expertise in exchange for a place among the crew, and it's been smooth sailing ever since. For the most part.
• Basic
  Bio
  Tactics
  ERROR
  Known Acquaintances \\ Crew of Commedia
  
  Family \\ [REDACTED]
  
  Strengths \\
  Knack for Destruction; While Bishop isn't the most mechanically savvy of our suspects she is highly capable of "deconstructing" just about anything she comes across, and in the most precise manner she needs. She is highly proficient in weapons technology and explosives. She is to be considered armed and dangerous at all times
  
  Cunning; Bishop is adept at getting into and out of trouble, and making it look like she was never even there. There are several other incidents we believe she is linked to but are unable to find any evidence. She always seems to be scheming something. Never let your guard down around her.
  
  Weaknesses \\
  Vices; Ms Bishop has many vices that can be used to gain an upper hand when dealing with her. She is known to be an insatiable flirt, an alcoholic, and a gambler. Her greed may yet be her downfall.
  
  Tendency Towards the Rash; Bishop is hot headed and quick to anger. While her rage can make her more dangerous, it also means she doesn't think through her actions. She will easily make sloppy mistakes if aggravated. Just be sure to not be on the receiving end of her wrath and you can easily entrap and detain her.
  
  Reputation \\
  Liz Bishop, while not aggressively violent, is to be considered highly dangerous now that she is out of custody. Her actions and motives are unpredictable, especially aboard the Commedia. She is currently only a petty vandal but has potential to be a major nuisance as a pirate. She is to be apprehended, along with her cohorts, ASAP
• Basic
  Bio
  Tactics
  ERROR
  Music \\
  
  

  Music \\

code by Ambiloquous

 

[Harrowhark]

only 90% done, but wanted to get this up to feel a bit more at ease

click!

Marcus

Il Capitano

full name

Marcus Salazar

Gender

Male he/him

age

25

d.o.b.

March 24th

Ethnicity

Mixed

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  A monster stops being a monster when you finally learn to love it
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  appearance

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  height

  
  

  5'10

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  weight

  
  

  160

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  hair c.

  
  

  Brown

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  eye c.

  
  

  Brown

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  hair styling

  
  

  Presentable, it is the least he could do if he wants to keep the respect he's rightfully earned.

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  Distinguishing

  
  

  Obnoxious and demanding of attention, you always know Marcus is in the room three seconds before he enters. A captain with a cocky grin most anyone would love to just wipe off his face.

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  Style

  
  

  Respectable, but honestly atrocious. Dresses like someone who is going to end up in a fight by the end of the night. Douchebagcore.

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  faceclaim

  
  

  Liam Samuels

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
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  personality

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  Spontaneous
  Rules and plans? Boring. Marcus would rather do things on a whim. Especially if it means getting out of work or responsibility on occasion.
  
  Protective
  Not that he has a lot to protect, but for his money crew, he will lay down his life.
  
  Successful
  Marcus has good luck when it comes to success. Even doing nothing, good investments and work opportunities always seem to find him.
  
  Manipulative
  Marcus has a way of getting people to do what he says. With charms or with money, everyone has a price.
  
  Temperamental
  Sometimes the price is getting their ass kicked. So be it. Marcus is quick to anger and known to get into fist fights.
  
  Emotionally unavailable
  Marcus will say anything you want to hear and mean none of it. There’s no truth to his flirting. Falling for him will only get you hurt.
  

  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  likes

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  Big Cats, Fighting, Super Novas, Getting His Way, Treasure, Riches, Gold, etc.
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  dislikes

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  People Who Don't Do What He Says, Detours, Insects that Buzz, Peas
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
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  history

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  Chaos

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  Marcus was born on a planet plagued by war. On the good or bad side, he'd never know, only that it was the losing side. He'd never have much, just his family. Even then, his father was drafted just days before his little sister's birth, a family torn apart. A couple years later, a single letter would prove they'd never be whole again. Staying alive after that became a chore. How could one yearn for life with no pleasure? A life of red skies and bomb shelters. One day, things would change, but fear always seems to be stronger than hope.
  
  No child wished to turn 16. It always seemed so far away until it happened. There was no registry, the population had grown too thin for the need. Everyone just knew. The day Marcus turned 16, there was no celebrations, no birthday cheer, just apologies from every person he passed as he made deliveries through the town. No apologies would keep him from waking up in the middle of the night and leaving like his father. It was just a matter of time.
  
  Time was much more cruel than he'd thought. It wasn't fair, Marcus didn't even get to say goodbye.
  
  It was only four years, but it felt like eternity. Usually they couldn't risk sending the younger recruits into the field, but sometimes they had no choice. At some point he had to forget about the guilt. It was the only way to survive.
  
  One night, the alarms went off. Another emergency he didn't know if he'd survive. Flown out in the middle of the night, his troop dropped down on a small town, his small town. There was no end to the fire. With the last bit of the hope he had, he ran home, to his family, to his life. And he was so, so close. But not close enough.
  
  Blown back by the blast, all Marcus could feel was intense agony. No other senses, just the pain. He lived, of course he did, nothing would free him from this hell. The left side of his body though, some of it might as well have died. The burns permanently shown on his skin, deaf in one ear, and he'd never be able to walk quite right again. No longer fit for fighting, but he knew they'd make him the moment he could walk again without aid. He needed out, before he died here, just like everyone he loved.
  
  For months, Marcus played the long game. While he made little progress in physical therapy, at night, he'd make his own progress, painfully working to learn to walk again on his own. Through every word of pity, it took strength not to show off. Being seen as weak was just as good as being seen as worthless. He needed this mask though, needed it keep the eyes off him. If only they knew.
  
  It was close, under his guise of minimal progress, he was almost well enough to carry himself to freedom. That was until he heard a counter plan, words of a way to force one's body to function. It was a technology they desperately needed on this side of the war, but Marcus couldn't let them. No matter what they'd do to his body, he didn't want it. All it would do is trap him here for as long as they could salvage him.
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  Gaea

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  If you asked him how he got out, all Marcus would say is he did what he had to do to survive.
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
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  extra

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  Role

  
  

  Il Capatano

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  Reputation

  
  

  Assumes its good, is not good.

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  Strengths

  
  

  Carisma

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  Weaknesses

  
  

  Clueless

  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  now playing...

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

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♡coded by uxie♡