(no subject)
Who: Tara (OS19 Wichita) and OPEN. Feel free to start your own bar threads!
Where: OS19 bar, "The Osiris Oasis"
When: Today.
Warnings: None.
[OOC: Wichita is part of a humanoid alien race known as Syranids -- I'm totally borrowing from Mass Effect and Warhammer 40k. Their bodies naturally promote the generation of static electricity, rarely capable of harming folks, but often able to scare away potential opponents. They're like fireflies, hurrrr. Uncommon enough that their natural defense system often works, but common enough that she is armed to the teeth.
She dabbles here and there in various shady trades, her specialties being drug distribution to the Syranid community and procuring unpaid dues from 'clients' of Sirius Black. She's notorious for having been in and out of prison on multiple planets and stations, an for her brutal methods of interrogation for getting folks to pay their unpaid debts to Black. Tara is charismatic when promoting various illegal substances and other items, and able to turn it on at any moment -- basically the same level of deception she possesses when she's herself on the Barge.
PB is Jia Jem as Jack from Mass Effect 2.]
Orbital Station 19 was one of Tara's favorite places in the universe. It was so easy to disappear in to the diverse crowd of residents; something that Tara desperately needed right now. Twelve unanswered warrants and sixteen unaddressed charges scattered across the universe. She figured between all of the jail time -- subtracting any potential charges from escaping prison -- she should only owe half an explanation for all of those allegations brought against her. Even still, that kind of logic didn't appeal to any of the governments she had managed to piss off, and so she had found a home on Orbital Station 19 for the past three years. It wasn't so bad. There were plenty of her kind to make it feel like home, and plenty of folk in general to make them an easy way to profit.
Today was a day of relaxation. No limbs to be lost at the blade of her knife. No knee-caps to be shattered by the bullets in her gun. Just her, watered down gin, and some decent human jazz. She could dig that vibe. Jazz promoted relaxation. Tara took another sip of the gin and scanned the busy window behind the bartender, people watching. This was the life.
Where: OS19 bar, "The Osiris Oasis"
When: Today.
Warnings: None.
[OOC: Wichita is part of a humanoid alien race known as Syranids -- I'm totally borrowing from Mass Effect and Warhammer 40k. Their bodies naturally promote the generation of static electricity, rarely capable of harming folks, but often able to scare away potential opponents. They're like fireflies, hurrrr. Uncommon enough that their natural defense system often works, but common enough that she is armed to the teeth.
She dabbles here and there in various shady trades, her specialties being drug distribution to the Syranid community and procuring unpaid dues from 'clients' of Sirius Black. She's notorious for having been in and out of prison on multiple planets and stations, an for her brutal methods of interrogation for getting folks to pay their unpaid debts to Black. Tara is charismatic when promoting various illegal substances and other items, and able to turn it on at any moment -- basically the same level of deception she possesses when she's herself on the Barge.
PB is Jia Jem as Jack from Mass Effect 2.]
Orbital Station 19 was one of Tara's favorite places in the universe. It was so easy to disappear in to the diverse crowd of residents; something that Tara desperately needed right now. Twelve unanswered warrants and sixteen unaddressed charges scattered across the universe. She figured between all of the jail time -- subtracting any potential charges from escaping prison -- she should only owe half an explanation for all of those allegations brought against her. Even still, that kind of logic didn't appeal to any of the governments she had managed to piss off, and so she had found a home on Orbital Station 19 for the past three years. It wasn't so bad. There were plenty of her kind to make it feel like home, and plenty of folk in general to make them an easy way to profit.
Today was a day of relaxation. No limbs to be lost at the blade of her knife. No knee-caps to be shattered by the bullets in her gun. Just her, watered down gin, and some decent human jazz. She could dig that vibe. Jazz promoted relaxation. Tara took another sip of the gin and scanned the busy window behind the bartender, people watching. This was the life.