The Return of Queen Anne's Revenge: Chapter 1: Another Ship on the Barbie (Closed, Started)

[Pandalisk]

Spoiler: Edwards Alberta

Name: Suzi Edward Alberta

Age: 62

Sex: Male

Appearance:
Standing at 5'6, Edward Alberta has a stocky, over-weight build that reveals his "appreciation" for the finer things in life, white skin, blue eyes, thick matted greyed hair and a sweeping, well groomed beard of which he is extremely proud of. James attempts to portray a swashbuckler appearance despite his advanced age by wearing blas頵niforms that reveals a little more than most are comfortable with.

Only his trademark cut trench coat hides what needs to be hidden, The trim of this ancient piece of clothing has seen better days and the royal blue color quite faded. It's high collar is often turned up in dramatic fashion to complete the

Despite Edward's less than dapper appearance there is an air of informal wisdom about him.

When the going gets tough Edward can rely on a small 9mm pistol hidden in a small holster under his trench coat. He has in his possession a small short sword, however this weapon rarely leaves the ship as it his hard to conceal and is more of an heirloom than lethal weapon.

Personality:
Edward's personality is equal parts wise-man-incorrigible wretch. Gregarious and raunchy, only Edwards body acts its age. While he may be more comfortable with a glass of bourbon in a harlots den his wealth of experience cannot be denied and in a tight blockade run or a business deal gone awry there is no better man to get the deal done with the ship and its crew, relatively, intact.

A down to earth and simplistic individual, Edward is a man of daring and action. When he talks his voice is loud and bosterous, showing good self-confidence. Edwards also has a strong passion for his job, his family and space faring in general. Edwards also has a "healthy" disrespect to the PGP and is actively hostile towards their goals.

Useful Talents:
Guile Hero - In order to survive and later, accomplish his goals, Edward had to understand what drives the minds of people. Whether Bargaining for a new item or Inspiring someone to do a task one would not normally do, none stand better at the task than Edward.

One of the Old hands - Everywhere this old dog goes he can hold the attention and admiration of the older class of space faring folk that control most of the colony space ports. Instrumental in cutting a deal or needing a favor.


Role on QAR: Captain

Biography:

Suzi Edward Alberta was born into a space faring crime syndicate, The Alberta family, the genesis of Alberta family is hard to trace because crime syndicates are oft secretive and In fact, they have been known to spread deliberate lies about their past, and sometimes come to believe in their own myths. One can only assume that the families rise to power was due to the simplest of mans sins, greed. The avaricious quest for wealth and power.

Successful black market traders, smugglers, casino owners, racketeers and loan sharks, the Alberta family thrived in the early colonial days where centralized policing institutions were weaker, indeed syndicates such as the Alberta family quickly rose to political power in the colonies and began seeing themselves as "men of honor" and for the people.

This all changed when the PGP reinstated its total control over every aspect of the colonies, and systematically began wiping out the families. It was during the fall from grace of the Alberta clan and the other crime families that Suzi Edward Alberta was born and raised among several other brothers and sisters. Though the families are but a shadow of their former self the present day still hosts an underground struggle between the crime families and the centralized powers that be.

Crackdowns and drug busts had done much to diminish the power of the families however the secret war still rages on and it was during this time that Edward cut his teeth into the skill of leading, space faring and protecting his families interests from other parties.

As the years went by, a handful behind the bars of a PGP prison cell, Edward grew to become a daring smuggler, knowledgeable in the tricks of the black market trades, a well known debauchee with his seed spread across the galaxy from star port to star port, comely lady to comely lady and a well renowned captain before his retirement.

With his youth faded, the old Alberta spent his days in drunken bliss and luxury, afforded to him by his criminal acts and position within the Alberta family. However a passion in him for space faring burned that no harlot or drink could satiate and so he could not settle comfortably into the quite life that was expected of him.

As luck would have it an old friend from the Dingo's Snarl, a port o' call from his youth gave him a proposition that would scratch his space faring itch and let him stick it to his old foes in the PGP to boot.

Well I've done a bit of tweeking but i'm still not happy with my bio endings, so i'll work on that a little later tonight.

 

[Mr.Ivebeenframed]

SNIP

Hehe sorry couldn't help it. When I saw "Firefly-esque" I jumped right into this one. Also are there going to be multiple pilots(i.e pilot/co-pilot)? I can work on a second sheet if it conflicts...

 

[Malbourne]

Ooh, I made a character! Did the sheet turn out presentable?

Spoiler: Kara Lugovich

Name: Kara Lugovich

Age: 29

Sex: Female

Appearance: At 5'9" Kara appears more muscular than graceful, though a large acid burn streaking the left half of her face somewhat diminishes her beauty anyway. She possesses one operational eye with a hazel iris; the other is concealed by a stylish black eye patch. Her frayed black hair is cut shoulder-high and tied up in an eccentric ponytail. Tattoos are notably absent from her body, as are piercings. She likes to be combat-ready, or at least combat-passable, and dresses in a sleeveless, black leather vest, the back of which is emblazoned with a silver koi, and a white tank-top underneath. Her cargo shorts are ancient and dirty, as are her combat boots, and she wears two fingerless gloves of similar wear. An unfortunate snafu with the customs officials led to the confiscation of her weapons, a plight she's hoping to rectify during this new venture.

Personality: Her history in the slums and slight brain damage has rendered her rather apathetic to the problems of other human beings. She takes great joy in observing disastrous events play out, and exercises her black humor regularly when they do. Her personal philosophy lends her an unhealthy supply of recklessness and a dearth of caution.
Useful Talents: A lack of formal education - or any education, for that matter - means she had to rely more on her own strength and resources to come out ahead in "business" transactions. Time in various gangs contributed much of the knowledge she possesses in firearms and miscellaneous weaponry, tools she adores using, as well as basic melee talents for the odd bare-handed fracas.

Role on QAR: Gunner

Biography: Like a third of the planet's population, she had the bad fortune to be born to a pair of impoverished laborers in the back alleys of one of Leyola's many city-colonies. After her mother died during childbirth, her father spent five years trying to raise his daughter before giving up and catching a shuttle to a moon on Vesperia. She was found wandering a filthy avenue by one unusually charitable man, Clapton Lugovich, a minor crime boss in the city. Lugovich took on Kara as an apprentice of sorts, hoping to see a promising pupil in his near future. After almost twelve years observing the craft of crime, joining in on collection trips, and roughing up travelers who appeared to have sizable pockets, Kara returned to the studio apartment to find her foster father dead over the coffee table. Without even burying the body, she snapped the key off in the apartment door, tracked down the crime lord Boderas' mansion, and demanded to have her mentor's position.

Six more years passed as Kara strengthened her credo as a mobster, her ambition to blame for some of the more interesting headlines during that period. She risked expulsion from the family during a heist at the age of twenty-three: a delivery ship carrying chemical weapon prototypes was to be intercepted and the contents auctioned off to a handful of concerned nobles. One of the members of the heist group panicked and shot a security guard and a firefight ensued. Hoping to take advantage of the distraction to claim the haul for herself, Kara snuck onboard the ship. Unfortunately an error in transferring the chemicals resulted in the loss of half of her face, an eye, and a portion of her sanity. The heist was swiftly abandoned.

In three years, during which time Kara gradually lost favor with her superiors thanks to her abrasive attitude, she was hired to escort a stuffy noble from the upper heights of Leyola for some sort of commodities negotiation. The ship never reached the destination. Officials later found the noble's head had been brutally shoved into the glove compartment at least a dozen times. Kara decided the incident was as good as a two-week's notice and hastily embarked on the next shuttle off-planet.

After more planet-hopping, she coaxed the name "Viduka" from one poor drunkard in some sleazy bar in Hanan Pancha. This venture, she eagerly hoped, would provide her with a great deal of entertainment, opponents, and best of all, guns.

 

[Athol]

Spoiler: Lacy *EDIT/UPDATE*

Name: Lacy Dawes

Age: 30

Sex: Female

Appearance: At only 5'5", and just tipping the scales at 120lbs, Lacy doesn't exactly cut an intimidating profile; but her rural upbringing, and subsequent training means she is a lot stronger than most people would suspect from someone her size. She keeps her raven black hair in a short 'pixie' cut if for no other reason than it's easier to deal with, though it is starting to show a bit of grey. Her silvery grey eyes are flecked with brown, and are framed by a still quite young looking face; this combined with her small bust has led some to think she is much younger than she is...much to their dismay on several occasions.

Like so many others she's a big fan of the t-shirt and jeans combo, in her case with a pair of military surplus combat boots, and a surplus jacket when needed. She also carries with her at all times, a thigh bag containing a small but extensive first aid kit, and a high powered 5mm case less holdout pistol in a secret compartment. The medkit contains your basics such as bandages, gauze, pain killers, and antibiotics, as well as a few more exotic things like ReCell spray for smaller wounds, and a medic stapler for closing larger ones. By far though, her most precious possessions in the kit are a monomolecular scalpel, and trauma shears.

She also carries a machine pistol, of the same calibre, in a shoulder harness if the need arises.

Personality: Quiet but friendly would be a good way to describe Lacy. When she's not working, she's perfectly happy to stuff herself in a corner with a book, or cruise the 'net, she?s not some anti-social nut. If she?s 'on the clock' however, she's as capable as the next guy in a fight; there was no 'do no harm' oath in her medic training.

Useful Talents:
This is my rifle, this is my gun: Even though she only carries a pistol and a PDW now, because of her years in the military, Lacy is familiar with pretty much all types of small arms. While certinly no expert, she is still a fair shot with the guns she carries.

Don't you die on me!: Trained as a combat medic; she might lack the fancy degree, but she is more than capable of patching up the kind of wounds one is likely to recive working 'off the grid'.

Role on QAR: Medic

Biography: Lacy grew up as the youngest child of three, in the Berith System, on the agrarian world Flemith; life was hard but good for the most part. As a little girl, her biggest dream was to grow up and become a doctor, but as she grew older she began to realize how untenable that dream was; her parents had nowhere near enough money for post-secondary, and her grades were never good enough for a scholarship.

Seeing that if she stayed on Flemith, her future would most likely consist of marrying some farmer and spending the next decade or so pumping out kids, she joined the PGP military as soon as she was eighteen. After basic training was done she applied to be a Medic, figuring that it was as close to being a doctor as she'd get. Though her superiors were doubtful, and truthfully her academic scores were still average at best, she finished in the top fifteen percent on the practical side.

During the following five years, she travelled throughout the PGP, taking part in disaster relief efforts, treating field injuries, and helping combat various localized resistance movements. While all of this was great for her practical skills, she began to become rather disillusioned with the PGP, after see how oppressive and corrupt it truly could be.

After her five year service contract was up, and knowing what little awaited her back home, she slowly slid into the fringes of society; where her government trained skills could be put to profitable ends. For the last seven years she's worked all over, and built a decent nest egg at the same time.

 

[EnigmaticSevens]

Spoiler: Thierry (Tick) Adrieux

Name: Thierry ?Tick? Adrieux

Age: 25? (Ha! Das a lie, sho nuff. Folks in Acadia never were good about puttin? pen to paper. What you need a census fo, hear? You?m want know my name, you ask me proper. You?m wanna know how many of us there are thereabouts? More and plenty to raise hell and ruckus if you lookin? for trouble, but with room nuff round the dinner table if you come to parley like civilized folk. You?m know how old my babbie Tick be? Old enough, ha! Let Nana Minnie tell you proper! Don?t let the little boy face fool you, him too quick to grin at soft jokes to be too wet ?tween the ears. )

Sex: Male

Appearance: Tick stands at around 5?8? and 132 pounds give or take a few in either direction if the eating?s good. He was always the sort to keep to tight places as a child, wriggling into the nooks and crannies and making himself at home, a slight, sinewy frame aiding those efforts from that day to this one. There?s a clear and present strength there, born from days spent in the dark swinging a pick axe for hours on end. No vain bone exists in the young man?s body, so long as the short, dirty blonde hair atop his head is relatively free of grease, and the scruff on his chin isn?t long enough to be itchy, all is well and right with the universe. For the most part his wardrobe consists of drab jumpsuits with rolled up or torn off sleeves

Old Nana Minnie used to say the rest of Tick was good enough to eat right up, his skin a cashew nut brown with a few smatterings of freckles like cocoa powder. Minnie liked the boy?s eyes best of all, said they were sort?ve like limes but more like cantaloupe, always sweet and never sour.

Tick?s body also boasts a number of tattoos, namely a handful of rather beautifully ?illuminated? but surprisingly accurate and complex chemical skeleton structures. A good chemist might recognize a few of them: pentaerythritol tetranitrate, cyclotrimethylenetrinitramine, and of course trinitrotoluene. However there are some compounds on the young man?s form that have only ever been shaped by Acadian hands. The uninitiated call it chemistry, Tick calls it scripture.

Personality: There?s an easiness in Tick?s manner and stride, a smile always close to the surface, a chuckle lingering on the edge of each statement. The edges of that easy calm are stained with devil-may-care, the gleam in the eyes of soldiers and mercenaries, men and women who?ve lived on the razor edge twixt life and death so long they?ve grown used to it, grown to like it even. Those sort know that to the strong does not always go the battle, to the swift does not always go the race, sometimes its dumb luck that keeps you in one piece, call that the grace of God if you care to. Tick hasn?t been in any battles to speak of, but he?s used to holding in his hands or banging with a wrench things capable of turning him into so much pink mist. Do that sort of thing long enough and it changes a fellow.

Let the gunfire rattle overhead, let all the indicators flash red, let the arms sound and the wails pour in, Tick just calmly whistles along. Life comes easy, goes easy, doesn?t mean it isn?t worth fighting for, just means that when it comes to an end, there?s no point hollering or carrying on. Best to keep calm and whistle on, who knows, maybe in that moment of clarity you?ll see that the end isn?t nigh after all, that maybe the way out lies in a quick twitch or a steady hand. Tick?s rather placid demeanor serves him well when other aspects of his nature get the better of him. He?s flirted with death on a great many occasions due to a natural curiosity large enough to kill damn near every cat in the Verse. Sometimes a man just has a burning need to know what makes a thing tick, and in Tick?s case, said thing is at times a 38-kiloton warhead.

Curiosity predicates hunger, hunger attests to passion, and even in the steadiest vessels, passion finds a way to leak through. It takes a certain sort of doing to light a fire in Tick?s eye, but a good fit of Paroxysm always does the trick, taps into something primal and sets the man?s blood to boiling. It?s almost religion, a touch of chemistry mixed with religious fervor and shaken until it explodes, until reactions become magic, until protocol becomes ritual, until the fiery chants from the pulpit become fires in truth. There?s a touch of madness in it, true enough, but all faith requires a touch of madness. Tick worships at the altar of fire and flame and sometimes that means sacrificing practicality for the sake of? pyrotechnics. Most Acadians are a bit too worldly to take the old ways too seriously, but Tick?s people cleave them tight, after all, he?s the son of a preacher man. It?s been a long time since his last Sunday service, but like any good boy, Tick still remembers all the hymns and prayers.

Useful Talents: Steady Hands - Tick?s got hands a surgeon would envy. Then again, if a surgeon nicks the wrong artery his patient doesn?t usually take out the emergency ward with one big bang.

Scrapper - Acadians try to maintain a bit of civility in their dealings with one another, but competing territory claims can get mighty ugly, and God forbid some johnny-come-lately offworlder tries to mix things up. Tick doesn?t fuss about with firearms, but you can do terrible things to a body with fists or a heavy enough wrench?.

A Hope and A Prayer - Suffice it to say, most reasonable captains aren?t terribly fond of Tick?s religious proclivities. But sometimes reason goes straight to shit, and the situation demands a bit of? creative thinking. Tick is more than game for a spot of holy tinkering.

Homo ex Machina - Tick?s skill with machines goes a good deal deeper than the average mechanic. His names for it might be queer and queerer still, but its clear that Tick understands more than the simple ?how? of a machines function, but its ?why? as well. Tick knows his physics and his chemistry, even if his murmurs sound more like prayers than calculations. Sometimes you need to alter the chemical composition of your engines lubricant, sometimes you need to hit it with a ratchet a few good times.

Role on QAR: Mechanic

Biography: Ahhhh, Old Nana Minnie knew you?d be back! Askin? all dem questions about mah babbie, Tick! Well I?ll tell ?im story true nuff, well, least as true as I knows it. First, you?m oughta know a thing or two ?bout ?im place, Acadia, home to alls us. Now don?t be listenin? to all dat talk what say Acadia not but swamp, gators and cutthroats. Acadians is good, hard workin? folk, we jus got no patience for daper dan, white shoe, ass backwards politicians tellin? us what?s what and what?s proper. It?s in our blood, in our roots.

Francois Delacroix was a strange sort sure enough, but ?is heart was good. Now back in the old days, Delacroix was a filthy rich, good ol? Cajun boy, Louisiana born and bred. He made his coin with oil and gas to start, but soon has his fingers in pies beyond countin?. See, ol? Delacroix had a tongue that could turn two silver pieces into ten gold ones, and was damn near ornery as a cottonmouth. It made ?im a fine businessman, but it sho didn?t warm ?im to the thought a payin? taxes. Come 2157, he found the one place the IRS couldn?t touch ?im. He took to the stars, ?im and two hundred others, lookin? for a place dey could be without no Law tellin? ?em how to go about their business.

Dey went far and farther, farther still, right to the fringes a mankind?s race into the void. Eventually they found a certain star, the one dey call Delacroix now, and a large moon circlin? round an angry red gas giant. Dat moon weren?t but a ball a mineral rich rock at first, but dey tended to it proper, ha! Ain?t no man tried so hard to grow ?im a ball a swamp! But soon enough, Acadia was born, green and glorious. We?re miner folk for the most part, do most of are livin? deep inna ground, leave the surface for wild things and food. We do a good, brisk trade offworld. Ain?t no other fuel depots this far out on the fringes, and we got plenty of space to share and few questions to ask, so long as you pays rent and don?t try your hand at slavin.? On the PGP books, we just a remote minin? colony, and we done greased a good many palms to keep it dat way. Afterall, a minin? group jus needs a contract, not a governor. So long as folk keeps that in mind, we?re free to make our own way.

Of course, sometimes some young PGP buck comes and tries to ?tame? the backwaters. Heh, dey never last long, we got good ol boys like Tick to handle that sort of business.

Tick comes from the Grin ( a great old canyon, a smile carved right into world by some terraformin? event), and Grin folk is mighty religious. Now, could be said that their ?Paroxysm? ain?t but good old Catholic Ritual mixed in with a heap a crazy, a heap a chemistry, and more than a little voodoo, but I sho wouldn?t say it. That would be rude, and it don?t do to be rude to folk who?s bible study involves detonators.

Anyway, where was I? Ah! That?s right, some idjit PGP pipsqueek come up and try to play the lord over us a few months back. Brought a full command ship with ?im, you know dem big monsters so heavy dey can?t even come planet side? Said he was gonna ?regulate? trade. Ha! Too bad he took in a local mechanic?. Three months in, ?is big, pretty toy, orbitin? round us high an mighty as it pleased, suffered a catastrophic engine failure. Dey say it was a flaw in the design or some laxity in the maintenance, I say a half dozen thermite charges are liable to make sure damn near any sort of engine goes up in flames. Heh, the Grin folks called it a Holy Day, and I must say, it was nice havin? a pretty blue star on the horizon or a couple days.

Dat left our little lordling in a tight spot. The PGP know a bad investment when dey see it, and dey cut ties real quick. We introduced the little lord to the local fauna, and put Tick on the first shuttle we could get into orbit. ?im a good boy, but its best if he go traveln? for a few years, just in case the PGP get hard headed and decide to investigate. Last I heard ?is pappy hooked ?im up with some old pirate set up in SACA Union space, wouldn?t surprise me none, Acadia?s got ties to all sorts of folk of a certain disposition. I hope it goes well wit ?im. Former resume notwithstanding, he really is a damn fine fixit man.

Sorry for the delay, hope all is in order. Let me know if anything needs adjustment!

 

[Lefthandofgod]

Just an update: I don't know why the trend caught on, but for everyone listing their talents like Fallout perks, keep it up. It's hilarious and informative to boot!


Also, Neo and I will post up what sheets from the current crop we'll be accepting. Stay tuned!

 

[blaze96]

Spoiler: Jack

Name: Jack Sheppard

Age: 40

Sex: Male

Appearance: Jack is 6'0" with a muscular build which he maintains and a slight tan. He has brown hair cut into a short Caesar style with green eyes. His face is also clean shaven to remain in line with a code he no longer has to follow but had pounded into his head for twenty years.

His clothes are his old military uniform, with a black shirt under subdued urban camo jacket and pants with black combat boots and belt. He keeps a knife sheath on his belt and a thigh holster. He also keeps his formal attire but rarely wears it, seeing as he isn't about to attend any military functions.

If he is boarding or going planet side he also carries a rifle sling and backpack with materials he needs for the given mission. If it is a simple boarding he brings a satchel with medical supplies, though for the longer missions planet side the backpack will be used to contain more medical supplies.

In terms of weapon compliment he has three. an assault rifle kept on a sling for boarding or away missions(otherwise it is kept in his room), A simple pistol which he keeps on him at all times in a thigh holster on his right side, and a combat knife kept in a sheath attached to his belt should all else fail.

Personality: Years as a marine have left Jack gruff and somewhat impersonal on first impressions. He's seen many new additions to his group end up dead fairly quickly so he tends to keep things professional when first meeting people. Once he has spent enough time with a group however he becomes rather friendly with a lowbrow sense of humor and a willingness to help in what ways he is able.

Whenever performing his medical duties his bedside manner isn't the best. He'll get the job done and get it done well, but he's more likely to point out how stupid whatever you did to get injured was than outwardly sympathize with you.

Useful Talents: Trained Soldier - Years of training and missions have left Jack an able hand-to-hand combatant, as well as a decent marksman with a rifle or pistol.

Medic/Doctor Training - His specific role in his squad was that of a combat medic, but as he was assigned to a ship as well he had to be a general doctor and surgeon for the crew unless in a boarding situation. It made sense to both himself and the brass. They wouldn't need two separate groups for combat medicine and general crew health, saving men and money at the same time.

Proficient in Multiple Languages (specifically English, Spanish, French, German, Italian)- Having traveled often as a child Jack has picked up a few languages with some amount of fluency.

Role on QAR: Doctor to Crew and Medic to Ground/Boarding Teams

Biography: Jack actually grew up on Earth in the Federated States of Europe. His parents were both in the military, both were English speakers stationed in Spain at the time of his birth. For the first eight years of his life his family was stationed in Spain, to this day he doesn't know exactly what his parents did in the military but he knows enough. His father was in intelligence and his mother had actually been a soldier who had worked as a guard in the facility for some type of project the Federated States had been working on without the knowledge of the US.

At eight his family was reassigned to a base in the south of France fulfilling many of the same duties they had in a new facility, at twelve they were moved yet again to a base in Germany, his father was to act as a liaison to the German intelligence branch but his mother remained in France for another two years. At Sixteen his family was moved to Sicily for a year before they retired in the same area. His parents had enjoyed the weather and company they had found there and decided it was a nice place to end their military career.

At eighteen he signed up to the PGPIS as a marine, tests had him placed as a Medic and that was when training began. The basic training had him moved to the UK as far north as they could put him. The instructors said it was to make sure they were tough and ready for anything while the grunts, himself included, thought they were just sadistic bastards. Basic training consisted of PT, rifle training, hand to hand combat, and more PT. This lasted for about a month which seemed a lifetime as far as Jack was concerned. Though advanced training made him wish for basic again like nothing else.
Some asshole who Jack hoped had a special place in hell decided that Advanced training should take place in the god damned desert. So now not only did he have the standard compliment of grueling PT, Rifle, and Hand-to-Hand Combat training along with his new medical training. He had to do all of this in the hot and sandy hell that was the desert. Though he will proudly say he left quite a bit of blood, sweat, and vomit in that sand. He made it through and was assigned to the battleship PGPIS Enkidu as a doctor and medic.

The next 20 years were a combination of utter boredom interspersed with moments of intense fear and anger. He went on missions that went off without a hitch and other missions that lead to the death of multiple members of his squad. The replacements for those men took at least a few months to gain the acceptance of everybody else as more than a comrade. He's proud of his time but once he'd retired he tried integrating into civilian life for two years before getting utterly sick of it. He wanted to get off world again but not with the same boredom he would experience on a trading vessel. The main options for avoiding said boredom were to join with an outlaw ship. He wasn't about to join a mafia ship if his life depended on it so he put himself up for any crew that would accept him. Thus he joined Queen Anne's Revenge (the irony of it all not lost on him).

 

[PrinceOfShapeir]

Spoiler: Jacob North

Name: Jacob North

Age: 44

Sex: Male

Appearance: North really doesn't look like he should be on the Revenge, much less commanding it. He's scrupulously clean, well-dressed, and well-groomed. Even shipboard he wears dress slacks and a shirt, and off ship (with the exception of utterly unsuitable environments) wears a full two-piece suit and tie. His hair is thick and full but kept short cut, with gray creeping in at the temples. He's tall, lanky, and skinny.

Personality: North has the kind of personality where you can tell he used to be a spectacular asshole, and even now he's not exactly the easiest person to get along with in the world. He gets very bored very easily, and finds civilian life unbelievably tedious. Doing the s ame work, day in, day out? Not for him. North only really feels alive when he's living on the edge. He's become more than a bit of an adrenaline junkie.

Useful Talents: North is well-mannered and well-educated, and combined with his experience in the underworld can handle himself in a conversation with almost anyone. He's a social chameleon, an expert con artist, and a respectable tactician. He's got respectable breadth of knowledge from an ivy league college and an officer academy. However, his skill in a fistfight or a gunfight is only mediocre.

Role on QAR: Face Man, Smart Guy

Biography: Born to a rich family on Mars, Jacob attended Olympus University, where he earned his MBA. Soon after he entered the job market and despite the influence of his family was unable to find satisfying work, other than using his father's influence to get a job. Jacob, unwilling to resort to nepotism, instead joined the PGP military, parlaying his degree into a slot at Officer Candidate School. He graduated two years later as a naval ensign, serving aboard the PGP cruiser Von Braun.

North quickly gained a reputation - not as any kind of great officer. He was competent enough, but his real talent was in fast talking, a skill that endeared him to everyone in his command as he could manage requisitions like no one else onboard. Primarily due to North's influence the Von Braun was one of the best supplied ships in the fleet for his tenure aboard.

Six years after joining he retired, returning to the private sector. But after six years of shipping aboard a long range cruiser, seeing the wonders of the universe, he found simple business to be unbearably tedious. He ended up bouncing across the galaxy for several years until encountering Scott Viduka, where he found employment as his face man in a number of clandestine deals. That's where he is now.

 

[Deu Sex]

Is this still alive?

 

[NeoAC]

Yes it is I'm still waiting for my co-GM to finish his sheet...

 

[Lefthandofgod]

Sorry about the time it's taking to launch the RP. I have some friends who are going to finish their sheets soon. Or so they tell me. I plan to start no later than the 7th.

 

[Mr. Omega]

Spoiler: Hamilcar

Name: Hamilcar ibn Mohammed.

Age: 42

Sex: Male

Appearance: Hamilcar stands shorter than most at 5'4", with an average build. He has a noticeable mustache, which is a darker shade of black than his graying hair. He keeps himself well-groomed when not on the job, trying to keep hair out of his green eyes, which stand out nicely against his dark skin.

Wearing a large gray suit jacket hiding several pockets inside with a blue tie and a pair of long black pants, he tries to look like he's ready for a business meeting at any given time.

Personality: Hamilcar loves to hear himself talk, and tends to speak in an overly dramatic or formal way. He has no sense of honor, willing to hit an opponent whose back is turned or fleeing, and will turn tail and run at the first sign of trouble. He will only fight if no other option is present, and uses a non-lethal weapon as he prefers not getting blood on his hands (directly, anyway...).

He tries to look for the fastest or simplest solution to any given problem, but prefers to stall for time when dealing with another human being. A negotiator by nature, a habitual haggler and a pacifist in the most technical sense of the word, Hamilcar prefers to win with wits instead of bullets... even if it doesn't usually work.

Useful Talents:
Nightstick Combat- Hamilcar carries a pair of nightsticks in his coat, tipped with electric prongs to shock anyone he hits with the ends of. It isn't enough to end a fight on its own, but it can stun enough to make an opening. Hamilcar is not an expert combatant, but he is able to beat your average untrained thug or low-pay security guard. However, armored enemies, highly-trained opponents, anyone with anything bigger than a handgun or unorthodox weapons outclass him. Hamilcar is also a terrible shot.

Expert Communicator- Hamilcar is fluent in English, Spanish, Arabic and Chinese, and is capable enough in all other languages that he can last long enough to work the conversation to one of the main 4. Hamilcar is a master bullshitter, having bluffed his way out of several life-or-death situations. He's also capable of reading body language, often using this as a signal of when it's a good time to retreat or if he can psych them out enough to win.

Master of Unlocking- Able to open just about any unsecured door, open shipping containers, safes or crates, fiddle with the electronics of keypads or card readers, and equipped with devices to silence any triggered alarm (as long as its in arms reach), any consumer-grade security system isn't a match for Hamilcar. However, once you start getting into military-grade security or customized security systems, he can still get past them, but he needs time, concentration and proper equipment. Be it doors, secrets, safes or a woman's legs, nothing stays closed to Hamilcar for long. (This does not apply to firewalls or data extraction.)

Role on QAR: Second in Command

Biography: Born to wealthy merchants on the planet Yacatecuhtli, Hamilcar ibn Mohammed had gotten the best education that money could buy, excelling in writing and foreign languages. Learning dozens of languages in his higher education, basic electrical engineering and excelling in public speaking, he graduated with above average grades and had a job lined up for him right out of school.

Hamilcar managed to snag a job at the Merriweather security company. With new colonies still being formed and needing people to keep the order, along with brazen pirates boarding ships, security was something in high demand, and Hamilcar quickly showed the company he was an expert in selling the latest toys to potential clientele. However, when heading to the planet Copacati, his ship was shot down by a band of pirates, crashing on the planet's surface. It turns out this planet was under siege by an interplanetary cartel, seeking to establish a base on a planet midway through colonization. Communications were kept under cartel control and he could not send out a call for help. Hamilcar had managed to salvage a couple security guard's weapons from the wreckage. What few crewmen left had told him that Merriweather company policy was to not send a rescue team for people attacked by pirates. As far as Merriweather was concerned, Hamilcar was not worth saving.

For the next few weeks, Hamilcar hid among the colony, seeing how the people were still waiting for basic services for survival to be fully functional. At first he wanted to wait for SACA troops to show up and liberate the planet, but as time passed, it became more and more clear that help wouldn't come until it was too late. And so Hamilcar decided to try something desperate. The first thing built on Copacati was the communications array, kept under intense patrol. But there were blind spots in its defenses, meant to be guarded by various security devices. But if he could get in, he could send a distress signal. Heading back to the wreckage of his ship, he began to assemble devices. He knew how they worked, so he needed to find parts to make tools to work around them.

Working his way through the facility, he managed to broadcast a distress signal. However, a guard had walked in right after he had finished sending it. Cornered, Hamilcar rushed the guard and used his batons to brutally beat the guard into unconsciousness. Disgusted with the blood, disfigured features and scattered teeth, Hamilcar rushed away from the facility. All that was left to do now was wait. A few days passed, with Hamilcar hiding in his ship's debris. He was disgusted by the way the cartel tried to find the man who entered their facility by terrorizing the citizens, but he remained out of sight, only coming to town when needed. At long last, the SACA ships arrived, shooting down what few criminal ships tried to flee and taking control of the city with minimal resistance.

The experience on Copacati changed Hamilcar. Seeing the suffering of the less fortunate, the callous disregard for life private security firms showed and the maddening inefficiency of government troops, he became a nomad. Refining the skills he had to develop on Copacati and perfecting the gear he had crafted, he began taking mercenary work. Most commercial security tech was similar enough that he had ways to get around anything stopping him, sabotaging rouge ships and stealing goods with few ever knowing he was there, or occasionally working as a translator or negotiator for those who need it.

He is now heading to the Dingo's Snarl, being told that a ship could use someone to deal with any local authrority. He's hoping all he's needed for is to do some translations and negotiate with any troops willing to take a bribe.

Glad to see I'm in time.

 

[Lefthandofgod]

Spoiler: Muhammad Ibn El Suhra

Name: Muhammad Ibn El Suhra

Age: 53

Sex: Male

Appearance: Muhammad stands at a little under 6ft. His clothing is an amalgamation of various ?trophies? he has acquired over his many years of working as an ?acquisition specialist?.

His shirt and pants sport a desert-camouflage look and fit him loosely.

"The famous last stand of Artillery Arthur! Took out his ship with an EMP cannon and killed him one on one in a sword fight! Made enough money off that job to retire! Not that I ever would. What?s life without work??

Over the shirt, he wears a faded red flight jacket, that stops just a few inches too long to look quite right.

"Hahaha! This was from Mao the Mountain! Big fucker, and tough too. I swear I stabbed that bastard in the heart three times before he went down! Made a last stand against my boarding party. Heroic, but a damn fool.

The only item of clothing that fits him properly are his combat boots.
"Uhh, that was from a guy named Salem. I just needed some boots??

When boarding an enemy ship, Muhammad uses the Benelli M4 Super 90 shotgun loaded with buckshot to minimize system damage and to maximize people damage. If the latest ?acquisition? is less than official, he carries a scimitar, modified to carry a power cell in the hilt, in order to induce seizure in any target struck. He named the scimitar SamSam

When on land, Muhammad carries a smaller (and much more legal) loadout. The Benelli is replaced with a VIPER JAWS pistol (link for the curious here: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Viper_Jaws_pistol) that he?s modified to use .45 caliber rounds. When on land (and on a planet with decent law enforcement), He removes the power cell from SamSam?s hilt and it functions as a normal sword.

Personality:
Muhammad is loud, boisterous, and quick on his feet. While not a terribly well read man (he insists he?s quite well read in his native language), Muhammad is very skilled at reading people and situations, catching on quick when a job might go south or when a contact might be withholding information. While he?s pleasant enough, he tends to value being the center of attention in relaxed situations, so not everyone tends to find this aspect of his personality terribly endearing. He?s a mass of flesh and scar tissue at this point in his life, but manages to keep people friendly enough with his demeanor.

Biography:
Muhammad was born to a poor mining family on the moon colony of Noor, under a different name. The town was under the thumb of the mining corporation. They paid the miners in vouchers that were only good in shops owned by the company, which left the miners in a state of perpetual poverty. It was a fairly well functioning (if exploitative) system that allowed the mining company to control all of the moon.
After a while, however, the harsh conditions of the moon caused an outbreak of disease to strike the colony. Nearly all the children of the colony were stricken, and the colony stores and hospitals quickly ran out of medicine. The colonists and miners quickly revolted, taking over the city hospital.
The mining company responded by mobilizing their private army. The rebelling minors lasted through months of orbital bombardment, held up in the hospital. The Revolt of St. Marys is considered a famous last stand in modern memory
Muhammad watched as his family was massacred. He saw the hospital destroyed with the whole colony, his father included, falling left and right to soldiers employed by the mining company. It was that day that Muhammad learned a lesson about famous last stands; they always end in death.
It was after the death of his parents that Muhammad turned to crime to survive. He abandoned his family name, leaving them, as he put it, to ?rest with the dead?. He took on the name ?Ibn El Sahra?, or sun of the desert, to reflect his status as a wanderer. Not liking his odds at an orphanage, he turned to taking odd jobs for the local cartels in order to make ends meat. He was usually hired as extra muscle on transport jobs, and often he found himself in altercations with less than reputable souls. Over the years, he was moved up to a raiding party, where he found what he refers to as his ?true calling?. He?s punched, stabbed, and shot his way across nearly half the galaxy.
In the last year, Muhammad tried his hand retirement, settling into a small place near the Dingo, stopping off for a drink at night. But lately, he?s had the itch to get back out there. It was then he heard word about a job..

 

[Lefthandofgod]

Hey everyone. I know I promised to start the RP last night, but Neo has been pulled away for the next day or two due to a work issue. Rest assured, everything is ready to start, we just need to wait for him to get back. I'm really sorry about the delays.

 

[NeoAC]

Turned out my services were not required today, so yay for that. So yeah, Lefthand and myself went through the applications and here is the roster of Queen Anne's Revenge:

Captain:

Spoiler: Edwards Alberta

Snipped

2nd in Command:

Spoiler: Hamilcar ibn Muhammad

Snipped

Pilot:

Spoiler: Langley Ashcroft

Snipped

Navigator:

Spoiler: Will McArt

Snipped

Gunner:

Spoiler: Lacy Dawes

Snipped

Enforcer/Gunner:

Spoiler: Muhammad Ibn El Suhra

Snipped

Enforcer/Gunner:

Spoiler: Ray Foster

Snipped

Medic:

Spoiler: Jack Sheppard

Snipped

Cook:

Spoiler: Julia Crosby

Snipped

To everyone who was not selected, thank you for submitting a sheet, and keep watching the thread! We will probably need some people willing to play villains, or to step in if others drop out due to time restraints. At the very least, you can clean the body off of the Space Needle. Anyway, with this new found free time, I will be working on the OP both here and at my office (McDonald's, with the ever-flowing Coke Zero and free wi-fi), and it will hopefully be up tomorrow before I go to work at midnight!

 

[Mr.Ivebeenframed]

I hope this is still happening...

 

[NeoAC]

Spoiler: Apologies

Between Windows Update eating my post, the 15 hours I worked on Saturday, Canadian Thanksgiving and Pokemon Y, there really has not been a lot of writing time lately. Hopefully this rectifies itself in the future, but that Pancham isn't going to train itself.

[HEADING=1]CHAPTER 1: ANOTHER SHIP ON THE BARBIE[/HEADING]​

From outward appearances, it was just another Thursday night at the most Australian bar in the system. As regulars and curious visitors alike traveled in and out of the Snarl's welcoming double doors, the conversations blurred together into a cacophony of noise erupting out into the cold night sky every time the doors swung open. Plates of Outback Nachos coated with mango chili salsa adorned various tables and pitchers of Townsville Ale and Aconcagua were pouring out of the taps. It was Karaoke night, and soon the wannabe Maria Vicarios and Hernandinos would be up on stage mangling both the classics as well as the contemporary hits of the day. The sounds would be at times beautiful, and most times deafening, but it would provide the proper cover for the business that Scott Viduka would need to attend to.

The owner cut an imposing figure from behind the bar as he oversaw his tenders for a minute or two. Looking like the result of Crocodile Dundee having his way with Selma Hayek, the tanned man cut an opposing figure for any patron who might have a problem with the prices or tried to hit on one of his employees. Tonight, there were no problems. Everything going well, and the evening looked like another profit-turner. But there was an opportunity for more, and it was this opportunity that led him back towards the kitchen. It was here where the only real annoyance on the night presented itself.

The glint of the jewelry at least gave him a bit of a heads up. "Come on Scott! You have to let me see the ship at some point if I'm going to be working on there!"

The first official recruit for the crew of Queen Anne's Revenge was squarely in his way. Coming in early to prep food, Jewels Crosby had the fortune of overhearing Scott detail plans for his new side-business and immediately insisted on joining the crew. Scott was reluctant at first, but Jewels' persistence eroded his wall until agreed to let her on as the cook. However, this led to a new query, one that had yet to abate and reared itself again in the moment.

Scott laughed. Giving her the night off did not let him off the hook. "Paschience, big shiela. You'll be seeing it tonight, I kin promise ya. Howevah, we gotta wait fur the rest of tha crew there. So why don'tcha wait inside the V.OI.P 'n make sure only those on tha list sit in on this, ah?" Besoides, might still be some work left on 'er.

Jewels rolled her eyes before settling them on the door, not looking at Scott for that answer. "All right, fine. I'll be in there. Is there like a passcode or something? Should I be checking for brands?"

"They should have tha offer paper on 'em when they get in. Ask for that."

"You're the boss." Jewels finally turned around and gave Scott room to breathe as she headed around the back towards the designated meeting room.

A sigh escaped from Viduka's chiseled face. "Girl's makin' me glad to see 'er off." He checked his communicator. "Shouldn't be waytin' too long anyhow." He moved towards the back himself, making sure everything was ready before the presentation would begin to his new "employees."

 

[Athol]

Earlier

Lacy sighed as she stood in the warm soothing shower. She'd taken a month's vacation as it were, but now it was time to get back to work. She was stretching out the shower as long as possible, because she figured it might be a while before she could have another proper one; ship work was like that.

Finishing the shower, she dried and dressed, before heading into the bedroom of the little motel she was in, to do a final gear check. Most of her meagre possessions were already in storage, leaving her with a few clothes, her weapons, her medical kit, and some spare ammo and meds. Making sure the slip with the job offer was tucked away in her jacket; she packed up the rest of her stuff, checked out and headed for the Dingo's Snarl.

Now

A wall of noise hit Lacy as she pushed through the doors. Glad to see it's busy. She thought. By and large, the PGP didn't like pulling raids on places this packed, too many chances for things to go sideways...still never hurt to play it safe. Grabbing a beer from the bar, she made her way to a free spot in the back; if any Government types hit with the intention of snagging a ship's crew before she launched, Lacy could simply slip out in the confusion.

 

[Mr.Ivebeenframed]

Langley looked herself in the mirror. A few years ago she looked like an entirely different person. Her hair wasn't blue, she was missing a few scars and there was a definite lack of tattoos. Then again, military members weren't allowed to receive tattoos while in a tour of duty. Her hair was short, regulation crew-cut short. Most importantly, by her side she was missing Josephine. The layout of the massive transports she piloted require the co-pilot to be close to the pilot as all craft usually do but the TC-19 Transport ships, affectionately called "Mammoths", had the co-pilot closer to the seat. Not too close but close enough that in case the pilot would be rendered incapable of flying, the co-pilot could shift themselves easily to the controls.

That's another thing. Langley wasn't in a transport carrier or a military barracks. She was in an apartment in Neoteno. An apartment that smelled like smoke and alcohol. The mirror had some sort of "substance" smeared on the bottom right corner of the panel. Langley couldn't help but look at it as she looked at herself. She rubbed her right arm. Josephine sat on her right side.

"Caspian... I will find you...

With a heavy sight she tied back her hair into a ponytail but she left some of her wavy hair fall to the side. Just a few strands, nothing too much that would obscure her vision. She checked her appearance once more, making sure she was somewhat presentable. Her leather jacket only had a few creases from last night's party and she padded off some dust that had accumulated on her tight pants. She gave herself a satisfied grin. After that she left the bathroom. Langley fetched her pistol off of a cupboard as she went for the door. On the way to door, she passed by a messy bedroom. Something shifted in the sheets as the door opened. There wouldn't be time for goodbyes. Scott was not a man to frustrate especially with a deal like this.

Langley was only a yards away before a man spilled onto the apartment's porch. He said something but the sounds of the city met Langley before his plea which sounded like a mix between "Call me" and "Will I see you again?"

She had slept through most of the day and she was glad of it. The day was infinitely more boring than the night in this town. People began to hit the streets as their days ended but Langley's day was just beginning. It took her a few minutes before she reached the entertainment district. It was district that Langley had gotten used to knowing. Luckily, Langley only preferred the night clubs and bars rather than the other more seedier joints.

The Dingo's Snarl was the place to be for most people just getting into the scene or a venue easy enough to see and easy enough to get into. Langely had been in the Snarl far too many times than she could count and half of the time she left it was to go to another bar or club. Still, the Dingo's Snarl had its charm. The bouncer greeted her at the door and right away, Langley was greeted with familiar smiles and calls. She wasn't exactly popular but she was known in the club. She mixed in with the crowd easily but mixing in wasn't her main objective tonight. She skipped the alcohol tonight and went straight for the VIP room . When she arrived, she saw a few people already there. Langley gave the girl a warm smile. Well, she looked like a girl to Langley. Then she looked to the really tall woman there too. She also gave her a warm smile.

"Aw that dog Vindaku got an innocent girl like you here?" Langley said. She put her hand on her hips and turned her head to the door before looking back to the girls. "Just joshing ya. My name's Langley but you can call me Ang, or Angi, or Blue or whatever, hon."

Langley began to look around the room, going to a corner of the room and searching for something. "Now usually, there's a secret stash of drink here somewhere. Stuff that's too good to sell to other people. Nothing too expensive and fancy mind you, but things are... usually... too hard to find in a lovely place like Neoteno." Langley said as she searched the room but her short search came empty-handed. "Damn it, Vindaku. Where'd you hide them this time?"

 

[blaze96]

"Dingo's Snarl, well at least I should be able to get a good beer and some halfway decent food. Even if the name is trying too hard to be tough." Jack said to himself as he calmly walked into the bar. He wore his old combat fatigues from the PGP with a duffel bag over one arm and his rifle slung over the other. His pistol and knife were stowed right where they should have. Outside observers would either think he was what he was, a soldier who had served his time and now basically worked as a merc, or they would think he was some kind of commando not wanting to be hassled on his way to a job. Either of these impressions worked for him, meant he probably wouldn't be hassled either way.

He walked up to the bar standing straight and making direct contact with the bar tender, a trick to get served quickly from the old days. It worked more often than it didn't and he'd rather be somewhat drunk going into this particular meeting. Was always rather liberating when your employers only expected you to actually be sober while directly on the clock. When the bar tender walked over his order was simple and concise.

"I'll have whichever brew you like the best and whatever food is cheap and filling."