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- Jul 23, 2012
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All done! Come one, come all, or don't come at all.
DO YOU REALLY CARE?
NAME: Baastique
AGE: 22 Winters
SPECIES: Falleen (Click!)
HOME: Outer Rim (Click!)
OCCUPATION: Freelancer
FACTION: N/A
RANK: N/A
GENDER: Female
HEIGHT: 2.1 Meters
WEIGHT: 106 Kilograms
HAIR COLOR: Dark Green
EYE COLOR: Bright Blue
STRENGTH:
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DEXTERITY:
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STAMINA:
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INTELLIGENCE:
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WISDOM:
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CHARISMA:
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"Blah Blah Blah! That's where I come from. A Blah Blah Blah drukhole somewhere out in the Blah Blah Blah edge of the Blah Blah Blah! galax'. What more ya wantin' ta know, you crinkin' idjit?"
- Guess who said this, you dumb Hutt-spawn.
DISCLAIMER: (Some words below have hidden descriptors, so hover over them!)
Baastique is a laser-brained schutta with a bone to pick and daddy issues that could make a Exile Lord blush. She doesn't care about anyone or anything except where her next meal is coming from and isn't afraid to pull a blaster on some crinkin' idjit that decides not to pay: Be thy hero, villain, or just in the wrong place at the wrong time. Though not inherently violent, Baastique is excessively rude with no table manners to speak of and willing to fart in a sealed turbolift while blaming it on the kid beside her.
Having grown up on the frontier of the galaxy, deep in the Outer Rim, Baastique and her family have had to fend for themselves ever since they could walk, and constantly moving from colony to colony, space station to trashy, crappy space station meant she didn't make any friends, nor was she inclined to keep those she did. Having developed a detachment from anyone besides her parents at a young age, she blossomed into the lovely young woman she is today. Such a princess.
Though life on the frontier was hard, it was also good for her survival. Her father, a massive brute of a Kel Dor, ensured that she could pull the trigger and hit her target as young as 7 winters, and always encouraged her to keep her body at peak physical condition. However, when she farkled something up, he took it out on her hide... and he wasn't gentle. As she grew older, things only became worse and her father's attentions even more-so, especially as she began to remind him of her mother.
A mother she'd never met.
Needless to say, there came a day when she killed him. It hadn't been easy, it hadn't been pretty, and it often haunts her, but she survived the odds and she loves reminding all the strangers she comes across that she did. By 16 winters, Baastique took what she could pack of her father's belongings in a horrendous little UGLY and left whatever god-forsaken-rock and bombad hive of bad people and naughty things for the chance at a new life amongst the stars. In hindsight, she should have stayed home. Life out on the frontier may not have been easy, but many colonies that could protect themselves from the rabid gangs of marauding pirates were usually pretty self-sufficient. But out here in the stars?
It sucked. It sucked really hard. Like a starship toilet powered by a black hole crashing into a much larger black hole, that hates and eats other black holes for breakfast. Except at lunch, the black hole prefers a nice salad before going to the bathroom and violently druking on everything you love. Why did it suck? Because food was a thing that grew in fields and sometimes on trees. Trees didn't grow in space, and if they did, they didn't grow here on the Outer Rim.
It suddenly made sense to her why there were so many pirates and generally lawless skrog running amok and persistently raiding the poorly defended colonies of the Outer Rim: There simply wasn't enough food and far too many mouths to feed. Yet, just as well, there were too many farmers and not enough freighters, most pilots and captains preferring instead to maintain trade routes along the inner-rim and core-worlds. Because of this, crops tended to spoil quickly and supplies were always dwindling on many of the harsh environments the frontier offered. The galaxy has a perverse sense of humor, she found and it was oftentimes a real Echuta!
Although, she also learned people, especially corporations, were willing to pay a pretty penny to protect their shipping lanes, and amidst the middle of a galactic struggle for power between the Jedi and the Exiles, prices were at a premium and Baastique found the life she'd been made for. From hunting pirates to helping them, she offered her services as a Freelancer to anyone willing to pay, competing with hundreds, if not thousands, of others in similar lines of business. By the age of 22, she'd crossed countless mercenaries, made barely a handful of friends that may have died horribly at some point, generally annoyed anyone else she came across. Yet still, nobody knows her name. Despite all the work both petty and proper, she's still trapped in her flying lunchbox of death, traveling from system to system searching for the next big job and a hot meal to fill her belly.
Before she inevitably pisses someone off and gets Force-Choked.
OTHER INFORMATION
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Standing at an imposing height of 2.1 meters (approximately six feet and eight inches tall), Baastique is the perfect example of a Falleen woman in command of her own destiny. Possessing prominent ridges along her forehead and jaw, a wide stature, and more corners and yet, a generous amount of kissable curves than your typical Falleen, Baastique is something of an acquired taste when it comes to appreciating her natural physically empowered beauty. On her hands, Baastique has ridged knuckles and sharp 'claws' at the end of each finger (with similar designs on her feet and toes) that extends slightly over an inch from the base to the tips while possessing a wicked, predatory curve most Falleen possessed. Not so natural to her physique, hidden by clothing and other vestments are an array of deep-cut scars that crisscross like a disorganized pack of Nexu on either side of her body, from her head down to her feet, in a variety of thickness, with each varying in length. Those on her arms and cheeks, however, look stacked like columns, parallel to their neighbors as if someone had been counting all the nights they'd spent in a prison.
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STRENGTH
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Baastique's physiology is the result of eating fatty foods, stuffing herself with carbs, and constant physical exertion and it shows in not only in her curvey musculature but also with feats of incredible strength. Her muscles are noticeably larger than most regular Falleen females (and a few males, she likes lording that over them) and she possesses a wider and taller stature. On top of that, her dense musculature allows her to lift approximately 200 pounds comfortably, and just shy of 400 in extreme circumstances while straining herself.DEXTERITY
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Baastique is surprisingly quick on her feet and limber for someone her size, but she's definitely not the swiftest foot on the march. In fact, she's rather average when compared to someone with her training, but that doesn't mean she's any less dangerous in close-quarters confrontations.STAMINA
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Life on the frontier was hard. Her father was hard. Her clients were hard. Her enemies were harder. Baastique has taken so much abuse in her past that it's a wonder she's not in a wheelchair. Possessing remarkable stamina coupled with her rather immense strength, she is able to exert herself at peak efficiency for several hours before needing to rest.INTELLIGENCE
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Though Baastique is a skilled combatant at any range and a good pilot (albeit self-trained and lacking), her inadequacies are prevalent when it comes to tactics and numbers. Tell her to jump, and she'll ask how high. Tell her two feet, and she'll check to make sure she doesn't have a third one somewhere. In any situation she'd rather be blunt and charge at the problem, rather than sitting around waiting to be wasted.WISDOM
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Baastique has seen and been exposed to more horror and atrocities than any girl her age should have been, but in that time has learned very little about the galaxy-at-large and possesses no real instinct, usually getting in and out of tense situations by pure luck. If she's ever flying and someone hears "We'll make it, relax!" they might want to pray to whatever God could dissuade the massive idjit from smashing into an asteroid. To be frank, she's not a bad judge of character, but she certainly isn't a good one either.CHARISMA
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"...in the eye of the beholder," is the end of a fitting quote for Baastique. Those she does possesses the appropriate feminity that other Falleen may find attractive, she is still built like a truck with aspects of a difficult life that was more reliant on her physical abilities than her intelligence. It doesn't help she has a tongue of rusty iron, her skills in trade and negotiations being incredibly subpar as her usual greeting is usually an off-hand bad joke served with a side of poor taste.
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4-C Blaster PistolThe 4-C Blaster Pistol was obtained from her father at a young age. Disguised as a birthday gift but really a reminder of how harsh the universe is, this blaster has gone through heck and back with her and features a few notches carved into the hilt along with a blue, spray-painted and poorly maintained chassis.
2L Blaster RifleThe Blaster Rifle she inherited from her father hasn't aged well. Though she has learned to maintain the essential bits and bobs, its frame is scruffy with cracks and dents along much of its structure.
Outrider Scout Armor (Law Enforcement Variant)Taken from the still warm body of a dead police officer somewhere on along the Outer Rim, her father's old Outrider Scout Armor has seen several revisions and overhauls during its use throughout the years, and by the time Baastique got her hands on it, she could hardly tell it had ever been used to scout distant worlds and survey planets. Complete with all the bells and whistles of your standard Outrider Armor, the addition of extra pouches and an attached backpack for that much needed extra space has helped her get around without needing to go to and fro too often.
Collapsable Vibro-SwordSupposedly belonging to her real mother, not that it matters or ever did, this relatively large hand-made foldable vibro-blade was designed with Falleen physiology in mind, easily held with a slightly larger handle, but shorter, thicker, and heavier blade, perfect for concealing it in... places. And stuff. Oh! And stabbing people. Stabbing people is helpful.
MR-Series Astromech DroidDon't ask about the little mobile trashcan that constantly zips about, knocks into her heels, and rudely beeps and spits at her whenever it's feeling anxious. While cute and highly efficient at keeping her flying lunchbox in the air, she'd advise everyone not to be fooled. She's certain it's secretly plotting to kill her in her sleep. That's why she locks it in the closet at night.
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Once upon a time a bunch of hippies and pirates decided to slam into each other at the speed of light. Though it was meant to be a suicide pact, instead, they created the unholy abominations that are the UGLIES. Originally belonging to her father, the AX-DELTA-NINER-LUNCHBOX-9800, as she "affectionately" calls it, is essentially the cockpit of a larger fighter, cut off, welded shut, rewired, and fitted with two oversized engines, not enough thrusters, and twin rapid-firing light laser-cannons that couldn't scratch the paint off a rusted landspeeder that wrecked three years ago and was set on fire.
Okay, maybe she'd be exaggerating with the last bit, as despite the lack of maneuverability the Lunchbox has, its two massive rear engines provide enough thrust to almost designate it as a racing vessel and make it capable of outrunning most modern, civilian grade ships of equal size. Unfortunately, its small compact size leaves her only one seat, no toilet privileges, no hyperdrive, a tiny compartment for her ankle-murdering, motorized Hutt-Spawn of a droid and violent shaking whenever she anchors to other vessels for hyperspace trips. Oh, did she ever mention how her father had to strip most of its armor off so it could even LIFT OFF?
Because of course he did. She'd also like to note the landing struts aren't retractable and she once accidentally decapitated a pirate during a close encounter with one of them.
She's probably gonna buy a better ship whenever she wins the lottery.
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Nothin' here yet! GIT!
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