- Joined
- Apr 7, 2015
- Messages
- 2,391
- Reaction score
- 912
Biographical information
Homeworld
Age
Aliases
Force sensitive?
Nar Shaddaa
21
Mpho, the Typhoon
Negative
Age
Aliases
Force sensitive?
Nar Shaddaa
21
Mpho, the Typhoon
Negative
Physical description
Species
Gender
Height
Mass
Hair color
Eye color
Skin color
Cybernetics
Scars
Human
Male
1.85 meters
70 kilograms
Brown
Brown
White
None
Various blaster scars
Gender
Height
Mass
Hair color
Eye color
Skin color
Cybernetics
Scars
Human
Male
1.85 meters
70 kilograms
Brown
Brown
White
None
Various blaster scars
Chronological & political information
Affiliation(s)
Master
Independent
__Criminal
None
Master
Independent
__Criminal
None
.
| MaxTypho |
Max Typho was a male human smuggler, pilot, hitman, and slicer living during the Force Eternal era. The son of two criminals and born on the Smuggler's Moon, it was no surprise to any that he chose this career, being equipped with the skills needed from an early age. He went solo after his parents died when they tried to ambush a deal between two gangs but found themselves in over their heads.
"Do you hear that?"
A light pattering of rain had been sprinkling over the metal sheets that served of a roof for them for the past half hour but that was not what he was referring to. A man—red-faced and tense, beads of sweat falling from his green hair down onto his cheeks—stared out the window, then turned around abruptly toward a pink-haired woman next to him. "Do you hear it, Amira?" His eyes scanned her to see if she was as excited as she was.
"No, Xavier." Amira smiled nevertheless because she could never not smile when she saw her husband beaming like a child. It was only a few things that got him this worked up and none of them legal. Tonight was no exception.
He swatted at the air with one hand, eyes outside the window again. "Calm, Amira. It's the calm before the storm."
"A storm that won't fuck us over in the end, hopefully."
"What's the worst that can happen? We do stuff like this every few months." Nothing could bring him down, which was a bit worrying for Amira. He always did this, getting excited about jobs, and it made him get careless. So far it hadn't backfired, but it had the potential too.
"Whatever you say, honey." She turned around and reached for the blaster on the table next to her. She checked its battery and then holstered it, also grabbing her jacket off the chair and slinging it over her shoulders. "Almost time to go. Max is waiting in the car."
Xavier pulled his hood up and stuffed a cloth into his pocket, making his way to the door. He exited first, then Amira, who stopped for a moment to look back at their home before she switched the light off. It was shabby, but it was clean (she'd made sure of it) and it had served them well all these years. She hoped to come back to sleep in her own bed tonight.
The two stepped outside in the rain and walked a few meters to the corner of the street, their wet footsteps echoing behind them. Opening the doors of a speeder waiting for them, the two got in the backseat silently.
"I thought you weren't gonna come." Jon turned toward them, big grin on his face. "Was about to go take the speeder back."
***
Violent gunfire rocked the steel wall behind him, the sparks falling onto the bare skin of the back of his neck. Xavier's eyes were frantic, going back and forth through the warehouse, trying to spot her frame somewhere. Risking it a little, he poked his head out from behind cover. He spotted Amira on the other side of the building, making a run for it. Nodding to himself, he ducked back down just as a bolt whizzed past the top of his head. Stick to the plan.
Xavier bolted up and ran as fast as his legs could carry him toward the exit, taking cover whenever he could. He was just about there when suddenly he found himself on the ground. A metal crate had flown in right from the edge of his vision, slamming into him with enough force to break several ribs. Gasping for air, he tried to lift his head to look around, but was stopped by pressure on his windpipe. His confusion increased when he heard a strange noise—a hiss, then a sort of whir, like the sound speeders make when they whizz past you at high speeds. Could it be—
"Sith," he gasped out. Like most other residents of the Smuggler's Moon, he had spent his life more concerned over the criminals around him rather than on some religious zealots on the other side of the Galaxy, even considering them a sort of overblown myth, so the realization was a shock.
"I wouldn't waste any of my breaths if I were you." The last thing Xavier registered was a sharp pain in his chest. "They are among your last."
***
Elsewhere, his wife was fighting back three mercenaries from behind an overturned speeder. Managing to take one out, she rolled out from behind cover and dodged a bolt in a mad charge to a more advantageous position. Just like her husband, the only thing on her mind was escape to the rendezvous point. And just like her husband, she found herself flying through the air like a bird with broken wings. Amira crashed into the stone floor face-first, scraping against it for a few meters. Blood in her eyes and a sharp, screaming pain erupting from her chin, she struggled dazedly to get up, but couldn't. A sudden kick to the head silenced her forever.
***
Their son was still waiting in the speeder. Music played softly out of the speakers, muting the rain outside and the various blaster shots that had been ringing out for the past 4 minutes unbeknownst to him. Max was wondering why they were taking so long and staring at the watch. In a few minutes, he was supposed to leave according to the rules they'd set beforehand, but that was not happening.
Or so he thought. He saw the hooded figure leaving the warehouse his parents had gone into, followed by a few troops carrying two body bags.
A loud thud echoed through the car as he slammed his fists down on the dashboard. The radio was busted, and the music had stopped. The only thing he could hear now was the rain and the blood rushing through his ears. He screamed.
A light pattering of rain had been sprinkling over the metal sheets that served of a roof for them for the past half hour but that was not what he was referring to. A man—red-faced and tense, beads of sweat falling from his green hair down onto his cheeks—stared out the window, then turned around abruptly toward a pink-haired woman next to him. "Do you hear it, Amira?" His eyes scanned her to see if she was as excited as she was.
"No, Xavier." Amira smiled nevertheless because she could never not smile when she saw her husband beaming like a child. It was only a few things that got him this worked up and none of them legal. Tonight was no exception.
He swatted at the air with one hand, eyes outside the window again. "Calm, Amira. It's the calm before the storm."
"A storm that won't fuck us over in the end, hopefully."
"What's the worst that can happen? We do stuff like this every few months." Nothing could bring him down, which was a bit worrying for Amira. He always did this, getting excited about jobs, and it made him get careless. So far it hadn't backfired, but it had the potential too.
"Whatever you say, honey." She turned around and reached for the blaster on the table next to her. She checked its battery and then holstered it, also grabbing her jacket off the chair and slinging it over her shoulders. "Almost time to go. Max is waiting in the car."
Xavier pulled his hood up and stuffed a cloth into his pocket, making his way to the door. He exited first, then Amira, who stopped for a moment to look back at their home before she switched the light off. It was shabby, but it was clean (she'd made sure of it) and it had served them well all these years. She hoped to come back to sleep in her own bed tonight.
The two stepped outside in the rain and walked a few meters to the corner of the street, their wet footsteps echoing behind them. Opening the doors of a speeder waiting for them, the two got in the backseat silently.
"I thought you weren't gonna come." Jon turned toward them, big grin on his face. "Was about to go take the speeder back."
***
Violent gunfire rocked the steel wall behind him, the sparks falling onto the bare skin of the back of his neck. Xavier's eyes were frantic, going back and forth through the warehouse, trying to spot her frame somewhere. Risking it a little, he poked his head out from behind cover. He spotted Amira on the other side of the building, making a run for it. Nodding to himself, he ducked back down just as a bolt whizzed past the top of his head. Stick to the plan.
Xavier bolted up and ran as fast as his legs could carry him toward the exit, taking cover whenever he could. He was just about there when suddenly he found himself on the ground. A metal crate had flown in right from the edge of his vision, slamming into him with enough force to break several ribs. Gasping for air, he tried to lift his head to look around, but was stopped by pressure on his windpipe. His confusion increased when he heard a strange noise—a hiss, then a sort of whir, like the sound speeders make when they whizz past you at high speeds. Could it be—
"Sith," he gasped out. Like most other residents of the Smuggler's Moon, he had spent his life more concerned over the criminals around him rather than on some religious zealots on the other side of the Galaxy, even considering them a sort of overblown myth, so the realization was a shock.
"I wouldn't waste any of my breaths if I were you." The last thing Xavier registered was a sharp pain in his chest. "They are among your last."
***
Elsewhere, his wife was fighting back three mercenaries from behind an overturned speeder. Managing to take one out, she rolled out from behind cover and dodged a bolt in a mad charge to a more advantageous position. Just like her husband, the only thing on her mind was escape to the rendezvous point. And just like her husband, she found herself flying through the air like a bird with broken wings. Amira crashed into the stone floor face-first, scraping against it for a few meters. Blood in her eyes and a sharp, screaming pain erupting from her chin, she struggled dazedly to get up, but couldn't. A sudden kick to the head silenced her forever.
***
Their son was still waiting in the speeder. Music played softly out of the speakers, muting the rain outside and the various blaster shots that had been ringing out for the past 4 minutes unbeknownst to him. Max was wondering why they were taking so long and staring at the watch. In a few minutes, he was supposed to leave according to the rules they'd set beforehand, but that was not happening.
Or so he thought. He saw the hooded figure leaving the warehouse his parents had gone into, followed by a few troops carrying two body bags.
A loud thud echoed through the car as he slammed his fists down on the dashboard. The radio was busted, and the music had stopped. The only thing he could hear now was the rain and the blood rushing through his ears. He screamed.
Max likes to pretend he has no flaws whatsoever, maintaining a wall up to prevent anyone from seeing the fact that he is, indeed, very flawed. He tries to be funny but sometimes comes off as immature. When he puts his mind to it, Max can be surprisingly intelligent, but he's found that exhibiting intelligence never gets you anywhere good so he feigns ignorance to prevent others from taking advantage of him.
Used to running from authorities, he's become a nomad. Max can never stay in one place for long and he gets extremely bored if he doesn't have anything to do. He has a good deal of different hobbies, only about 2 of them completely legal.
Max lives in the present, unbothered by the consequences of his actions up until they smack him in the face. Still, he wouldn't have it any other way because, after all, he's here for a good time, not a long time.
Used to running from authorities, he's become a nomad. Max can never stay in one place for long and he gets extremely bored if he doesn't have anything to do. He has a good deal of different hobbies, only about 2 of them completely legal.
Max lives in the present, unbothered by the consequences of his actions up until they smack him in the face. Still, he wouldn't have it any other way because, after all, he's here for a good time, not a long time.
________________________________________________
Equipment
Max always carries a DG-7 Heavy Blaster Pistol and wears his own personalized armor.
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