dessysalta

Same +1 as before! I have no doubt Gilt will be able to play a Unathi faithfully, especially a Tau'ha'nor.

It's always a blast roleplaying with Gilt, especially when it involves Kuri channeling all the cosmic power in the universe in order to die every other shift. Another Tau'ha'nor sounds awesome, but they better make a Drek'za too after the fact. +1!

she :') *dies* but thank you for the reply fluffy!!

BYOND Key: Dessysalta Character Names: - Sherrie Scott - Ashlyn Rushine - Kira Vasquez (Main) - Eimhir Fenella - Rodrigo Valdez - Dhaval Hiyan - Yun Sang-Win - Kasa'an Drek'za (Main) Species you are applying to play: IPC! What color do you plan on making your first alien character: N/A Have you read our lore section's page on this species?: Yup! Why do you wish to play this specific race: I thought I would immediately latch onto it when I joined this server, and honestly, I'm surprised I made my Unathi whitelist before I did my IPC one. I was out of ideas on what characters to make for the slot should I take up an IPC whitelist, but now I have ideas, so there's that! As for why exactly I'd like to play an IPC, I just think they present an interesting dichotomy of humans and humanoids. You have Skrell, which are the psionic, mind-oriented super advanced alien race, and then you have Unathi, a feudalistic, clan-based society that places emphasis on family and commitment/efficiency over individuality, but then you have IPCs, which seek to replicate and improve humanity in a way; be that in tasks and efficiency (mining and such) or personality and charm (shell-based IPCs; service IPCs). Synthetics in real life are growing ever-closer to being a reality, and there's been a host of interesting fictional characters that I love to death, like Working Joes/synthetics from the Alien timeline, to people like Broadsword or OBJECT on Aurora, or cool combat androids from pretty much any kind of sci-fi fiction. Identify what makes role-playing this species different than role-playing a Human: I recently replied to Casgam1's whitelist with a poetic interpretation of what I think you can summarize IPCs as, that of which being: "Uniquely our own (humans) faults." Though now I'd probably retcon that to "uniquely our own differences or imperfections," considering IPCs don't necessarily emphasize our "faults" so much as they do what we are and what they aren't. A much longer answer starts and ends with how positronic brains process information and decide what to do with it. Humans are capable of individual, independent thought and complex, critical thinking. While IPCs aren't incapable, this manifests in a less direct, more roundabout way rooted in in laws and directives, their perception of situations at hand, with a greater (or lower) amount of focus placed on self-preservation or task/objective completion. In today's society (2023, not 2465) a common reference theory as to whether or not machines are sentient is the Chinese Room thought experiment, where if you suppose an AI can behave as though it understands Chinese, does it literally "understand" Chinese, or is it merely simulating the ability to understand Chinese, based on the algorithms it uses to process Chinese characters and text? It's an interesting thought problem that makes you wonder what a "strong AI" (the former of the two options) would look like if legitimately created. I like to apply that when I think about IPCs and AIs as a whole, because it's a question and theory that bears repeating when you talk about truly "sentient" intelligences. With that tangent out of the way, I can use it as a reference for the rest of what I'm about to write. IPCs and AIs in general are a wholly different animal (metaphorically to be clear, lmao!) from human(oid)s, with different ways of processing thought, ultimately coming down to the question of whether or not they're just experts at mimicking behavior or actually capable of feeling, thinking, and acting on their own (I'm totally pulling this from the wiki, because it's right). A lower-end positronic brain that is used for hard labor might be wholly incapable of feeling or processing emotions or social situations while still retaining their machine learning capabilities; processing the before and after or causes and effects of each situation and then delegating or proposing solutions and preventative plans for the next time it happens. For higher-end positronics that are made to mimic human behavior, in the same situation they might choose a different set of solutions for the circumstances and give a more "human" outlook to situation at hand (like a simple G2 will simply chug along and prepare for combat if another carp shows up, whereas those with more emotional capabilities, like a Shell, might choose to forego combat entirely not for self-preservation, but because the other crewmembers will notice the damage and be demoralized by it). Regarding how IPCs form "memories" and skills off of them, having the ability to intake dense packets of data and then apply themselves for a short period of time to get it into their "muscle" memory, they're frankly going to take much, much, much less time than a human would at learning a task. On that same front, a similarity IPCs share with humans (or rather, that more complex IPCs do) is the ability to pick up skills or trades entirely by intaking information on their own and without first installing or replacing a datapacket. If I had to quote the wiki again, "...experiments having confirmed that positronic machine learning has advanced enough for them to be taught new trades and theories in classrooms or with appropriate reading material." This is so fucking cool. Like, the idea that androids can be so complex that they don't even need to rely on hardware/software installments to learn new things. It opens up the ideas of whether or not on a long enough timeline an IPC would be some nigh-omnipotent deity of information (which is made even cooler and is emphasized by the fact that the Trinary Perfection believes that synthetics will eventually ascend to godhood one day). Then of course you get down to the physical properties of an IPC, which is just as rooted in their mental faculties as the rest of them. Similar to the G2 and Shell example I gave, if a baseline and G2 get into combat, they're going to have a fundamentally different way of interpreting their circumstances. A G2 might hike up its britches and get to work on a group of Greimorians because it knows it is more than capable of walloping them (and bonus points if the Grems are preventing the G2 from completing a task/are actively harming the crew), but a baseline or Shell might flee even if their brute resistance would allow them to dispose of the threat. A mobility frame might attempt to run into a fire for a very short period of time to save another's life, whereas an industrial frame not made for that kind of heat would opt not to given its extremely slow movement speed, thus risking both of their lives. I know this is probably way over the amount I had to write, but I really wanted to demonstrate how much I love IPCs and how much thought and care goes into their creation. They can be just like us, entirely different, capable of what we can do, capable of less, more, and so on. They're just so interesting. Character Name: Sadie (formerly Hazel#S-H4.09) Please provide a short backstory for this character: Sadie is a fourth-generation Hazel that was created to suit the (albeit minor changes of) specifications of one Mollo Almayer, a former corporate executive at NanoTrasen, one who was briefly involved with their robotics branch (of course more specifically Hazel Electromotive) and acted as a Public Relations officer before his late passing sometime in August of 2458. Almayer had a family of four, his husband, and two kids: a son and a daughter (named Michael, Jaune, and Blake respectively for the three of them) all of which were invested in the robotics and synthetics business, with Blake being a more technologically-inclined girl who would tinker with things in her spare time and often participated in clubs and AP classes to do with engineering and software development. Jaune would go on to pursue a place in the Getmore subsidiary after realizing robotics and engineering for him was better suited as a hobby, whereas Blake went on to become a professional machinist with ties between both NanoTrasen and Hephaestus. Sadie was not always named Sadie; it was after Mollo had passed that the three remaining family members discussed it amongst themselves. Jaune was in favor of keeping it, as things had always been this way, but was outvoted by Michael and Blake, who didn't want an ultimately faceless machine to represent the man who bought it. "Sadie" was chosen as a name because it was Mollo's mother's maiden name, and had up until this point worked its way into a sort of in-joke to describe something nice ("she's a real Sadie, dad" when Jaune would talk about girls he was interested in, or "it's the damn polar opposite of a Sadie" when Blake was particularly frustrated with something she had created or was working on). Starting with a change in name, Sadie would go on to have her warranty voided with numerous upgrades in software and hardware changes. Michael would order different datapackets pertaining to social experiences and human interaction, Jaune would laboriously stay up late at night even when college classes or his employer was calling to him in order to read or interact with Sadie, and Blake used Sadie's old parts as a sort of "testing ground" and learning experience as to how these things worked. Sadie is gradually coming to understand not just the decisions or questions she's asked, but the thought processes behind them and how to better gauge human interaction, thanks to countless hours of experience interacting with the family's friends and emotional drives Michael has been adamant about installing. With Jaune and Blake finally getting to places in their lives where they can't afford as much time to interact with Sadie anymore, Michael has taken it upon himself to give Sadie a goal of her own for the first time in her existence as a positronic: to become an individual and live up to her name. Sadie asked the meaning of this order and questioned him, to which Michael responded by telling her it was vague for a reason, and that she will figure out in time what that goal is or means--perhaps even nothing at all in the long run. For the next few years, Sadie would pursue employment on behalf of the Almayer family, such as being leased to bars, short-staffed kitchens, and other service jobs she would be naturally good at. For a short period of time, she worked at a small NanoTrasen office, where she would prep coffee, file paperwork, relay messages, and generally stick in the mail room. When the office was eventually foreclosed due to its small size contributing to a lack of profitability, Sadie was offered a chance to board a shuttle and be relocated to a different office or position abroad, one she took in lieu of having to look for another job herself (or worse, ask her family to lease her again). This change in scenery finally landed her a position on the SCCV Horizon, where she works in service and ultimately aims to complete Michael's orders find herself and along the way serve people better than her unmodified Hazel counterpart. What do you like about this character? I originally came up with the idea of Sadie on another server (CEV Eris) very briefly. It started with the gimmick of playing old Western music (like Frank Sinatra, The Ink Spots, etc. think anything you'd see in a Fallout game or American Dream allegory) from her chassis and ended with a crazy amount of love for the character I'd thought up. I like the idea of an IPC that works because it has to going to one that works because it likes to, and I want to portray the gradual change from a somewhat cold machine inexperienced with complex thoughts and feelings to a happy synthetic that feels real, true joy from serving someone. And, of course, play 1940-1950s music along the way, lmao! How would you rate your role-playing ability? I'm pretty good, I hope. I usually give about an 8/10 on a number scale for this question. Notes: Some questions I think the lore team will have are in this spoiler: And an image of me collecting the Whitelist Infinity Stones can be found in this spoiler:

Loved Hector's inclusion as not only a player character, but a Research Director. Hector is a believable, charming character that has an interest in technology and science and can be just as impressed as the rest of us at extraordinary technology or powers he doesn't recognize (READ: was really cool in a psionic ninjas gimmick). I don't play in RnD very much, but so far as humoring antagonist gimmicks, made me feel valued as a player and I need to see more of Hector. +1

Had the pleasure of seeing Fyodor today--blew me away. Treated our antagonist gimmick with respect, didn't let it get too out of hand, put his foot down when he needed to (from the antag's perspective that is) and delegated orders to his men (and I would know, I had a traitor radio LMAO). +1 at the moment, I'll update if it changes. Nope, it's not changing. Badass, respectful commander.

Disclaimer: Everything I say next is meant in good faith and in the least disrespectful way possible. Seriously, it's a blast roleplaying with you when the time is right, and I want to see more from you. The tl;dr is I think you need more experience on the server and as a writer. I feel these responses are very lackluster and don't meet the standards I as a player expect of others, -1. I really, really, really wish there was a trial for certain species whitelists, because I want to go on record to say for the lore team that I could just be completely fuckass wrong in all of what I said and immediately be blown away by your IPC skills. Alas, that isn't the case, unless the lore maintainers decide it on a case by case basis of some sort. If this application ultimately gets denied (or accepted) I hope to see you in game more often. I like the characters you write, I just think there's a little bit further to go.

Previous I decided to keep talking with him. I know he'll say something I want to hear sooner or later. That said, it might be wise to end the era of friendly chatting. I kept going. No reason to start breaking him now. "Willard, do you understand what's happening currently?" I asked him, tilting my head to the side. It was a sarcastic question, intentionally so. If he was so dumb that he needed this explained to him, maybe we might be better off... "You're interrogating me. You want to hear something that gives you a lead on someone or someplace else." The prisoner shrugged his shoulders and leaned back into his seat, like he was getting comfortable. It took every inch of me not to leap at him and drive his skull into the hull plating. "I might get a deal if I give you a key worth knowing. You might kill me if not. Does it matter now?" I chuffed more smoke out of my mouth after letting most of it absorb into my lungs. The heat and nicotine gave me a short-lived rush of relief after all that, but the bad news is when my leg pain came back it hit just as hard. The difference this time is I didn't jolt or show it. I studied him again. "Does it?" I leaned back myself, crossing my bad leg over my good one. That seemed to help. Now a new problem arose: the feeling of dried oil and sweat in my fatigues. Having been moved around so much to have my wound properly treated, paired with working in this claustrophobic freighter that had seen better days and probably didn't have a cleaning crew worth half what they are now, I felt every bit of dust or grit on the interior of my clothes. One of my hands went to scratch at it, but it didn't relent very much after it. I just had to get used to it. John was surprised at that remark. I could see it in his face. It wasn't a kind of visible, "oh shit" surprise you might see on a petty thug when they watch a cop round a corner, but his complexion softened and shifted away from his dismal glare to a more cold, not-quite-understanding level of fixation on the gaze he set on me. Come on baby (Don’t fear the reaper) Baby, take my hand (Don’t fear the reaper) We’ll be able to fly (Don’t fear the reaper) Baby, I’m your man "I don't know." He said, finally. He sounded tired. I could hear an edge in his voice pronounce itself more than it had previously. Good. Now we're getting somewhere. I'm surprised he snapped this soon, they're not usually so weak-willed. Then again, it's probably the first time in his life he's gotten into a firefight. I finished my cigarette and cast it aside. "Why did you really go after this ship, Willard?" I peered at him, softening my own expression a little bit. "...It was for the weapons. Hand to God. But I wasn't going to use them. Zavodskoi guns go for a lot around the system." He averted his gaze from me finally, like a child who'd just gotten scolded by their mother. "Just sell them to the highest bidder, then?" I clarified. "Yeah." Smugglers. I guess that makes sense. With what Sol has been pulling lately, everybody's looking to get decent arms that can hold their own in the event of some kind of uprising or invasion. Sure is dumb as shit they can't see Sol won't invade itself. At least, I'd sure hope so. "I admire your restraint and ethics when boarding this ship. Honest. It's not very often pirates leave the crew alive." I reached for my pack to grab another cigarette, stopped myself, then let my hand back down. "So far off the Highway you can expect blood and guts every which way. You know, I saw a coupla Earthers ram into a civilian habitation not too long ago. Fucked them right up. Disgusting. Thank you for saving me that sight, John." I wasn't lying when I said that. After that scene near Callisto, I didn't need more towns painted red by schmucks looking to earn a quick buck. John didn't respond to that. Instead, he said: "I'm not a bad person." "I don't think you are, John." I replied. "Really?" He scoffed. "I bet now that I've--" "John. I do not think you're a bad person." I raised my voice a little bit to punch it into him. He froze and met my eyes again as I did. "Thievery is usually done out of necessity. Not always, but usually. Armaments I can't excuse, but I can understand the reasoning behind it. Hell, maybe I'd be boarding some trade ship if I was in your situation, right? Human condition, all that." I paused. "We aren't friends. But you have some sense in you. Frankly I'm astonished you didn't kill any of us or get killed yourselves. Everyone on both sides suffered minor injuries, and your men are being treated. Now, if you want this conversation to keep going well, I want you to answer a few simple questions for me. Not a lot. Most of it's already on the record." John, again, didn't respond for awhile. He just kept staring at me, flicking his eyes around the room periodically and I can only assume admiring the architecture while lost in thought. "Alright." He finally said. "Good. Firstly, any associates who got you into this? Here, Biesel, anywhere." "No. My own accord." "Alright. Your men, did you put them up to this, or did they volunteer?" "Volunteer. Group effort. Had to be if it was going to work, we all figured. I don't think any of them have associates." "Do you regret what you've done?" Another long pause from him. This one made the air grow thick with tension. By now, my pain was a far cry, with how intently I was focusing on this convict. "...No. I'd do it again. A hundred times. Money is money." I nodded my head. "I can understand that." Wasting my fucking time. As I kept staring at him, I felt my mind drift a little bit. I wasn't a chain-smoker, but my injuries and frustrations bottling up was probably enough to set my mind afloat. I didn't really consider my position in speaking to the man with all of my malaise and conditions. It just felt like the natural thing to do. This prick. I wanted to look for another question to ask him, but I sort of...blanked. That was all I cared about, frankly. Leave the rest to police chiefs. They'd handle it. "Is this how you were trained to fight? You're pathetic!" "You mother fucker." Sorry? "Shit! Shit, man! M-My-y fucking-g--" My leg screamed at me as the bloody bandages around it sent a thunderbolt of pain through me. They must have touched a nerve, I swear. It made me grunt. No, it made me yelp. I saw the color drain out of everything in front of me as the pain only grew worse by the second. It was like someone had stuck a hot rod of lead into me and was twisting it around, begging the devil to make it worse while it happened. "D-Dios-s m-mio!" I exclaimed. Everything was so dark, I couldn't see a foot in front of me. ... ...Slowly, I felt my senses shift back into my limbs. I had stood up somewhere in the middle of all that. That didn't surprise me. What did was the... Iron sights. Steadied on the man in the chair. The glowing dots burned into my retinas. When the fuck had I pulled it? "Do it." He said. "Lo haré, hijo de puta." I roared. "Do it." He said again. This piece of trash. I swear to God, I put so much effort into being nice and reasonable, and he just tells me to fucking do it? Well, I'll tell you something, asshole, I'm no pushover. I fucking earned the callsign Viper. I earned that shit! And you know what? I don't give a fuck about you and your little pirate gang! I'll kill each and every last one of you scumbags until there's none of you left and I won't feel a goddamned thing except recoil. I'll do it, you son of a bitch. I'll fucking... [ ] - Pull the trigger. [ ] - Pull the trigger. [ ] - Pull the trigger. [ ] - Calm down. This isn't real. You wouldn't do something like this. Next

I'm like 90% sure I'm the person who mentioned Hazel in (L)OOC. Based application. Plus, Rebecca and Rahal are both great characters I love to interact with, both on their side and against them. +1! Give us another Hazel unit, because I sure as hell will if you don't.

Love Fox-Hound to death, after playing with them for a bit I can say they're almost certainly good enough to play a Vaurca. +1!

I jump into the whitelist apps on here a lot with kind words, but Fluffy is, what, one of about 3 people I'd write more than a passing +1 for? Fluffy's Deshan was one of the first few people for Kira to latch onto, they've helped me create Dhaval Hiyan (a Cadre member underneath section leader Deshan) and Fluffy in general is just super cool to be around. I love their characters and how they write them, I like how believably ruthless or passive they can be. Seriously. If Fluffy can't make a command whitelist, we're gonna have an issue. +1. Godspeed, and you better make Deshan a HOS sometime down the line.

I honestly like what this aims to accomplish, but then it brings up reasonable concerns from the rest of us, considering there's two ways this can go: 1. A policy change isn't made and thus even in extreme circumstances it's considered "unreasonable" for a character to act in a realistic, frankly human manner. 70 y/o doctors cannot make basic medicines, those with any kind of combative backgrounds can never defend themselves or others unless they're directly threatened, etc. 2. A policy change is made and we have an influx of new players (or honestly idiots in some cases) that decide their bartender who served the Solarian Marines for 10 years can pick up a rifle they saw at the first chance and start blasting mercenaries. (I would know this can happen because when I originally played my static Kira, I didn't realize that combat escalation was different from civ roles to secoffs and did pretty much that exact thing until I was bwoinked and had it explained to me.) It's kind of a slippery slope. I'm personally all for more diverse, in-depth character portrayal, but not everyone on Aurora is a competent writer who knows how to portray this sort of thing (and considering it was only four or five months ago Kira was batting antags that messed with her bar, I'd wager I'm not much better myself) and the more likely result is 16 y/o players that think combat is the best part of the game using their 80 y/o quad-amputee janitors to drop-kick antags because "they were a policeman" or something. HRP is lenient with escalation and 'powergaming', but I really doubt the vast majority of the SS13 playerbase trusts itself and other players. To be clear, I'm hearing you on the concept and intent, it's running up the flagpole and I'm saluting it, but there's probably a better way to go about it. Just as you offered extreme ends to be considered ICly, I gotta offer the same OOCly. At least, that's what I think.

I saw Jovna and Juno on the list and I just kinda vigorously nodded my head and said out-loud "Say no more." Love Dahlia's characters, I'd love to see them on command as a trial. +1! Godspeed you magnificent bastard.

Oolong is a great writer and I love how they portray Kuhn on a day to day basis. I feel like Kuhn is my (static's) coworker in the security field, that's how well they accomplish them. +1

Wuh-oh, I didn't add an "I'm" before that. I'm sure you're fine in Taj lore!! I myself am not lmao.

Nothing to say for Noble that hasn't already been said in every other application of theirs. Amazing roleplayer, has high standards for themself. I'm not well-versed in Tajara lore, but I'm giving them a +1 because they deserve it.

Hi, quick update: Life is hitting a little hard and I need to double-check my story notes to see where I can take this. I'd say stay tuned for another update within a week or so. If there isn't a third vote by then, I'll phone a friend.

Sza'zaszhk and Keala are some of the best characters I've had the pleasure of interacting with. If goolie can't play a Vaurca correctly, I dunno who can. +1

BYOND Key: Dessysalta Character Names: Sherrie Scott Ashlyn Rushine Kira Vasquez (Main) GOLD-ALECTO Eimhir Fenella Rodrigo Valdez Dhaval Hiyan Species you are applying to play: Unathi What color do you plan on making your first alien character: Skalamar Red Have you read our lore section's page on this species?: Yup! Why do you wish to play this specific race?: If I were to lead with something more charming than serious, it was a spur-of-the-moment decision a couple weeks ago after I realized how much I loved lizard-esque characters not only on Aurora, but servers like TG and such. Particularly, Suvek Tokash, Bloodclaw, and Ra’Sep Re-Tep (TG) caught my eye and had me realize that non-humans are just as interesting as their human counterparts, with more in-depth lore than they’re given credit for. It wasn’t until recently that I actually took much of an interest in them, as I was unfortunately encouraged not to bother with other species after the first server I played on (TG) encouraged speciesism with synthetics and command, making playing as that race a death sentence for most antag rounds and not exactly providing a place to go for longer-term characters. Playing on Aurora has reignited my love for nonhumans and led me to the realization that even if there's ups and downs of playing a race, that doesn't make them any less important or interesting. A deeper answer would be to state my liking to the nuances of Unathi culture and traditions, such as the usage of clans and their names in commonplace reference. Placing a heavy emphasis on family means there is that much more drama or emphasis when they are embraced—or rejected; I love the subtle complexities that are associated with these cultural differences, such as an inherently more lighthearted (and sometimes far more brutal or heavy-hitting) response and view of combat and in turn how that affects their consciousness or their ideas of the people around them, or how their beliefs are based less in typical monotheism and more polytheistic, archaic systems. Identify what makes role-playing this species different than role-playing a Human: A Unathi has, as mentioned above, a greater meaning placed on their family and clan/society rather than their person, but by no means is any less of an individual. Their societal hierarchies and collective clans, and ritualistic vows and lifestyles, are something that could be seen as extreme or even absurd for humans, but are clear as day and completely normal (even respected) for Unathi. Even the obvious change of biology is worth noting, given a Unathi is going to have a fundamentally different answer to a situation depending on what weapons are being used, what the environment around them is like, or who they’re going up against in the first place—or even if they view whatever conflict occurring is worth the trouble of surrendering or avoiding as a human might or might not. The oldest and most widespread Unathi religion is also rooted in their surroundings and family, with Th’akh placing importance on respect for ancestors and the dead in the belief that it will lead to fortune once their own soul has passed on and joined the spirit world—or the subjectively different fate to be reincarnated. In short: I think there’s a ceremonial take on society that Unathi embody, and stronger still how much play emotions and honor have in their masses in comparison to us. I like this dichotomy and think Unathi resemble our nonstandard traditions symbolically, and do so in a way that humans never could with their differences in biology, upbringing, and communities. Character Name: Kasa'an Drek'za Please provide a short backstory for this character: The Drek'za clan has its roots placed in The Untouched Lands, Skalamar. Its origins, and by extent Kasa'an’s, are placed in ceremonial and recreational combat, with a heavier emphasis placed on duels based on slights or scores to be settled. Further back in the ancestry of the Drek'za clan can you find notable Kataphracts (and Kataphract-Hopefuls) and warriors that dedicated themselves to the Warrior’s Code of Honor and defense of the Hegemony. In recent years there has been an uprising in more bloodthirsty Sinta in the clan that wish less for outright combat and more so the deeply-ingrained high or “adrenaline rush” that is gained from defeating an opponent. While these Unathi still represent the Drek'za clan in all that it stands for, that of which being unfaltering determination and strength of will, among them was Kasa'an, who locked his eyes less on war and more on sport. The clan of Drek’za is a persevering one, full of blood and grit before the Contact War and much more optimism-controlled, aggressively so nowadays. Common figures mentioned in the Drek’za are Sakax Razi, for his strength and leadership in the Hegemony, and the legend of Kazani, for the unwavering devotion to absolving a deadly, painful mistake. Kasa’an’s immediate family, such as his brother Thrall’ma or his sister Noswi (endearingly nicknamed Thrall and Noss respectively on warm, slow days) taught him the value of self-righteous indulgence (from Thrall’ma, who would inevitably be caught by the clan several times a year venturing outside of “safe” boundaries and environments for the sake of charming settings or pleasing sights) and strategic debate (from Noswi, who was experienced enough at a young age to engage even seasoned, aged guildsmen in bartering and haggling), although Kasa'an never quite had a mind for the latter. Kasa'an’s ultimate goal for his twenty-four years of life has been to compete in the Zandiziite Games for both his birthplace and clan, and has spoke highly of the Games nearly as soon as he was able to. He was not the only one of his clan who wished to prove himself more in sport than in warfare, but he might have been the most adamant about it, his time served after the Contact War had concluded being dedicated to do battle with others, “only when their resssolution begged for it,” and, “when neither sssenssse nor bloodline could sssstop them.” Of course, these circumstances include honorable duels, self-defense, and most importantly, the Zandiziite Games. With such a high regard for these things (if you could call it that), one might expect Kasa'an to stay on his homeworld of Moghes or otherwise assume an offensive position in a fleet or some other kind of profession, but as it stood he went on to pursue a more civilian or passive career, having focused his strength in things such as pushing beaten vehicles, aiding in the suppression or wrangling of rowdy fauna, or nowadays pushing/pulling cargo and supplies. When he learned of the corporations that made up the Conglomerate, he asked himself, and soon his clan's lord, if there was any more noble way of achieving his goal than by journeying off the very planet he was hatched on and into the galaxy, where millions of unknown certainties and terrors might await. With his blessing, and having now secured a contract with Zephyr Shipping Company (Orion Express), Kasa'an seeks to work: “Until I have fallen down and realizssed that my ssssnout yearnsss for a massk to be placssed upon it.” Once all is just so, he will return to his homeland and fight with every scale on his body to become Zandiziite "Fleet-Foot" of Skalamar. What do you like about this character? While coming up with the Drek'za clan and how this Unathi belongs to it, I unfortunately (READ: extremely fortunately) fell back onto a trope I love to death: “fighting is awesome.” I love the idea in my head of playing a Unathi that works aboard the Horizon not for monetary gain but for a particular reason that he values above traditional human views and is doing his absolute damndest to achieve in his eyes. I like being able to write strong, enthusiastically friendly and hopeful characters, and I have every intention for Drek'za to throw his arm around a close friend’s neck and almost yank them out of their seat as a sign of affection. I also really like the idea of routine sparring with him and either the other Unathi or anyone else on board the Horizon, and how much of his person will change from now to the time he's sent back to Moghes. I hope I can accomplish writing his sheer power of will and make him a big, bright light for the rest of the crew to look up to, given that's what he aims to be in a way. How would you rate your role-playing ability? I like to think I’m decent. Before SS13 grabbed ahold of me I was much more used to long-form writing, and dialogue as of late has been a breeze. If you want a number on a scale from 1-10, I’d say 8. Notes: Given that this will be the first alien race I want to consistently play, I would love pointers or questions regarding Drek'za’s past if there’s anything that is either unclear or misunderstood/incorrect.

Broadsword as an XO reflects exactly what I thought of them as BC, that of which being well-coordinated and RP-heavy. They should stay an XO at all costs! +1 (x2), after having played with them.

Previous I tilted my head back and let the chemical taste barrage my senses. Green grass and high tides forever My head felt thick as I did so, my double-sight threatening to drift into triple-sight as my senses mixed into some great slurry that I couldn't tell the liquids from the solids. This particular drink was meant to be light, but I must have drank at least four of them so far. I couldn’t even taste the lime at this point, the vodka drowning it out and making it burn as it went down. That’s what I get for getting low-quality swill, I figured. "I'm fine," I slurred, looking up at the Lunar woman that had started a sentence I didn’t hear the latter half of. All I cared about at this point was getting comfortable in my seat and ignoring the voices in my head that said I shouldn’t. The war had ended long ago, after all. I was just some shell-shocked girl who couldn’t keep it together after being handed some of the best offers of her life—a job aboard some corporate ship, free housing, what wasn’t to like? As if having stole the thoughts from my head, Ethan asked: “The war never ended for you, did it, Viper?” I looked at him again, with feeling in my eyes this time. My face felt cold, the expression on it probably as lifeless as the chair beneath me. Ethan must have seen it, and I know Solrise, that Luna, did. The air around us grew tense and quiet. I leaned my head back over the back of my chair and eyed the ceiling. I could see a slow-moving fan that must have never gotten replaced, that or it was following the rest of the bar’s style and patron-conformities. I set my gaze on one blade as it went around and around, ignoring the pain in my neck from the spine of the chair that dug into it. The jukebox was far away from me, now. Whatever words The Outlaws had in store for me, I didn’t have the ability to make them out. “I know it was hard, girl. It was hard on all of us.” This time, an English accent. It was midtone and scratchy, the body it stuck to thinner than your average weight-lifter. “I can’t speak for what you saw and did, but I know there’s better ways to process it, right? I can give you a number for a shrink if you’d like.” I put up my hand and waved it dismissively. A shrink. That’s comical. God, that’s really funny, actually. That’s… At first I smiled, then I grinned, and then I chuckled. I felt chortles emit from my head, then raised my eyebrows as they turned into wheezes and twitches. There weren’t any words for that, let alone any I’d actually use. “No.” My laughter slowed to a stop. “No, I’m long gone. I’m sure the only thing a therapist would say to me is that I need to start taking pills or some other ‘self-help’ spiel that starts with paper exercises and ends with a padded room. “You know what I think I need?” I leaned forward, looking at the lot of them. I didn’t get a response. Maybe I just didn’t hear it. “I need…” My lips stopped after having mumbled a few half-baked phrases of sorts. What was I even saying? I had nothing to, that’s what I thought. I shook my head and laid my head on my arms, my eyes fluttering shut. “Eso es lo que necesito, hombre...” I whispered as I drifted off. - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - All our times have come Here, but now they're gone Seasons don't fear the reaper Nor do the wind, the sun, or the rain I grit my teeth as I wrapped gauze around my wound. The round that caused it tore straight through my hardsuit, through my thigh, and out the other end. I didn’t feel like I was dying, but I certainly didn’t feel great, either. If it had hit something important, I’d have been down in a second, I’m sure. I’m glad it didn’t, although it did make the firefight that ensued that much harder. I had to kick off my hardsuit in a hurry, and it was a godsend that we were in a pressurized area. I might’ve lost my leg if we weren’t. The mesh that had been sprayed on it was already working its magic. I couldn’t quite sprint, but that was fine. I’d live a little while longer. I pushed myself up as I took note of my surroundings. It was some civilian freighter, with various goods like food and supplies for, I’m guessing, an airdrop to Luna. There wasn’t much of note except for a crate full of weapons, but the pilot has, or had, a warrant. These guns seemed of recent make, Zavodskoi laser technology that was a cut above typical Nanotrasen rifles. The rest of the cargo hold was unappealing, but had the logo of Orion Express plastered on the side walls. Been a minute since I’ve seen them. Hauling companies out here usually make big bucks if they’ve got the manpower to back them up. I cleared my throat, which was dry and somewhat hoarse after all of the yelling I was put through. It was a tough set of events that led me to where I was now, but at least we’d prevailed in the end. I should check on the rest of my men to see how they’re doing. I didn’t get far out of the hold before one of them ran up to me. “Pirates are contained, sir.” It was Nelson, a rifleman with a head like a bowling ball and a figure built like a brick shithouse. He was still under his hardsuit, but I could see a few stray strands of almost-gray hair behind his orange visor. He looked a little more groomed than usual, with a cleaner shave and less shadow on the rest of his face. “Good.” I looked him up and down, checking him for injuries. He got out unscathed, from the looks of it. Lucky bastard. “And the rest of us?” “Irving took an energy blade to the chest, it’s not looking good. He’ll live, but that scarring’s gonna fuck him in the long run. Rest of us are banged up, but no one’s out of action. Mann’s got a coupla broken ribs.” Nelson hit a button on the side of his chestplate, retracting the helmet and revealing everything above his neck. He had some dried blood below his nose. “You have anything else for me?” I reached into my pocket and produced a cigar, setting it in my mouth and looking for a lighter in one of my pockets. Nelson came through with his own, lighting it for me. I nodded my head in thanks. “Pirates seem to be of Himean descent. One of them mouthed off to me about hunting Hephaestus workshoppers, so that’s the closest thing we have to a statement thus far.” “Si. You get the one in the exosuit?” “Yeah. He was running a basic power cell in a powerloader. The thing shut down and he pretty much just gave up.” “Can I have a chat with him?” “Yes, sir. He’s secured in the cockpit.” I gestured to Nelson, allowing him to take point. He responded with a single nod and then turned to walk. When we arrived in the cockpit I was greeted with the sight of some bloodied, middle-aged man with a furrowed brow and dirtied jumpsuit. His attire didn’t have any sort of association or company patch, which I found somewhat unusual given the circumstances. He was just as faceless as his weapon. “Yes?” The man asked. His voice was gruff and showing age. He seemed very to the point. I can respect that. “Your name.” I said, and stepped over to check his cuffs. He’d managed to slip out of them, but he made no motion to run. I guess that was for the better, since he certainly couldn’t have come back from all this. I twisted his arms getting them back on. He didn’t resist as I set him onto a chair. “John Willard.” He replied, settling down once he was restrained again. “John, why did you attack an Orion ship this far away from Luna?” I stepped back and nodded to Nelson to let me be. He obliged, walking out. “I wanted its contents.” “And those contents were?” John looked off to the side. “The weapons you saw in the hold.” “What weapons?” “Zavodskoi rifles.” “For what purpose did you want them?” “For whatever reason you associate with taking weapons.” I slowly nodded my head as he gave that last answer. Then, I closed the distance and drove my good hand into his face. It tore back open a cut that was stitched on his cheek. When he met my eyes again, he looked amazed, as though he didn’t expect that. “Gilipollas. Try that again.” I crouched to get to eye level with him. “...I intended to use them for shit like this.” “Thank you, John.” I stood up straight. “Is everyone with a gun associated with you?” “I guess so.” “You guess so?” I tilted my head. “Well, they either are, or they aren’t, which one is it?” “Anyone who wasn’t already on this ship.” “Are you lying to me?” “No.” “Alright.” I puffed out smoke and then sat in the chair a few feet to his side, swiveling it to keep my body pointed towards him. He didn’t bother doing the same. Miserable sad sack… “Where are you from, Willard?” “Biesel, Tau Ceti.” “I hear that place is nice this time of year. You from Mendell?” “Am I gonna get shot if I don’t tell you?” He cocked an eyebrow, clearly confused with what I was doing. “If we wanted you dead, we would have killed you already, hijo.” “...No, I’m from Phoenix Port.” “Rough start, down there. Your ship belong to Einstein Engines? We haven’t looked it over yet.” John looked at me for a long time, bending over slightly as if to take in my full figure. It took him a few seconds to say, “No, custom-make. Modified a Nanotrasen one.” “Mhm…You have any family down on Biesel?” “Some friends. An aunt, maybe.” I felt a twang of pain shoot through my leg as my holster brushed against it. Dammit! My leg jerked the direction opposite the pain, which only dug it into the chair and made it worse. My hands gripped the arm rests, dulling the pain as I came to terms with it. The man in front of me looked at me with an expression I couldn’t describe. What was that supposed to mean? Was it a look of malice? Was he mocking me? No, no, he couldn’t be. Calm down, Kira. You're the one in charge here. “You think they’d be happy with you doing what you’re doing now?” I asked, my voice steady. “Are you trying to guilt me?” “No. I’m asking you an honest question. I know my own family wouldn’t be happy with me if I did this.” "It must be hard to be you." Me siento como si estuviera hablando con una pared de ladrillos, I thought. I’m getting tired of this. Fucking Biesellite. [x] - Keep talking. He'll say something you like sooner or later. [ ] - Make him pay. [ ] - Something else... (Write in) Next

Just like the SpaceBattles forums, if you'd like to vote for one of the ending options, just format it like this: "[x] - Tilt your head back and try to keep it together. You're with friends." We'll see if it lands. I'll continue after a sufficient amount of replies come in or after a few days/a week.

OOC Notes: Hi! This is the first short story in a series I might or might not make just for funsies. Kira Vasquez is by far one of my most cherished characters to date and I love writing her—I hope you all like this and help me turn it into something unique. You might recognize the ending options as inspired by the SpaceBattles forum, and if you do, good! - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - In a place you only dream of Where your soul is always free Silver stages, golden curtains Filled my head, plain as can be As I sat down in my seat, I felt my ears twitch a bit as archaic, if a bit catchy, rock blared from a rundown jukebox. This one in particular was by a band I was familiar with, The Outlaws. They’re one of those old Earth bands that made a name for themselves with their smooth vocalist and equally smooth guitarist. I still idly hum it to myself when I’m working, like a song stuck in my head. It has roots in my subconscious after hearing it so often during my time with Sol. My first squad, and eventually the rest of my platoon, would sing when we/they were shipping off to whatever mission Command had in store for us. I guess to them it was a nod to old times and how ushering in the new was foreign, or some kind of travesty. A lot of the men in my units thought strongly about it, but I never cared either way. I just thought the music was pleasant to the ears. At least, it was a nice relief from all of the metal screeches and pulse munition fire. I was in a bar of sorts. It looked like one of those run-down country restaurants you'd find on Mictlan or San Colette, assuming those planets were allowing visitors and moreover that the locals wanted to serve you in the first place. Around our five-man team were duos, trios, and groups of men and women alike sharing a meal or pint together. The place was full of wood, purposefully pandering to Earthers and those adjacent who favored a more "homey" setting with knick-knacks and antiques that caught the eye and alluded to the soul of humanity. Above all else, the smell of food and drink was readily apparent, punching you square in the nose the moment you stepped into the place. If I had to guess where the spices hailed from I'd probably lose it, because it was such a cacophony of fragrance that must have been lent tastes from all around the solar system. I opened my mouth to say something, probably to sing along. Whatever I had planned to say was cut off by a voice across the table from me, the body of which had raised its glass in a manner that said, hey, listen! “Kira!” A deep, thick Martian accent jumped into my ears and into my brain. It was a more guttural form of Sol Common that borrows some elements of Freespeak, the former a mix of Mandarin and Asian languages and the latter descending from Hindi, combining into a multi-rooted jumble that sounded incoherent or even barbarian to non-native speakers. It made me snap my gaze up to meet his, but I took it in stride and didn’t show any surprise. God dammit, Ethan, do you always need to talk so damn loud? I perked up, shifting around in my seat as to not seem idle. I felt myself blink a few times as my concentration shifted to an image more important than the grooves on the table we sat at, which was only just better than some dented piece of balsa wood barely sanded. There was wear and tear on the mahogany, and it looked just awful. My eyes landed on Ethan, who was a man of above-average height and build, save for a longer set of legs and shorter torso. He had brown hair that made up a sloppy mullet, with a cowlick on top that solidified his position as part of the lower-class in this bar. From my perspective, it looked like he had two heads and four eyes. “You been awfully quiet, hermana. What’s been goin’ on with you as of late? We sure as shit don’t see you often, let alone talk to ya.” As a rainbow grew around the sun All my stars of love who died Came from somewhere beyond the scene you see These lovely people played just for me While my mind drifted back to the music reverberating throughout the bar, my hands moved to sign. “I’ve just been dozing off.” “Dozing off? God damn, chica, you sure got a twisted sense of purpose nowadays.” Thanks, I thought. I appreciate you calling notice to it like it’s worthy of damn spotlight. Really helps me get accustomed to the atmosphere. My hands moved again. “It’s difficult, is all.” “Hey, it’s alright.” Another voice piped up. This one belonged to a Lunar chick around my age and height. Her accent was lighter, with a more eloquent edge to it; it wasn't something I could replicate myself unless I spent months practicing. It had a much more comforting tone compared to the battle cry old long, tall, and ugly had just shouted. I didn't know her name off-hand, that or it just wasn't coming to me considering what was in my system. I could have sworn I'd seen her before, what with the cool-colored ponytail and dark uniform. It looked like a service uniform. Wait, why was she wearing it out tonight...? The world blurred as the lights mixed and shined through my eyelids. I closed them sometime after she spoke, placing my elbow on the table and my hand on my forehead to support my head as I leaned into it. My free hand immediately went to my drink, bringing it to my lips to sip from. I could taste creamy lime and ethyl alcohol assaulting my tongue and burning my throat. Whoever mixed this drink sure had no idea of what quality milk cream was…but I couldn’t be bothered to let myself get frustrated over it. Not today. I had bigger problems on my mind that were more worth my time. I wouldn’t be drunk if I didn’t. Hell, maybe I would. At this point, drinking took to me as much as I took to it. Electric guitars soothed my nerves when I heard them, especially ones that weren’t distorted or altered much. The Outlaws, among many others from that era, had a magic in their picks that took me to a land far, far away from all of the political bullshit I usually found myself experiencing. It might have been because of the classic era they truly belonged to. It might have been because I’m an emotional mute with an eye for the little details and ears for the big ones. Either way, I felt less inclined to speak in my comforted state, and would much rather keep my voice down. “I miss…” My hands moved, then stopped. My mind grew thick with a kind of fog I couldn’t describe, like I needed a signal flare if I wanted to see a foot in front of me. I missed a lot of things, and I honestly felt better leaving it like that rather than picking any in particular. My head hurt just being here. My hands returned their stances, one on a drink, and one on my head. Irving, for one. He was a damn fine rifleman. I shook my head once more. “A lot of things,” I muttered. My head spun a little, but I steeled myself enough not to plant my head on the table below me. I even let go of my glass, letting my arms sit by my sides and my glass on the wood. My eyes drifted back to it, watching the alcohol inside it settle. The smell of it wafted into my nostrils, reminding me of why I was here in the first place. Maybe even why I was still going, who knows? Now if I let you see this place Where stories all ring true Will you let me past your face To see what's really you I grasped my cup one more time and brought it to my lips. It's not for me I ask these questions As though I were a king For you have to love, believe and feel Before the burst of tambourines take you there "Kira? You're..." For a moment, I felt my hardsuit again. The thick, chitinous mass that only Hephaestus or Zavodskoi weapon manufacturers could manufacture with ease and perfection. My breath mask clung to my face and rubbed against the bridge of my nose, the rubber seal and synthleather strap irritating my skin and pushing my hair into my head. Around me were bright lights—were they muzzle flashes? Was it all my imagination?—ones I couldn't easily describe. They felt so intricate, now, looking at them. I felt sudden acceleration push me into my seat as our engine roared to life, the rifle on my chest red-hot and burning. All I made out was the stars, so many stars, all bright and... I feel lightheaded and disoriented. What was I going to do...? [ ] - Change the subject. All this talk about the past hurts your head. [x] - Tilt your head back and try to keep it together. You're with friends. [ ] - Finish your drink and leave. Better to be alone than uncomfortable. Next Latest

Interacting with both Castile and Broadsword is always a pleasure. I honestly have to give shout outs to the time they (Broadsword) looked a wounded gunman in the eyes and said, "Pathetic." It was such a badass scene and I have no doubts in my mind that Noble will be able to create more of those well-written moments down the line. Hefty +1, shaken, not stirred.

Player of Valdez here! Just chiming in to confirm the above statements.