Mass Effect - Not a Bar Joke

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Spectre of the Fade

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Fantasy, Sci-fi, Modern, Apocalypse, Action and adventure, Steampunk, Dieselpunk, People with Powers, some historical eras, lots and lots of other things. Feel free to ask.
Katherine "Kit" Vasquez
(played by @Voice)

Lauros Vanthe
(played by @Spectre of the Fade)

No appearance reference picture, but she wears something similar to the Gothis Colony markings according to this thing.
Image Source.

I imagine her full armor to look something like the Havoc armor, but she lacks the rocket propulsion.
Image Source
25 | Female | Turian Soldier | Pansexual | Gray skinned | Green eyes | 6'4" | Chaotic Good

"I've lived on Omega for a year and a half, by human standards, and that is still the stupidest question I have ever heard. Congratulations."

FULL NAME: Lauros Vanthe
DATE OF BIRTH: Roughly January 1st, 2159
PLACE OF BIRTH: Invictus, Caestus System, Minos Wasteland
BUILD: Six feet four inches, strong and solid build typical of a turian
SKIN: A fairly consistent gray, lighter patches in places without solid plate
EYES: Striking, bright green

Lauros has a grayer skin tone than most turians, but other than that, she's quite average. Taller than the average human, as per usual, but shorter than others of her species. Some scars from the couple of years she spent in the military dot her skin under the armor she usually wears. She has a broad, flat nose-plate and a long face, a prominent scar from some sort of blade marking the back end of her left mandible where the end of it was cut off entirely. Her colony markings are swirls of deep green across her brow ridges, nose, chin, and cheeks.
On first look, she seems just like any other tight-lace, hard-ass turian. One rarely sees her out of her armor (though she usually opts to forgo the helmet) and her posture typically borders on stiff. If you spend some time with her, however, you'll find that Lauros is quite easily bored and she tends to twiddle or move around or play games on her 'tool when idle. That doesn't mesh well with the "tight-lace, hard-ass turian" stereotype.

Outgoing (+) | If Lauros feels like speaking to someone, she does. If Lauros feels like making an announcement to an entire group, she does. There are few social situations she finds intimidating, and her opinions are always boldly and loudly declared for anyone and everyone to hear.
Tough (+) | Whether it's stress or tension or exhaustion or judgement or physical pain, Lauros can probably take more of it than most. There is little that will stop her from finishing a task or accomplishing a goal, be it crippling injury or anything else. Her body will give out long before her resolve will.
Understanding (+) | Despite her tough and occasionally overbearing front, Lauros is surprisingly understanding and empathetic, both with new people and those she's close to. Understanding and empathizing do not equate to condoning, however.
Sarcastic (=) | Lauros tends to respond to things she finds obvious or stupid with incredible amounts of sarcasm, but that same sarcasm can also be a way to illustrate she's comfortable with someone. Or it could be that she's trying to make a joke. It's not all that easy to figure out when is which.
Independent (=) | If she can do it on her own, Lauros will do it on her own. She doesn't ask for help and typically doesn't like help if it's given freely. The positive aspect of this is that she'd incredibly self-sufficient; the negative aspect is that she often pushes herself past her own limits and gets herself injured or worse.
Blunt (=) | Lauros states her thoughts and opinions in a blunt fashion, not bothering to censor or to spare anyone's feelings. Tact is something she definitely lacks, but she's willing to apologize if she actually did hurt someone's long as she feels they deserve an apology.
Aggressive (-) | Lauros has a short temper and she is far from afraid of unleashing it. She's the sort who gets road rage and the sort who yells at inanimate objects because they aren't doing what she wants them to. Telling her to "calm down" or anything of the sort only angers her further, and she takes time to calm down. On the plus side, she doesn't really hold grudges and can usually be swayed with some dextro-friendly treats.
Rebellious (-) | Ordering Lauros to do something is the absolute surest way to ensure it does not get done. She hates strict direction with a fearsome passion, and anyone who tries to control her actions is going to get little more for the effort than an angry turian.
Stubborn (-) | Once Lauros makes a decision on something, it's difficult to get her to change that opinion. She commits fully to ideas, relationships, and plans of action, even when presented with logical arguments as to why it's a bad idea or a faulty opinion. She doesn't bend or try for compromises, either.

Galaxy of Fantasy
Blues and Purples
Sparring, melee combat
Driving fast things, from ships to shuttles to sky cars
Rock and roll music
Shitty action vids

Being ordered around
Excessively brightly lit places
Loud noise
Insects and anything with more than four legs (excluding hanar, but they're big enough to be easy to keep tabs on)

Military trained
Quick learner

Irritability and aggressiveness
Terrible liar

HLauros was born on Invictus, in the Caestus system, to a combat engineer and a doctor. She was their only child, and her relationship with her parents had never been particularly easy. Her father was distant, prioritizing work above family, and her mother was domineering, treating her like she was a soldier at boot camp instead of a child. Lauros chafed under her mother's rigorously enforced rules, but there was no active defiance. It didn't even seem like a possibility at that point, didn't seem like a valid course of action, and it wouldn't be until she broke free of her mother then the equally restrictive military that she would really allow her rebellious nature to flourish.

She was enlisted in the military at the age of fifteen, already familiar with combat and strategy, but testing proved that she was too hot-headed for a real command. She ended up as regular infantry. As a menial, as someone who followed the orders of others when she was raised up to give them. She chafed under that, too, so much more than she had when it was just her mother, and she was twenty one when she finally snapped.

The exact order wasn't something she'd be able to recall later. It was something small, something stupid, but she hit the officer that gave it in the face and ran. The missing bit of mandible is a reminder of this day; the officer had shot at her after he'd recovered. She was damn lucky she hadn't been killed, but she managed to get to a ship and take off. The next few weeks were spent running from the turians and then the rest of the Council races to avoid being put up on serious charges. She ended up being forced to turn to the Blue Suns for assistance, and even then, her escape to the Terminus Systems was narrow.

She's spent the few years since moving around the Terminus Sytems then found her way to Omega, working off her debt with the Blue Suns all the while and hoping to the spirits that she wouldn't be recognized or tracked down.

Lauros is a military-trained soldier, capable of using or learning to use any style of weapon as effectively as another. She has a strong preference for assault rifles and specifically the M-96 Mattock, and uses the Executioner Pistol as a backup weapon.
Concussive Shot - weapon fires a single high powered round that can knock a target down or stun it for a few seconds
Adrenaline Rush - Slows perception of time for a brief period (5 seconds) and increases damage dealt
Carnage - weapon fires an area-affecting (1.5 meters) blast that rips a target to shreds; effective against armor and organics
Fortification - reinforces armor with a non-Newtonian fluid for a brief time (80 seconds)
Cryo Ammo - alters projectiles fired to slow and potentially snap freeze targets
Incendiary Ammo - alters projectiles fired to cause fire damage over time; effective against armor and organics

1. Her character in GoF is a level 136 Krogan Warlord, and her collection of human rock and roll, old and new, is bordering on impressive.
2. She can curse in human English, but is not fluent in it.
3. She has an illegal copy of the Shepard VI downloaded onto her 'tool.

Chaotic Good; Determinator; Good Is Not Nice; Hitman with a Heart; I Gave My Word

Dorian Ghannam
(played by @Spectre of the Fade)
28 | Male | Human Sentinel | Demisexual | Brown hair | Blue eyes | 5'7" | Chaotic Good

"You ask any of my relatives, they'd tell you I'm the family disappointment. Considering a cousin of mine works for one of those xeno porn extranet sites? That is an accomplishment."

FULL NAME: Dorian Elyas Ghannam
DATE OF BIRTH: Roughly September 9th, 2156
PLACE OF BIRTH: A luxury cruise liner, several thousand kilometers from Terra Nova
BUILD: Five feet seven inches and leaning toward the skinny side
HAIR: Dark brown; curly if it gets long enough; thick strands; medium thick density
EYES: Varying shades of blue, depending upon light

Dorian doesn't look particularly impressive for a human, really. He's shorter than average, skinnier than he probably should be, and tends to look both dirty and roughed up almost all the time. Bandages, scrapes, bruises, and healing cuts tend to dot his arms and hands and body in general; dirt and oil and other such mess can often be found under his nails or in his hair or smeared across his clothes and skin. He also has an implant that marks him as a biotic; it is a little socket of metal located at the base of his skull with a fairly high end amp plugged into it. Abstract and decorative tattoos cover his neck around the amp then continue down his spine/back, and the ink they were done with glows whenever he activates his biotics.
In regards to his mannerisms, he is definitely a pacer. When contemplating a problem or thinking through something, he tends to pace a consistent pattern around the room or area he's in. He hums or listens to music while he's working or writing, as that helps him focus, and his taste leans toward something he dubs "electro swing", reggae, and old love songs.
His style of dress tends towards the practical. Rugged work clothes with lots of pockets for tools he can't make via omnitool and shirts stained gray and black by various fluids relating to his work. He has a preference for the color green, however. One rarely catches him in public without his top of the line and extensively modified omnitool and a small, portable shield generator; one can always find a grease rag and a pack or two of cigarettes in his pockets.

Intelligent (+) | Dorian is the dangerous combination of perceptive and smart, which makes him a quick learner and good at assessing then solving logical issues. He tends to be good at noticing things about people, too, then coming to conclusions based off of what he sees. His intelligence can surprise those who judge him otherwise for his coarse language.
Forgiving (+) | Despite his high expectations for himself, Dorian is surprisingly lenient and understanding when it comes to the mistakes and inadequacies of others, even when said mistake/inadequacy directly interferes with himself or his work.
Courageous (+) | Very little scares Dorian enough to get him to back off of something; one might mistakenly label him "fearless", but he is not. He has fears, same as anyone, he just exerts enough self discipline in this regard to push through that emotion.
Private (=) | While he's more than happy to discuss past or current events in a purely objective fashion, questions regarding Dorian's emotional state of feelings about something are almost always shut down. The harshness with which he does so depends on the person and how well he likes them.
Coarse (=) | It isn't that Dorian lacks a mental "filter" for the things he says; he simply doesn't care. If he feels like cursing, then he will. If the conversation topic is something risque or controversial, he'll use the bluntest language possible. At best, he inaccurately comes off as "excessively honest".
Amoral (=) | As long as he has a good reason for doing something, Dorian couldn't care less whether it's illegal or even morally acceptable by most standards. That isn't to say he lacks principle; he simply doesn't believe "morally acceptable" and "good" are the same thing.
Confrontational (-) | If Dorian takes issue with you or something you're doing, you will know about it, and he will be more than willing (eager, even) to fight you over it. He takes this far too seriously and approaches it far too aggressively for this to be a positive trait.
Self-Depreciating (-) | Dorian's opinion of himself is based off of others and their accomplishments. He holds himself to the standards that others achieve and tends to be surprised when he receives compliments because he usually feels he has not earned them.
Mechanical (-) | Dorian approaches every problem in his life, whether external or internal, whether emotional or physical, like he would a broken machine; replace a part or two or three, and it'll be all better. Problems that cannot be fixed via that method frustrate and depress him, worsening his emotional state, and...well. It's a vicious cycle.

Fixing and completing things
Spicy foods
Swing music; specifically electro swing
Talking tech with people who understand the subject

Dealing with emotional people and his own emotions
Yellows and pinks
Cold weather
Blood of any color
People he considers "soft"

High pain tolerance
Excellent hand-eye coordination, excellent shot with a firearm

Difficulties trusting others
Shit at anything involving emotions, shit at anything involving illogical problems


One certainly wouldn't expect it, going off his whole grease-monkey aesthetic, but Dorian was born to a very wealthy family. His grandfather owns a private and high quality armor manufacturing company, and his family also invests heavily in major businesses such as Eldfell-Ashland Energy and Armali Council. His older sibling (an agender individual named Aaron) was destined to be the "heir" to whatever fortunes his father inherited; Dorian was destined to be the "spare" in case something happened to his older sibling. His life course was well charted by the time he was five. He was to be raised a proper gentleman, go off to some pricey school and get a fancy degree, perhaps serve a few years as an officer in the Alliance, find a nice human and have a couple of kids, then return home to spend the rest of his life under his sibling's shadow.

Dorian hated his predestined future, of course.

He could hack rudimentary systems, pick pockets, and evade the police before he was eight, to give one an idea of his propensity for troublemaking. His biotic abilities manifested when he was twelve and they, along with the ostracization that came with them, helped exactly none with his rebellious attitude. He was outfitted with an L3 implant before he was fourteen and trained to control his biotics by an asari ex-commando.

At eighteen, he left his family behind, choosing to explore the galaxy and indulge in his fascination with the illegal. He stole some interesting things. He killed some bad people. He ended up with a bounty on his head, stuck in hiding on Omega lest he be found by those who want his head.

Dorian is a biotic Sentinel, though he lacks formal military/combat training and has simply learned from experience. He tends toward tech abilities as his L3 implant isn't all that powerful. The only weapon types he bothers with using are sidearms (pistols and SMGs), and his favorite gun is the M-12 Locust.
Pull - generates a mass-lowering field around a target, levitating it
Throw - hurls a target away from user using mass effect fields
Tech Armor - generates an energy armor suit that boosts the user's shields
Overload - assaults a target with a burst of electricity; effective against shields and synthetics
Incinerate - power that burns all targets in the area of effect (1.2 meters); effective against organics and armor
AI Hacking - hacks a synthetic target and makes it an ally for a limited time (10 seconds)

1. Face claim is Rami Malek.
2. Has a fairly bad smoking habit; averages between 35-40 cigarettes in a twenty four hour period
3. Got a YouTube playlist for him right here, if you ever want to get a feel for what he likes to listen to.

Chaotic Good; The Snark Knight; Pint-Sized Powerhouse; Being Good Sucks; Rebel Prince

[fieldbox="] Tartarus [, red, solid, 10, book antiqua"]An unassuming but not exactly small place tucked into one of Kenzo District's commercial areas, Tartarus is far from a flashy club with booming music or a nasty little dive that's good for little beyond the drink it serves.

It has an open floor plan and three separate levels, with the third being the smallest and lowest level and the first being the entrance area and largest level. The first level is dominated by a massive bar and a number of tables; it also contains the kitchen, which serves both levo- and dextro-friendly foods. The second levels contains gambling machines and more tables, some of which are modified to allow for the playing games from pool to poker to Kepesh-Yakshi. It also serves as a viewing area for the third level, the third level being a fairly expensive and sturdy fight pit which features fights between patrons as much as fights between animals. Deaths in the pit are far from uncommon. The entire place is also impressively fortified and designed to resist weapons fire, due to its original purpose.

Tartarus was established in 2076 by a member of the Blood Pack, and originally served as a private location for the krogan of the group to relax, get drunk, and fight one another without the damage costs such activities would incur at another place. It stayed that way up until 2172, when ownership was forcibly taken by a particularly badass human. Said human changed the place's name and was responsible for the change in interior design.

By 2184, Tartarus has become a moderately popular place for people of all species to go and grab a bite or a drink then gamble credits, creatures, or their own lives. It's still involved with local gang struggles and is heavily contested because of its fortifications and tactically valuable location.


[fieldbox="] Lauros Vanthe [, purple, solid, 10, book antiqua"]The twitch of the turian's mandibles indicated her irritation as she walked into the bar. It was loud, and it was noisy, and it was brightly lit, and it was named after some human history thing, and Lauros already hated the place even though she'd just arrived. But she couldn't really leave; she'd promised to work off her debt with the Blue Suns and doing so occasionally involved going to shitty bars and waiting for contacts. At least the captain who'd given her the order was smart enough to frame it like it was a request.

It quickly became apparent that Lauros stood out among the other patrons among the bar. Shield generators were a common enough that they were hardly worth noting, but most of the patrons were just in their civilian clothes. Her suit of full armor was definitely noteworthy, not to mention that the white Blue Suns logos painted on the both of the shoulders of the armor caught as much attention as the armor itself did. The eyes that tracked her across the room really did not raise her low opinion of the place.

Walking to an alcove in one of the corners on the first level, she settled herself into the darkest booth she could find and sat with her back pressed to the wall. She called over one of the asari servers before fully settling in and ordered a random drink she had no intention of imbibing, as alcohol would only serve to cloud her senses when she needed to be completely alert and on her game. The Suns would have sent someone more diplomatic if they expected this meeting to go like it was supposed to, after all. The order was just to keep up appearances while she waited for this contact to show up.

If that spirit-cursed fucker made her wait...

Lauros gave it almost a full five minutes after she'd sat down before pulling her Mattock off her back and setting it on the table within easy reach of her hands. It was less than two minutes after that when she made a dramatic noise and placed her feet on the table next to her gun, her right ankle crossed over her left. It was tempting to pull up GoF on her 'tool and do some leveling, but the soldier resisted the impulse. Best to keep her attention on her surroundings.


[fieldbox="] Dorian Ghannam [, #006600, solid, 10, book antiqua"]Dorian brushed his tongue over the fresh cut on his lower lip, brows slowly furrowing downward as he investigated the damage. The injury was tender, sure, but it was nowhere near as sensitive as his right cheek or his gut at that moment. However, it was the only part of him that was bleeding. He could have ended up with a fuck of a lot worse than a shitload of nasty bruises and a badly split lip, considering he'd fought a drell of all things, but that really wasn't much of a comfort. The entire reason Dorian had come to this place, requested to fight, was because he wanted to hurt and wanted to wake up sore and wanted to feel it for days. He deserved that pain. Deserved that punishment.

The fact he'd not only won his fight but also come away basically intact was good but weirdly disappointing.

The sentinel huffed in irritation at his own conflicting emotions before proceeding to ignore them, shifting his focus to the food set in front of him. It had apparently arrived sometime when he was lost in thought and checking himself over. He hadn't really planned on doing more than poking at it when he ordered it, but the potatoes smelled...decent, for extraterrestrial human food, so he risked taking a bite. Decent was what they tasted like, too. He'd eaten worse. He'd also eaten better. A couple more bites later, he put his utensils down and pulled a pack of cigarettes out of a pocket on the baggy gray cargo pants he was wearing. Lighting the cancer stick was easy enough to do with his 'tool.

Dorian knocked the ash off into the rest of his food after a couple of puffs. Wasn't like he was going to eat it, anyways. Leaning back into the chair he was sat on, he took a look around the tables surrounding him on the second level of Tartarus, free hand automatically straying toward the Locust hooked to his belt right next to his shield generator and omnitool. He didn't immediately notice anyone staring at him, which was good. Probably. He'd only been doing the 'running from mercenaries, assassins, and bounty hunters' thing for a few months, alright, it wasn't like he knew what the fuck to look for.

After a couple moments of contemplation, fingers unconsciously tapping a beat out on the cold metal of his SMG, Dorian decided to stay just where he was for a bit. It wasn't like he had people to see or anyone to come home to or any of that shit. Getting drunk sounded appealing. Maybe he'd even try his hand in the pits again, see if he could get a more satisfactory result.

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[fieldbox="Katherine Vasquez, #DC143C, dotted, 15, courier new"]

Was her perception of time warped in this bar, or was it even shittier than normal? Kit flicked a piece of wadded up paper off of the stained countertop. Condensation dribbled down the two empty glasses resting at her elbow. The bartender was watching her out of the corner of his eye. She stared back at him, not nearly as concerned with subtlety. He rolled his eyes and moved around to another side of the bar.

Oh? What's this? Behind the bartended Kit noticed that someone had entered the bar. Someone who didn't fit the usual clientele. i.e. someone not covered in grease and oil and smelling of gasoline. Kit deflated a little upon realizing that the new patron wasn't who she had hoped. The latina woman crossed her arms across the countertop and checked the clock. 11:02. She bit her cheek and turned back to the newcomer.

A turian. Female? Male? She could never tell the two apart. Intimidating, that was for sure. Decked out in Blue Sun merc armor. Guns? Check. Shields? Check. Facial expression like they had just stepped in a pile of shit and been asked to eat it? Check. Not that Kit could blame the Turian. If you were to look up the antonym of 'classy' there would be nothing but a big picture of Tartarus. Maybe that's what it was called Tartarus... because being here was like being in the pits themselves.

Kit watched with more than mild fascination as the turian made their over to a shadowy alcove. Ooh, dark and aloof type, huh? Kit rapped her knuckles on the countertop.
"Hey Jinka! Get me another round!" The batarian bartender shot her a look that could curdle milk. Kit returned the gesture with a pleasant grin.

Maybe if she was smarter she'd leave. A Blue Sun in full riot gear was a good sign that shit was about to go down. Maybe it was because she'd had a shitty day. Maybe it was because her dealer was well over an hour late. Maybe it was because she was on her fourth beer. But Kit decided she was going to stick around and watch what happened.
Beer in one gloved hand, she leaned back and waited for the drama to unfold.

[fieldbox="Red Devils, red, solid, 10, courier new"]

The bar was going to be collateral damage. It was expected. That was why they had chosen Tartarus. The place was already a shithole; tossing some tables about and shattering a few windows wasn't going take down the reputation of a bar that had already hit rock bottom.
Three of the security guards lounged on the second level, pretending to watch the ring match.
Two more stalked around the gambling machines.
When the six on the first floor saw the Turian with the blue suns armor they began to move.
'No,' said one. 'Let her stew for a bit.'
Like good worker drones, they waited.

'Alright. Go ahead.' The guards marched over to the table. Three of them sat at the table. Two stood in front.
The man in the middle folded his arms across the table and smiled at Lauros, revealing a crooked set of yellow teeth.
"You must be even stupider than you look, Turian."
A disheveled human patron was walking up a ramp that lead up to the second floor. It happened to pass right behind Lauros's booth. Suddenly the human whipped out a pistol and pressed the barrel against the top of the Turian's crest.
"Try anything and our dear friend Rat will blow out your brains. I'd say it would be a shame to ruin such a fine table, but we both know the table's shit." The weasel man kept smiling. He was so sure he had the upper hand.

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