POINT OF DEPARTURE: N/A ABILITIES: Aria is a trained Asari commando, capable of using a variety of firearms with some skill and, more notably, a powerful biotic, capable of creating and manipulating mass effect fields in order to manoeuvre objects and people, generate gravitational vortices to crush or tear, or erect temporary protective barriers around objects or people. Her species is also capable of a limited degree of thought and memory sharing on physical contact via the initiation of something like your standard sci-fi mind meld; generally this is used for purposes of reproduction, as all Asari are female and their own genetic material is 'remixed' based on a blueprint provided by a member of any other species before being passed on to their offspring, but can be repurposed for the quick transfer of information -- quick, but not efficient, as it takes a great deal of effort and is quite draining. INVENTORY; Her clothing, an M-12 Locust SMG and a few heat clips, her omni-tool, her biotic amp. ANYTHING ELSE WE SHOULD KNOW? Not that I can think of!
S A M P L E S; FIRST PERSON: No shit? Listen; I've heard the sob story before, you're not gonna win me over unless you promise me something.
[Aria inclines her head, lets the music and the buzz of the club take over from her for a few seconds. This is where we are. There's someone around every corner just waiting to fleece you... or kill you.]
Now, I don't care what you do to anyone who isn't mine. I don't care who you fuck over and who you fleece; if they wanna take it up with me later, fine, and if they've got the capital to back it up when they do you'd better make damn sure you're off the station when it happens. Give it some time I might even forget. But if you even think, if you have even the slightest inkling of trying to fuck with me, I will make sure you regret it. Profoundly. Don't touch my things.
[She maintains eye contact for what she knows is just too long, just enough to be profoundly uncomfortable before settling back in her seat and adopting a faint smile, arm slung over the back of the sofa where her fingers curl lovingly around the grip of the shotgun secured to the back.]
As long as you can do that, I'd say we're in business.
THIRD PERSON: Afterlife is loud, brash, vital; everything that Aria needs it to be, it is. Sanctuary, battleground, business venue, courtroom; what needs doing on Omega gets done here. There are reasons for that. There are reasons her predecessor set up shop here, reasons she killed him here, reasons she took over the throne: because anyone who's going to assert their dominance over an entire space station full of pirates, smugglers, criminals, and vicious mercenaries needs to do it publicly and in style. If she were afraid to show her face, Aria would hold no sway. If she sits here, not quite among the people but among enough of them as to blur that distinction? Maybe they'll make the mistake of thinking she's one of them.
They must have, too; business is good. Booming. Trade in just about anything anyone could ever want filters by under her nose and all she has to do is inhale to know exactly what she stands to gain and where. People pay lip service and for the most part they toe the line, and that's all she asks. That, and a handsome enough cut to remind them who they should be deferring to.
It was surprisingly easy, in the end. She sits back and looks up at the dancers, a smile on her lips. It doesn't bother her to exploit her fellow Asari like this -- why should it? If one of them is clever enough and talented enough maybe she'll shoot Aria too, and continue the dynasty, as it were. Not anytime soon, of course. It hardly matters -- they can wait. They'll outlive the members of most of the other species in this bar. That feels good too, good like she's got a boot to their throats and she doesn't even have to try. Being the boss does have its benefits.
no subject
ABILITIES: Aria is a trained Asari commando, capable of using a variety of firearms with some skill and, more notably, a powerful biotic, capable of creating and manipulating mass effect fields in order to manoeuvre objects and people, generate gravitational vortices to crush or tear, or erect temporary protective barriers around objects or people. Her species is also capable of a limited degree of thought and memory sharing on physical contact via the initiation of something like your standard sci-fi mind meld; generally this is used for purposes of reproduction, as all Asari are female and their own genetic material is 'remixed' based on a blueprint provided by a member of any other species before being passed on to their offspring, but can be repurposed for the quick transfer of information -- quick, but not efficient, as it takes a great deal of effort and is quite draining.
INVENTORY; Her clothing, an M-12 Locust SMG and a few heat clips, her omni-tool, her biotic amp.
ANYTHING ELSE WE SHOULD KNOW? Not that I can think of!
S A M P L E S;
FIRST PERSON:
No shit? Listen; I've heard the sob story before, you're not gonna win me over unless you promise me something.
[Aria inclines her head, lets the music and the buzz of the club take over from her for a few seconds. This is where we are. There's someone around every corner just waiting to fleece you... or kill you.]
Now, I don't care what you do to anyone who isn't mine. I don't care who you fuck over and who you fleece; if they wanna take it up with me later, fine, and if they've got the capital to back it up when they do you'd better make damn sure you're off the station when it happens. Give it some time I might even forget. But if you even think, if you have even the slightest inkling of trying to fuck with me, I will make sure you regret it. Profoundly. Don't touch my things.
[She maintains eye contact for what she knows is just too long, just enough to be profoundly uncomfortable before settling back in her seat and adopting a faint smile, arm slung over the back of the sofa where her fingers curl lovingly around the grip of the shotgun secured to the back.]
As long as you can do that, I'd say we're in business.
THIRD PERSON:
Afterlife is loud, brash, vital; everything that Aria needs it to be, it is. Sanctuary, battleground, business venue, courtroom; what needs doing on Omega gets done here. There are reasons for that. There are reasons her predecessor set up shop here, reasons she killed him here, reasons she took over the throne: because anyone who's going to assert their dominance over an entire space station full of pirates, smugglers, criminals, and vicious mercenaries needs to do it publicly and in style. If she were afraid to show her face, Aria would hold no sway. If she sits here, not quite among the people but among enough of them as to blur that distinction? Maybe they'll make the mistake of thinking she's one of them.
They must have, too; business is good. Booming. Trade in just about anything anyone could ever want filters by under her nose and all she has to do is inhale to know exactly what she stands to gain and where. People pay lip service and for the most part they toe the line, and that's all she asks. That, and a handsome enough cut to remind them who they should be deferring to.
It was surprisingly easy, in the end. She sits back and looks up at the dancers, a smile on her lips. It doesn't bother her to exploit her fellow Asari like this -- why should it? If one of them is clever enough and talented enough maybe she'll shoot Aria too, and continue the dynasty, as it were. Not anytime soon, of course. It hardly matters -- they can wait. They'll outlive the members of most of the other species in this bar. That feels good too, good like she's got a boot to their throats and she doesn't even have to try. Being the boss does have its benefits.