Spoopy Scary

Mass Effect: Caelestis

<Snipped quote by Spoopy Scary>

Sabinus be like



Also, he uses a bidet, because he's not a savage.

Or maybe turians poop tidy little cubes. Mysteries of the galaxy!

@Dervish

We all know that birds and bird people shit out fast-hardening greek yogurt.

Mass Effect: Caelestis

Wow check out this height comparison chart of everyone's characters. Sorry Scrivener, had to use the average batarian height in place of Von.



Anyway, how do they all toast their bread? Drink their coffee? Cream cheese or butter their bagels? Set their toilet paper over or under? Inquiring minds want to know.

Mass Effect: Caelestis

I will also be critiquing, but silently and in my head. But you will feel my eyes on you, this I swear.

Mass Effect: Caelestis

Reynolds? We can only assume. Me, I'm just referring to vorcha regenerative abilities and how hilarious it would be if we had a vorcha with a wee lil baby hand attached to a stump because some dude shot it off like a week ago.

Mass Effect: Caelestis

Iryk

_{Iryk
5 ⟁ Male ⟁ Vorcha ⟁ Sentinel}

_{A P P E A R A N C E}

---

An image of the frighteningly obsidian hued Vorcha

Vorcha have perhaps the widest range of phenotypes of any sapient species of the Milky Way, but it would nevertheless be an accurate statement to call Iryk atypical. In total mass he is noticeable larger than most of his racial kin, but he is shorter than them owing to a hunch from top to bottom of his back that leaves him at about two thirds of his hypothetical height. His skin is rough, a well muscled black material reminiscent almost of carbon fibers. His eyes are likewise a shade of black wherein one cannot find the pupil, and very notably his body is covered in many small hooks, studs, spikes, and little plates resulting from his life's adaptations much like the rest of his physique.

_{H I S T O R Y}

---

The discovery of Heshtok - homeworld of the Vorcha - is a recent one to the international community. The persistent violence of the people there lead many to see no interest in doing business anywhere near the very system, but many also saw an opportunity. The lack of official recognition for the Vorcha made them prime prey for quasi-legal slavery operations, and a young Vorcha by the name of Iryk was one of many victims of such a practice.

He was transported to a mining world, the corporation administrating the work there finding his race's adaptability and short lives leading them to be much more disposable than humans, asari, and other races with simple access to unions. With the introduction of Vorcha slaves into labour the company's profits soared and very soon the number of Vorcha slaves on the planet outnumbered those of all other races combined. As more and more of his kin were brought in, Iryk started his race's process of adaptation to his environment. He became dark, hunched, resistant to the elements and his skin turned almost into a chitinous carapace with hooks in to do anything from weathering tunnel collapses to ascending and descending pits unaided by technology.

But as this transformation began the overseers of his mind noticed very strange things about him. He performed many of his tasks more efficiently than even older, fully adapted Vorcha and after tests for Eezo it was no trouble to determine that he was a biotic. Given the infancy of the Vorcha in the galactic stage proper research upon them was not yet done, but that did not stop corporate leaders looking to boost profits from trying to use experimental implants upon them.

Irtyk was given preferential treatmen, him and other biotic Vorcha planned to be managers of their own kind; slaves that ruled the other slaves in exchange for a life approaching that of a free man. He learned to speak, read, and write properly along with a standardized core of science, technology, engineering and mathematics. With his enlightenment he made relationships beyond that of work with some of the tutors and doctors he met, many genuinely trying to aid the Vorcha. Yet, his newfound knowledge also lead him to realize the full magnitude of what horrors were being done to his people. It did not take him long to find the very pyres where the corpses of his kind worked to death were laid.

There were many more like him, and they started to meet in their breaks. They talked, they planned. They earned more and more trust of their overlords, getting firearms supposedly to take down occasional riots or the many beasts that dwelled on the world. They earned keycards and passwords, they got personal vehicles. When rumour came of instruments of weapons being developed specifically against the Vorcha in case of an uprising. This told the plotters that they had no more time, and as such they got to work. Having built rapport with their underlings be it by intimidation or with good leadership. In the night they came upon the other settlements of the planet and they burned them to the ground. Many tried to flee the vicious wrath of the Vorcha but for every mining outpost these were in the single digits.

They hijacked whatever spacecraft they could and flew across the stars. From that point on the history of Iryk mirrors that of most other Vorcha. Those early developmental experiences of his life lead him to know nothing of life save intrigue and plots to kill, and along with his former comrades he could foresee no life save that of the mercenary. It is thus that for his fearsome and savage reputation Iryk found himself hired aboard the Caelestis.

_{P E R S O N A L I T Y}

---

Outwardly Iryk markets himself as naught more than yet another Vorcha; a rather daft but obedient (as long as he's either paid or intimidated) butcher. But he likes to think of himself as much more. He knows of the many concepts so alien to him from the ideological and religious variance of the Citadel races to their odd rituals of mating and etiquette. He can speak as the finest Asari diplomat should he so please, but he is ever frustrated having to hide this lest he be turned in to authorities or bounty hunters as one of the biotic leaders of the disastrous Vorcha uprising he helped lead. As a rule he does not very much like other species, but he is also more than conscious that there are exceptions to the rule of their highborn smugness and arrogance that he experienced on the only home he knew, the related traits easily driving the Vorcha into a maddened frenzy on their exhibition. Though he knows much of other reaces, he often finds it difficult to understand why they are as they are, particularly in matters like morals and sensibilities coming at odds with practicality and utilitarianism such as eating the dead.

Iryk is more than capable of kindness and compassion contrary to the stereotype of his race, but he will never show it unless given it first and as such there are few if any candidates for his benevolence. Though he will still speak with the primitive sentences of many of his other kind he will work very professionally with those he is partnered with, and he will have a particularly good attention to and knowledge of any contract he is currently on which he will follow to the letter and not more or less (save bursts of sadism).

_{A B I L I T I E S}

---

• Decryption
• Throw
• First Aid
• Bloodlust
• Carnage

_{E Q U I P M E N T}

---

• M-97 Viper (modified for a shorter optic scope to be more a battle rifle than a true sniper)
• Flamer - a wrist mounted weapon integrated (but not synonymous) with his omni-tool, it is a a devastating weapon for ranges that are close but not quite melee.
• Omni Tool - though its formal use as a weapon is not yet commonplace in the Galaxy, the Vorcha is happy to use its many functions from wrench to welder in purposes both for which it was designed for, and ones far more vicious and violent.
• Bodysuit - Though the skin of the Vorcha is already rather functional as armour and a hazardous environment suit, its still not often enough (especially in the true vacuums of space). He will almost always have it on given it is tailor made for him being a composite of an old mining suit, pilots suits, armours, and other bits looted off of the dead — it would be rather difficult to get pre-made suits that fit others onto his frame. Most of it is kept inside and away from innocent nostrils, but to those who come into hugging range of the Vorcha will be assaulted by its awful smell.

_{S T R E N G T H S & W E A K N E S S E S}

---

• Adapted Biology: strong, fast, tough, and augmented with implants the body of Iryk is ready for whatever challenges may be thrown at it.
• Engineered mind: Iryk has a deep alien cunning, far more educated than many of his kinsmen he would even be considered above average in Citadel race societies; he can speak eloquently in many voices, albeit to most he chooses to speak in the typical Vorcha syntax to hide what is within his head.
• Sadism: While he won't explicitly seek out violence for the sole purpose of causing hurt, any task he does he will try to do it in a manner such that he will inflict as much suffering as possible. Though this gives him great pleasure and soothes his mind, it will more often than not lead to him wasting time, alerting his presence to others in the vicinity, and otherwise hurt him. Likewise, these elements of his fractured mind will naturally make more or less anyone he is with save other Vorcha and some Krogan to be very distrustful of him at best.
• Odd Physiognomy: Iryk is a rather large being contorted into a hunchback provoking far more disgust than most Vorcha already do. This form has helped him at times, but in general it limits his methods of hiding into simply curling up into a compact ball and hoping his dark flesh will keep him unnoticed. Likewise though such a form helped him navigate the mine tunnels and rocky slopes of his earlier life he has at many times found his shape to be a curse when it comes to traversing the interstellar world; he cannot fit into any ventilation shafts, no armour designed for ordinary bodies fits him, and software rarely if ever recognizes him as a humanoid, often mistaking him as some sort of rabid animal or at times even as an automaton.

_{G O A L S & R E G R E T S}

---

• Iryk wants to insure that his people can make a living in the galaxy at large and to insure no more of his kind will be taken advantage of as he and many of his brothers and sisters were. Quite simply put he wants health, wealth, and happiness.
• When the slave rebellion was at its peak it quickly morphed from a conflict of liberation to one of vengeful extermination; in the end, many humans, Drell, Turians, Krogans, Asari, Salarians and others who were kind to both Iryk and other Vorcha met undeserved, and very painful deaths. This would attack Iryk's psyche from many angles: it vindicated thebelief of other races that Vorcha were savage vermin, it it would make the race untrustworthy to the galaxy and thus counterproductive in the quest of the race's growth, and quite simply many of those fallen Iryk had started to consider friends who's deaths he is responsible for. This event more or less broke the mind of Iryk creating the much more vile Vorcha crawling through space now.

@Andreyich

Can I make a special request?

Mass Effect: Caelestis

<Snipped quote by Spoopy Scary>

Guys, the date is at the top of the OOC.

@Dervish

i am become comedy

Mass Effect: Caelestis

Presumably between the times of the First Contact War and Reapers exterminating the galaxy. Presumably.

Mass Effect: Caelestis

They call me Zoomfingers "Smoketrail" McBlisters, and this is my craft.

Shy Jung

_{CHEYENNE “SHY” JUNG
24 ⟁ FEMALE ⟁ HUMAN ⟁ ENGINEER}

"Yo."

_{A P P E A R A N C E}

---

“Nice hardware, right?”

Shy's Korean father and Scandinavian mother came together to create a blonde-haired half-Asian gremlin (presumably a woman) with trace amounts of other ethnicities from the last hundred or so years of Earth's global unity. She is not particularly imposing in either height or build, standing at 5'5" and weighing in at 115 pounds with a modest bust. Her skin is rather pale in only a somewhat unhealthy fashion that is not quite anemic, but mostly because of the two predominant genetic sources for that trait. Said skin is unblemished for the most part, save for a few beauty spots and a plasma burn scar on the far end of her left jaw. This is hidden by the end of her bobbed hair when its down, but it is mostly faded by now and is hardly all that noticeable anyway. While she has got some amount of muscle from her line of work, she's not cut by any means and tends to have other people do the heavy lifting for her, resulting in a little bit of squishy tissue over an otherwise skinny woman.

She has got the body of a woman who can do work but would prefer to lounge instead of actually doing it, and the only reason she isn't any heavier is due to an inexplicable metabolism. She has got a soft face that is otherwise laden with sharp, feline features. Such features include her slanted amber eyes and high cheek bones, and the angles of her diamond-shaped face makes a sharp turn from her cheeks to create a pointed chin just below her pink lips. Her nose, though small, is long and hawkish enough to make up the difference. The expressions typically shown on her face range from sardonic and bored stoicism to carefree or cocky, which gives away her general attitude and disposition without you even having to talk to her. This is only amplified by smudged, day-old or older makeup around her eyes that she never bothered to clean up, and sometimes the total lack of any makeup at all. It is a peculiar thing that no one ever seems to see it freshly applied.

Her blonde hair is short, hangs just above her shoulders, and is somewhat choppy in a stylish sort of way like it was cut by a razor, but it is also pretty uneven, which can only lead one to assume that she tried to cut it herself. Her bangs aren’t even or symmetrical with some strands being longer than the others, and it seems to gradually – just slightly – get longer toward the right side of her face, and if she keeps it down she's typically sporting a bed-head or similarly unkempt sort of appearance. Yet her hair is not particularly oily, so rather than being unwashed, it is probably just Shy's own neglect at brushing it. She prefers to tie her hair back in a short ponytail or tight bun, which her bangs are too short to take part in and one or two strands of hair always seems to get tugged out of her hair-tie. She can be seen pulling a strand or two out after putting her hair up as if it is the same few spots that always feels too tight and pinching, and the result always making her look a little frazzled.

For an inter-planetary mercenary/odd-job-hunter, she certainly does not dress the part. While most mercenaries are decked out in armor or other kinds of utility gear, Shy likes to hang out in casual wares with just a few odd gadgets on her person, and she does so with panache. It's clear that she is confident, as well as lacking any sense of style – probably inherited from her dad – opting for a button-up Hawaiian styled shirt (and she has a few of these, all in different colors, but yellow goes best with her hair) and a pair cargo khaki pants which are suitably baggy and comfortable, held up by a belt that might just be a size up from her, and some pricey looking work boots. Gadgets on her person includes the utility belt and what looks like a few watches on both her wrists, but on closer inspection are actually low-profile omni-tools. All that said, when push comes to shove, she probably has an old onyx light armored suit collecting dust in a footlocker somewhere, though she only really uses it for inhospitable environmental conditions.

She has a couple of accessories which is composed mostly of piercings. She has two piercings on her left outer brow, an industrial on her left ear, one tongue piercing, and two more piercings that nobody has any business knowing about. She has a colorful, vibrant tattoo sleeve of saturated watercolors depicting a floral pattern, and it extends from her left shoulder down to her elbow -- though so does the sleeves of her shirts, so the intense and beautiful (if a bit shallow) artwork isn't always in sight. There's another tattoo in black ink that goes around her neck that almost looks like a wired choker thanks to its thin, honeycomb-like design. There is one little tattoo on her right wrist of an inch-by-inch square that was done with a special kind of ink that interacts with the electromagnetic spectrum. Depending on the different wavelengths of light it is exposed to, it will either change color or have a faint neon glow of different hues.

_{H I S T O R Y}

---

"원숭이도 나무에서 떨어진다."

Shy has lived a charmed life until recently. She had a functional family as a kid and was an only child born in a Mexican hospital during her parents' work trip during 2160CE. The timing of her birth was quite fortunate for her, because despite the First Contact War three years ago, it was the year the Systems Alliance was recognized in the interstellar community. This period of time opened up resources for her as a child unavailable to others born too many years before now. As well, her parents both had money, were both recognized engineers that had met each other in the field, and they had the resources at their disposal to give their daughter the same path to success. They were incredibly doting, providing whatever it was their little girl could want, which spoiled her terribly.

When Shy was around 7 years old she started developing strange behaviors, but later a doctor clarified to her parents it wasn’t that she was developing strange behaviors, but that she wasn't learning the appropriate social behaviors and thought processes in her pre-operational stage of cognitive development. In other words, she was on the autistic spectrum. Yet, that barely changed anything regarding how they would treat their child. They continued to raise her as they would have but exercising a little more patience than they might have otherwise. This also meant tolerating more abrasive behaviors that the couple could have rectified before they became problematic later in life. Though Shy used to have a hard time understanding her dad's frequent use of sarcasm, she became accustomed to it and began to understand it better. However, she also developed the habit of speaking with a sarcastic tone of voice all the time, regardless of her actual use of sarcasm.

They gave her the best education they could afford, which meant an in-depth and engaging virtual program that she could access any time and from anywhere, and with a united global community, that also meant she was able to travel the world with her parents as they went on their work trips. This would expose her not just to all the great sights and cultures, but some of the greatest minds Earth had to offer and Shy absorbed all of their wisdom and intelligence like a sponge. In a confusing world of nuance, double-meanings, and perspectives, people were tricky, but calculus? Calculus was easy. Calculus had rules and did not contradict itself all the time, and those great scientific minds typically followed and appreciated those rules as much as she did.

She had the added bonus of learning mathematics in Korean because, like most Asian languages, it was better suited to learning math due to language's structure and brevity, leading to a quicker understanding and remembering a longer sequence of numbers. She also had virtually unlimited access to labs thanks to her parents who would also give her little projects to work on to keep her mind and hands busy and gave her experience with hardware and software. On special occasions, her parents would be invited to the Citadel to work on a project. Her first visit was as a teenager, and exposure to some of the greatest minds the entire galaxy had to offer was beyond lucky. Though since Shy considered other humans being tricky enough for her to understand, she never really put in the effort to bother even trying with alien races.

Of course, then she met the salarians, which did not take any effort on her part to get along swimmingly with. Likewise, one of them called her the only human they have ever met that made any sense. The asari, though confusing, were at least less emotional than humans most of the time and had a certain way about them that made her feel like she was understood. She was provided with everything she could hope for, which probably went a long way to developing her sense of entitlement.

It was not before long did Shy begin working alongside her parents and their colleagues as an apprentice at twenty years old. She was working on everything from virtual intelligence to sophisticated computer systems and defense technology. She did not just work on the software, either. She was turning as many bolts and screws as she was plugging numbers into computers and data pads, being as well versed in the mechanics and construction of applied engineering as she was in the theoretical. She also got to play with all of the “toys” she made, operating and testing them to make sure they functioned properly, and while she is no crack pilot, she can sit in the cockpit and knows how to get a bird off the ground and back on again.

Shy would later receive the equivalent of a futuristic master’s degree at twenty-two for her work on V.I., robotics, and automated systems. Though she received recognition and high credits for her work on weapons and defense systems, it was given to her because of her personal inventions. They improved convenience, quality of life, workplace safety, and automation, which reduced the risk of injury from maintenance of automated equipment by having a robot or computer do it instead. It was an automated motion-sensitive laser welder that could react to a malfunction or moving part in a piece of automation and instantly jerk back to avoid getting caught in a machine that could shear someone’s finger off.

She was already well on her way to being called a Doctor of Engineering within the next year, and she was working on a project with her parents and their now shared colleagues in a laboratory on Luna, Earth’s moon. Despite the Citadel ban on A.I. technology, the Earth Alliance did not have such rules at the time. Shy, her parents, and the rest of their team were contracted by the Alliance to secretly work on making the jump from V.I. to A.I. and the program was known as Hannibal. They made sure that the team working on the project was aware that what they were doing was highly illegal under Citadel-space law and that they would be prosecuted if knowledge were to be leaked out of the facility. All of them, Shy included, agreed to proceed despite the risks. It was here Shy learned how to work around hologram technology, as it was based on the Avina VI on the Citadel. A few months into their work, during one of their experiments, the program suddenly went rogue.

Shy was able to get away after finding her parents, though very few other scientists were able to escape. With their escape pod being one of the very first to eject, the rogue A.I. learned and adapted, sabotaging the other escape pods before the rest of the scientists could escape. It was the first time Shy experienced and witnessed death, and she didn't know how to process it. She had her own way of grieving, as difficult as it is for both her and anyone else to understand. She was saddened, but also confused, unsure of how to make sense of what happened what it means to be without certain people in her life. Despite Shy's conflict with her own emotions, what had happened on Luna did take its toll on her and she still feels a sense of burden and responsibility for what happened. She still thinks about it quite often, and, as someone who knew perfectly well about what was supposed to be going in and out of the A.I.'s programming, it didn't take long for her to come to the conclusion that the project was sabotaged by someone. She was not given a lot of time to give it further thought, because as the news spread, the Citadel acted. Her parents were arrested and brought into questioning, but Shy ran away and refused to accept responsibility for what happened. She didn't want to be labeled a criminal for what she believed was not her fault.

Evading arrest, she ended up making landfall on the cosmic shores of every criminal's paradise: Omega. There are only a few ways for a young girl like her to make money on Omega, and most of them were completely and utterly demeaning. Two options were left: make and sell tech on her own in a cutthroat business environment where others could easily take advantage of her and her lack of people skills, or find safety in numbers and use her smarts and tech to make easy coin. The choice seemed like an easy one to make. So, for the last year, she started doing freelance work by contracts. It typically began from doing everything from maintenance to engineering on Omega. These were her primary jobs, and she found them degrading as it essentially reduced her to being a common fixer. On the other hand, being so overqualified and her knack for engineering robotics to perform work for her made it a pretty easy gig. Though on the rarer occasions when she needed a lot of money fast – aside from time sensitive projects, she had a tendency of pissing off the wrong people – she would find herself being pressed into doing all sorts of unsavory-type mercenary jobs with all sorts of unsavory-type mercenary people.

Though the transition was alarming and harrowing at first, she was eventually able to find her niche after working a few jobs. Though resented by other mercs for her attitude, she was valued for her expertise with tech and got a reputation for fixing anything she set her mind to. She produced drones that would make short work of a job without anyone risking their own lives, and she could remotely access networks and bypass security systems that would have ultimately led to more bloodshed. So, to become a freelancer and survive a whole year, Shy figured that she must have gotten pretty good at it. Perhaps one day, she might be good enough to prove that what happened on Luna was one giant accident. Though she's highly confident in her abilities and is kind of self-righteous, she partially blames herself for not being even better and identifying the error in Hannibal's code before it went rogue, and she carries that burden with her everywhere she goes.

_{P E R S O N A L I T Y}

---

“Wait are you serious?” “No, never.”

Shy is a bit of an odd ball when you set her next to other mercenaries, her own peers comparing her to being more like a salarian than a human. She is a strange combination of intelligence, entitlement, and a casual laissez-faire attitude that would have her preferring to stay seated than do her job, and this combination is what makes her utterly disarming. She is an easy person to underestimate because of her lack of physical ability, temperament, and ambition, but she also has a chip on her shoulder that makes her feel like she's better than most people. It drives others nuts and it drives her to one-up those who would slight her, and to do so in the most casual manner possible so that her clever ploys indisputably put her over the top. Indeed, she has truly little ambition to do much with herself or her life and her prime motivation is spite. Spite is what drives her to surpass others, to tease and make fun of and toy with her enemies, and to survive (and look good while doing it). Do not let her nickname fool you. Shy is not shy by any means, and her preferred method of having fun is escaping labor, engage in banter, and getting a rise out of other people. That said, despite her lack of boundaries, she is not the type of person who would keep pressing someone's buttons if they are already having a mental breakdown or something (even if she wouldn’t otherwise know how to handle such a situation).

And yes, she comes across as remarkably entitled and lazy. That is what happens with you have rich, intelligent parents who can pay for your education and take you travelling all around the world and into the stars above. She has lived a rather charmed and carefree life, so in that regard she seems to expect a lot from others and is consequently let down when they don’t step up or meet her expectations. This has developed her somewhat cynical, arrogant, and misplaced perspective on others that leads her to believe that most people are incapable. Yet on the other end of the spectrum, it’s almost as if she underestimates her own intelligence and tries to speak to people casually about high-level astronautical engineering and avionics and acts surprised when they don’t understand these “simple” concepts (it is only rocket science, not quantum mechanics after all). She also does not seem to have learned to treat dire situations with the respect they deserve. She doesn’t freak out or mishandle her emotions, but instead she comes off as too detached from dangerous situations.

Even during her career as a mercenary, when such things started becoming normal to her, you can find her acting casual and without a sense of urgency while in the midst of a firefight and not understanding why you're freaking out so much. She speaks with such a deadpan expression, but also a sarcastic tone of voice – all of the time, mind you – that you're never quite sure whether she's being sarcastic or not and she's too tone-deaf to realize it. On one hand, it would make you angry that she is not taking anything seriously, but on the other, it's nice that there's someone you can rely on to always have a clear head. This trait of hers also makes her seem absurdly brave and ballsy in the face of imminent danger, even when she probably should not be.

This is not necessarily because she is overconfident, though she certainly is, but because she simply does not appear capable of fear or panic, as if she cannot properly process those emotions, or at least not in a way that is easy for others to understand. On the contrary, it is more because of her flat affect that she doesn’t visibly communicate these ideas, and though she is still quite brave and resilient, how she internalizes fear differs in that she is wired to view threats as problems in dire need of solving. It is the state of something being wrong, and as an individual concerned with right and wrong answers, she’s an individual who tries extremely hard to fix a problem. This can be seen in how she has internalized the Luna incident and her dogged determination in fixing and solving that issue. Problems that are too difficult to solve or can’t be solved can result in emotional outbursts that seem random or out of nowhere, if only because others were not able to see past her face for what brews beneath.

Make no mistake though, because despite her flaws Shy is a prodigy in her field. When she was only twenty years old, she was already working side by side with her parents and some of the greatest scientists and engineers Earth had to offer. She has spent at least half of her life working on and interacting with different forms of computers, robotics, and V.I. and is capable of reading computer code as if it was her native language. Her disinterested attitude seems to be present in all facets of her life except for computing and mechanical and electrical engineering. To her, computers are so much easier to understand than people are (though she would never admit to herself or to anyone that she finds people tricky.) That is because working with computers is like working with math -- there are right and wrong answers, there are rules, and if there's a hiccup in the program's execution, then you know to go back and change a variable. People and subjective concepts like art, morality, and the theory of mind – understanding another person's perspective – have no such rules, so she opts not to think about it altogether. The only exceptions she makes for works of art are pretty colors (a shallow definition of art) and the Blasto movies. Blasto the Jellyfish Stings is a classic and is almost as good as Blasto Saves Christmas.

There are unique distinctions in her interactions with others which are dependent upon the other’s gender. Even as someone who identifies as bisexual, she approaches men with more caution and is usually dismissive of their advances whether it was due to being harassed one too many times, or being repeatedly disappointed in them after a few failed flings in the past. Even if acknowledging that a man might be attractive, she is still quick to judge their character, capability, or doubt their intentions. Even outside of romance, she holds her ground whenever she is in conversation with men as she fully expects to defend herself and her credibility as a scientist. She does not judge people who are in or would otherwise engage in inter-species relationships, though she does not think she would ever partake herself – with, uh, exceptions, that is. She still finds herself with a predilection for asari despite the fact, even as she tries to convince herself otherwise, and she struggles with that cognitive dissonance. It is hard to judge quarians since she has never seen one outside of their suits before. She very much dislikes vorcha, but not for any particular reason (but honestly who really needs one). But none of them will ever compare to snacks. She plans on cashing in on the crewmates’ stashes just in case she runs out of her own.

As one could probably expect by now, Shy has issues with commitment that goes beyond her interests, whims, and fancies. She can work in a team if her history is anything to go by, but she was also surrounded by like-minded researchers who were all pursuing a unified goal that everyone was invested in. In an outfit of strangers, Shy would very likely be one foot out the door and ready to bail as soon as things start looking bleak and maybe she’ll find some other fools to ride with.

_{A B I L I T I E S}

---

“Use more gun.”

• Combat Drone
• Defense Drone
• Sentry Turret
• Hacking AI/Sabotage
• Decoy

_{E Q U I P M E N T}

---

• Customized omni-tool built from the Nexus model. It is basically deconstructed into two smaller tools with two-way communication. Though individually weaker than a single larger model, it improves their processing efficiency by dividing workloads like how a computer divides tasks between drivers. Their two-way communication means they can both put into work while Shy interfaces with just one of them, or they both work together to complete a task at the same speed if not faster, and break run tasks separately and simultaneously. This can allow for faster execution of tech abilities.
• The utility belt that can carry her tools, and she also carries with her a sort of toolbox that has a bunch of conventional engineering and maintenance supplies and a few crude inventions. An automatically unfolding reclining chair? Of course. A few power cells? Naturally. Some supplies for inventions, and so on.
• A scoped M-77 Paladin pistol in case of emergencies, though she mostly just uses it for the scope.
• She has a light onyx model suit somewhere collecting dust in those cases where she needs environmental protection.

_{S T R E N G T H S & W E A K N E S S E S}

---

• A masterful engineer and mechanic specializing in computers, robotics, automation, and virtual and artificial intelligence. However, she is still highly capable in other engineering pursuits by translating her understanding of mechanical science across disciplines. Naturally this makes her a sharp mathematician too, and is capable of solving puzzles and creating plans in seconds.
• Possesses unshakable clarity of mind, capable of staying calm and focused in even the most dire and intense circumstances. Her detached observations of her environment means that she could witness someone’s… extreme misfortune and not be paralyzed by it.
• Lack of combat training; she only started learning how to shoot last year when she first entered the mercenary business, so her aim is far, far away from perfect. She prefers to let her drones do all the work for her.
• Socially inept; Shy cannot build up a rapport with others even if her life depended on it. She is too abrasive and quirky to quickly make a meaningful connection with others, and her lazy, lackadaisical attitude can spark conflict with others.

_{G O A L S & R E G R E T S}

---

• She wants to become a great enough engineer to crack the code behind the Luna incident to prove the innocence of her and her family. She also wants to live long enough to see the highly anticipated movie, Blasto 6: Partners in Crime.
• Tied in closely to her goal, Shy also regrets the events at Luna. Not to the extent that she’s willing to give up on the prospect of AI, since she does believe it is possible – the Geth are proof of that – but she regrets not being able to identify or prevent the mistakes that were made that led to the upending of her life. She also regrets not building up the courage to talk to that one asari shawty on the Citadel before she was exiled to the ass end of space.

Shy Jung's Spotify Playlist

Mass Effect: Caelestis

"I'm Commander Shepherd, and Ghost has my favorite 🍆 on the Citadel."

The Elder Scrolls: Night of Pestilence

Dirty Sundries

“You basket-headed bastard,” Bruno quietly swore to himself as he poured another bucket of hot water over his head, “just had to go and get yourself covered in spider guts…”

Since the shepherd’s little escapade with two old dick-measuring has-been soldiers, he had taken it upon himself to investigate the tower’s well. It took some work and tender loving care on the pipes to get the pump working again, along with the help of some caulking and grinding away at the rust, but he was able to conjure up some water after an hour of work. By the time he was done, the spider ichor was already drying and caking to his skin and hair, and he was practically racing to bring buckets of water to the nearest lavatory and get a small fire going to heat up a cauldron. He was scratching the flaking ichor off his skin and combing his fingers through his beard to get as much of the crap off of him as he could. All the while though, he couldn’t help but think back on Solomon and Janus and their incessant kvetching like a pair of old crones. All the bathing thoughts came to him only after the fact, the things that he could’ve said that would have really sent them crying to their mothers -- and to think both of their problems came from the same exact source: their Gods-be-damned pride. Shit, if Bruno had any pride left, then maybe he’d be feeling a little bit worse after his own tirade.

The nord’s scrubbing slowed to a halt, leaving himself to stew not just in the gravy of hot water, soap, dirt, blood, and spider guts he was sitting in, but also his thoughts. As much as he tried to hide it in front of others, he was still hurting. He knew that. He never tried to lie to himself otherwise, and as much as he preferred to hide himself away from the rest of the world in his own little cabin, it was also his greatest source of pain -- but he never let himself go like that, not since he lost them. He tried to rationalize his loss of control by reminding himself that there was a random zombie apocalypse and that he had to leave his home behind and slaughter his entire flock… but that was the way of things, doing what you have to do in order to survive, but Gods, he was so tired. He was tired of rebuilding and only wanted to keep what he had left. He was tired of meeting new people and getting close to them. He just wanted to live out the rest of his days in boring, peaceful misery.

But then he had to leave his home behind and find himself taking care of a new bundle of idiots. Lone wolf idiots, idiots with death wishes, magical idiots, idiots who can’t keep track of their shoes, idiots who can’t even speak -- idiots he’d inevitably get attached to and end up losing, as par for the course. Then there was him: the idiot who can’t even keep himself together, let alone a ragtag band of misfits. Let alone a family. Perhaps, he realized, he was hurting even more than he thought. He was hoping he’d grow numb to it as time passed, that the pain would dull as the years had gone by -- but instead it festered. It never really dulled; he had just become accustomed to it, he acclimated. He couldn’t even imagine what living without it would even feel like anymore. This was the new normal.

Bruno combed his fingers through his beard and shook off another glob of rehydrated guts onto the floorboards outside the tub. “This is the new normal,” he muttered out loud. He dumped another bucket of hot water over his head, rinsing the rest of the grime from his body.

When he was finally finished, he fetched the clean change of clothes he brought with him. He slipped into his fur shoes and trousers, but between the heat of the bath and the humidity of the air, he continued with his shirt unbuttoned and his towel over his shoulders. The chill air against wet skin felt almost rejuvenating; cold, sure, but the biting sensation about perked him up, kept him awake and primed his mind. He spent more time he normally would’ve in the bath to the point where he lost track of time, but given the mess he made of himself and the mess in his head, he could probably find it within his stone cold heart to forgive himself this one time. As he wandered the gloomy and abandoned halls of the fort, enjoying the feeling of the cool air on his skin and occasionally stealing a sour glance at one of the others from a comfortable distance, he happened upon a remote space near the top of one of the towers.

On one hand he was curious, and on the other, he doubted help would be nearby if he got himself into trouble again -- and he had just taken a bath. Groaning under his breath and low-key praying that he wouldn’t be walking into more spiders, he opened the door and found himself in a room dimly lit by that baleful moonlight. It looked like a storage space and… he heard heavy breathing. Cautiously turning a corner… he found Bozo. The dog was panting quite happily with a rat the size of his head between his two front paws. Bruno sighed, lifting the anxiety from his shoulders as he gazed upon his oldest living companion.

“Already putting yourself to work, eh? Heh, good dog,” He muttered before affectionately rubbing the animal on the top of its head. He looked his head out the empty window, no pane of glass keeping himself and a steep drop toward his maker. The stars performed their twisted dance around the moon, as if they were a coil of chains keeping it from moving and further across the sky. He wondered if this night would ever end, as by now he expected that the sun’s light ough to be causing a glow off in a distance horizon somewhere, casting some of these stars back into the void, but it seemed as though these stars were here to stay. So too would their light about the ground.

The ground. Bruno looked to the ground, seeing bodies shamble across the countryside. He could see for miles, and that brought an unexpected smile to his face. Knowing Solomon, he might always want someone posted up here and maybe that might be a reason not to tell him, but still, they’d all probably benefit from transforming this room into something less dilapidated. They ought to keep the monsters from within creeping about. It was about time he boarded up that spider burrow.

“Bozo, come with,” he barked, prompting the dog to drop its quarry and follow at Bruno’s heel.

Later, down at the bottom of the stairs where the armory was located and where the bodies of many frostbite spiders lay dead, Bruno stood before them with his shirt on and a satchel of tools and a few planks of wood. The dog was at his side still and looking curiously at the bodies around and into the darkness behind the wall he was meant to board up. Unfamiliarity begets anxiety. Still, Bruno talked to his dog if he thought there was any chance that his voice could bring the animal comfort. Saying sarcastically, “don’t worry, we’ll play fetch with its legs later.”

Setting the supplies down, he got to work on boarding up the wall. He began humming a song to himself when he had nails sticking out of his mouth and whistled when there weren’t. When his hands were full of planks and nails, he’d look to Bozo, knock on the wood, and his dog would come up and fetch Bruno’s hammer for him. “Mmph, good boy,” he’d say, a nail or two sticking out the corner of his lips. Board one, board two.

“Oh! dirty sundries, you make me house cold,
rusty spanners w’ worn wood peel,
woolen booties, holes in the heel,
oh dirty sundries, filthy reminders of olde.

“Oh! dirty sundries, you make me house a catacomb
of me arts n’ wares be dull,
shadow of longing, wit’out brain be ye a skull;
oh dirty sundries, you make me house home.”