Post by impiousimp on Aug 7, 2011 20:40:33 GMT -5
Name: Samual Aston
Age: June 25th AC 153 (In 195 he would be 42.)
Origin: L1 Colony Cluster. American. Moved to L2 in AC 171
Appearance:Tall and strapping, Sam is quite the handsome looker. He tends to wear casual clothes, loathing the ultra fashionable high class or Edwardian styles that have begun to infest the culture of both Earth and the colonies. He wears earthy colors, or a navy blue jump suit when he's at work. He also bares a tattoo of his Sweeper Company Unit's logo on his right shoulder blade.
Picture(optional):
Biography: His parents arrived on an L1 colony in the waves of immigration from Earth from 149-155. He is born in AC 153 to Hank, an architectural surveyor/foreman and his wife Romy, an artist and political activist. Due to the same complications that plagued so many other families, Romy and Hank were unable to bare any more children, so Sam grew up as an only child in space among second generation colonists. After graduating high school, Sam applied for a program with Hoffman Maintenance on the old L2 colony for maintenance and reconstruction and he would serve as an apprentice for several years in the Sweepers Union until becoming a fill fledged member by the age of 23. By age 26 he was married to Brooke McAdams and had a son in AC 180. In AC 182, he was presumably killed during a union busting riot at the hands of an alliance soldier.
(AU possibility is where he survives in federal prison on Earth until released after Operation Day Break. In this variation, he suffered the loss of his left eye, and so he wears an eye patch over it.)
Example roleplay:
Another day another tower of scrap to sort through. You'd ask why they were called the sweepers. Janitors of Space. The colony government paid them to clear space of debris for various reasons. As long as the job got done nobody much cared where the scrap actually went. So that's what he was doing. Sorting another day's haul after one of the Alliance's skirmishes, hoping to find something useful, make an extra buck on the side here.
"We've got another three tons of this stuff coming in tomorrow, Sam. Take a break." That was Fagin. Another one in their Sweeper Cell. Sam's been on the double shift lately.
Right. Right. Sam caught himself in a yawn and stretched his arms over his head. "Alright. Fine. I'll see you in a couple of hours. just save something for me, would you?" He gets up and headed towards the workers barracks. He needed some time off one of these days.
Once in his room he flicked on the TV.
"Alliance officials continue talks with nations announcing that the communication restrictions will continue through the end of the year. Colony Diplomats are currently restructuring their bill to allow families to have air time between Earth and the Colonies but the real issue, the alliance officiates say, is equal parts security as it is budget.--"
Sam listened intently as he opened a notebook, writing down notes, trying to anticipate his income for the next few weeks, and write an imaginary letter to his parents.
Things weren't so bad. They weren't. He only wished it could be better.
Age: June 25th AC 153 (In 195 he would be 42.)
Origin: L1 Colony Cluster. American. Moved to L2 in AC 171
Appearance:Tall and strapping, Sam is quite the handsome looker. He tends to wear casual clothes, loathing the ultra fashionable high class or Edwardian styles that have begun to infest the culture of both Earth and the colonies. He wears earthy colors, or a navy blue jump suit when he's at work. He also bares a tattoo of his Sweeper Company Unit's logo on his right shoulder blade.
Picture(optional):
Biography: His parents arrived on an L1 colony in the waves of immigration from Earth from 149-155. He is born in AC 153 to Hank, an architectural surveyor/foreman and his wife Romy, an artist and political activist. Due to the same complications that plagued so many other families, Romy and Hank were unable to bare any more children, so Sam grew up as an only child in space among second generation colonists. After graduating high school, Sam applied for a program with Hoffman Maintenance on the old L2 colony for maintenance and reconstruction and he would serve as an apprentice for several years in the Sweepers Union until becoming a fill fledged member by the age of 23. By age 26 he was married to Brooke McAdams and had a son in AC 180. In AC 182, he was presumably killed during a union busting riot at the hands of an alliance soldier.
(AU possibility is where he survives in federal prison on Earth until released after Operation Day Break. In this variation, he suffered the loss of his left eye, and so he wears an eye patch over it.)
Example roleplay:
Another day another tower of scrap to sort through. You'd ask why they were called the sweepers. Janitors of Space. The colony government paid them to clear space of debris for various reasons. As long as the job got done nobody much cared where the scrap actually went. So that's what he was doing. Sorting another day's haul after one of the Alliance's skirmishes, hoping to find something useful, make an extra buck on the side here.
"We've got another three tons of this stuff coming in tomorrow, Sam. Take a break." That was Fagin. Another one in their Sweeper Cell. Sam's been on the double shift lately.
Right. Right. Sam caught himself in a yawn and stretched his arms over his head. "Alright. Fine. I'll see you in a couple of hours. just save something for me, would you?" He gets up and headed towards the workers barracks. He needed some time off one of these days.
Once in his room he flicked on the TV.
"Alliance officials continue talks with nations announcing that the communication restrictions will continue through the end of the year. Colony Diplomats are currently restructuring their bill to allow families to have air time between Earth and the Colonies but the real issue, the alliance officiates say, is equal parts security as it is budget.--"
Sam listened intently as he opened a notebook, writing down notes, trying to anticipate his income for the next few weeks, and write an imaginary letter to his parents.
Things weren't so bad. They weren't. He only wished it could be better.
