OoC: Alright, this RP was invite only. So if you didn't get a message from me, and you wanted to join, I'm sorry, but it happens.
BiC:
There was a point in time when people called space "The Final Frontier" because it was a great mystery, Torin always got a laugh out of this particular fact. Space was nothing great in his opinion, he'd been born on a space station, the connecting port between the Latus Prime and New Mars, in fact, and he knew that space was nothing but a festering pit of thieves, murderers, and pirates. So much so that the Ally Armada couldn't deal with it all at once, so they would put prices on some of the more troublesome offenders heads.
Torin walked leisurely down a path, to his right were many shops of legitimate business and questionable tastes, each with a particularly obnoxious neon sign flashing on and off in the faces of the passers-by. To his left were bridges spaced at one about every twenty feet, each bridge connected one side of shops to the other, and each was connected to a flight of stairs that would take you down to the park that was the center of Tsartavi Station, which had been built on the surface of an asteroid that orbited around a rather large, uninhabitable celestial body called Aerthus II. If you were to look at the station from above, it would resemble a target. The park was the bull's-eye and the various shops and hotels made up the outer rings.
The space station was rather small, if you were to start walking from the docking bays toward the other end of the station, you would reach your destination in a little under thirty minutes. The only thing that made the station big enough to house so many travelers was it's ten stories, which made the station seem more cramped than anything. Each story was stacked on top of the others in a circle around the park, which was the most important part of the station because it provided roughly fifty percent of the oxygen in the station.
Torin was dressed in a plain white t-shirt, that he wore under a partially buttoned up black dress shirt. He had black jeans, and white hi-tops on his feet. He had on worn, fingerless gloves, and a long, grey coat that reached down a little ways above his knees, with the sleeves rolled up past his elbows. His dark red hair was creeping down past his shoulders, pushed out of the way so that his face was clearly visible. His pale, green eyes surveyed the area in front of him, reaching out from his pupils there was a thin ring of gold.
He had lived on this station through every one of his twenty years of life (Standard Ally Time, of course) and knew each and every street like the back of his hand. The station was supposed to be used for people to make rest stops between planets, so very few people actually lived there. He passed down the same streets every day, on his way to work at the docking bays, but since the death of his father six months prior, he had been looking for a way to escape the confines of this place.
He passed into the district before the docking bay, a large, open room littered with benches and potted plants, a rush of people moved this way and that through the crowds. This was where all the new travelers would come into the station. It was very much the equivalent to the airports of the past, there were check-in counters for visitors just arriving, answering questions about how long they would be staying, what was the business of their visit. Just the average questions that needed to be asked to ensure the safety of those aboard Tsartavi Station, but the main reason for the continued safety was the weapon check. All visitors had to relinquish their weapons for the duration of their stay.
On the other side of the room were the check-out counters. These were never quite as busy as the check-in counters for a few reasons, one of them being that some travelers decided to stay on station for longer than they intended, and requested an extension. And the other being that many of the visitors were picked up by Alliance patrols in the area that had deemed them criminals and taken them away.
Torin passed through the sea of bodies, slightly moving people aside with light taps on their shoulders. The last thing he needed was to give somebody too much of a shove and start a fight, last time that happened, he had to spend two days in a cell for "disturbing the peace". As he passed through this room, he always looked up, the ceiling was a rather impressive clear glass dome: shatter proof, bullet proof, magic proof. The only thing that could get through it was a wayward ship that crashed into the station, in which case, a shattered glass dome would be the least of their worries. The dome provided the best view on the whole station, the stars glittered in the distance, and planets passed in and out of view according to their orbits. The longing to see the universe when Torin looked out of the dome almost made him forget how crime ridden it was.
As he approached the huge, metal doors to the docking bay, he noticed an Alliance commander calling the room to attention. There was already a crowd forming around him, waiting for his announcement. "Ladies and gentlemen," He said in a booming voice that was gruff from shouting orders, "There has been an alarming rise in piracy within this sector, and the Alliance is issuing orders to recruit new teams of bounty hunters. Any persons interested in signing up are to assemble in front of the Allied check-out counter in two hours. That is all." He finished and headed off toward the large doors that led to the rest of the station, no doubt to give the announcement to everyone else on board Tsartavi Station.
Torin stood there, the crowd already beginning to disperse, with a grin on his face. "This is it," He mumbled to himself, "This is my chance off of this rock."
(OoC: Alliance = Generic name ftw. Ahem. As for the title... Work in progress? I couldn't think of a name >< )
BiC:
There was a point in time when people called space "The Final Frontier" because it was a great mystery, Torin always got a laugh out of this particular fact. Space was nothing great in his opinion, he'd been born on a space station, the connecting port between the Latus Prime and New Mars, in fact, and he knew that space was nothing but a festering pit of thieves, murderers, and pirates. So much so that the Ally Armada couldn't deal with it all at once, so they would put prices on some of the more troublesome offenders heads.
Torin walked leisurely down a path, to his right were many shops of legitimate business and questionable tastes, each with a particularly obnoxious neon sign flashing on and off in the faces of the passers-by. To his left were bridges spaced at one about every twenty feet, each bridge connected one side of shops to the other, and each was connected to a flight of stairs that would take you down to the park that was the center of Tsartavi Station, which had been built on the surface of an asteroid that orbited around a rather large, uninhabitable celestial body called Aerthus II. If you were to look at the station from above, it would resemble a target. The park was the bull's-eye and the various shops and hotels made up the outer rings.
The space station was rather small, if you were to start walking from the docking bays toward the other end of the station, you would reach your destination in a little under thirty minutes. The only thing that made the station big enough to house so many travelers was it's ten stories, which made the station seem more cramped than anything. Each story was stacked on top of the others in a circle around the park, which was the most important part of the station because it provided roughly fifty percent of the oxygen in the station.
Torin was dressed in a plain white t-shirt, that he wore under a partially buttoned up black dress shirt. He had black jeans, and white hi-tops on his feet. He had on worn, fingerless gloves, and a long, grey coat that reached down a little ways above his knees, with the sleeves rolled up past his elbows. His dark red hair was creeping down past his shoulders, pushed out of the way so that his face was clearly visible. His pale, green eyes surveyed the area in front of him, reaching out from his pupils there was a thin ring of gold.
He had lived on this station through every one of his twenty years of life (Standard Ally Time, of course) and knew each and every street like the back of his hand. The station was supposed to be used for people to make rest stops between planets, so very few people actually lived there. He passed down the same streets every day, on his way to work at the docking bays, but since the death of his father six months prior, he had been looking for a way to escape the confines of this place.
He passed into the district before the docking bay, a large, open room littered with benches and potted plants, a rush of people moved this way and that through the crowds. This was where all the new travelers would come into the station. It was very much the equivalent to the airports of the past, there were check-in counters for visitors just arriving, answering questions about how long they would be staying, what was the business of their visit. Just the average questions that needed to be asked to ensure the safety of those aboard Tsartavi Station, but the main reason for the continued safety was the weapon check. All visitors had to relinquish their weapons for the duration of their stay.
On the other side of the room were the check-out counters. These were never quite as busy as the check-in counters for a few reasons, one of them being that some travelers decided to stay on station for longer than they intended, and requested an extension. And the other being that many of the visitors were picked up by Alliance patrols in the area that had deemed them criminals and taken them away.
Torin passed through the sea of bodies, slightly moving people aside with light taps on their shoulders. The last thing he needed was to give somebody too much of a shove and start a fight, last time that happened, he had to spend two days in a cell for "disturbing the peace". As he passed through this room, he always looked up, the ceiling was a rather impressive clear glass dome: shatter proof, bullet proof, magic proof. The only thing that could get through it was a wayward ship that crashed into the station, in which case, a shattered glass dome would be the least of their worries. The dome provided the best view on the whole station, the stars glittered in the distance, and planets passed in and out of view according to their orbits. The longing to see the universe when Torin looked out of the dome almost made him forget how crime ridden it was.
As he approached the huge, metal doors to the docking bay, he noticed an Alliance commander calling the room to attention. There was already a crowd forming around him, waiting for his announcement. "Ladies and gentlemen," He said in a booming voice that was gruff from shouting orders, "There has been an alarming rise in piracy within this sector, and the Alliance is issuing orders to recruit new teams of bounty hunters. Any persons interested in signing up are to assemble in front of the Allied check-out counter in two hours. That is all." He finished and headed off toward the large doors that led to the rest of the station, no doubt to give the announcement to everyone else on board Tsartavi Station.
Torin stood there, the crowd already beginning to disperse, with a grin on his face. "This is it," He mumbled to himself, "This is my chance off of this rock."
(OoC: Alliance = Generic name ftw. Ahem. As for the title... Work in progress? I couldn't think of a name >< )
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