|Full name||Anthony Syrian Squire|
|Date of Birth||11 March 2504|
|Parents||Matthew and Elysia Squire|
|Eyes and Hair||Green, Red|
|Height and Weight||5'5", 135|
This young man cuts for an interesting figure. The first thing one notices is the face. The crows claws under the eyes, pale complexion, and minute scars stood in direct contrast to the high cheekbones and wide jaw. The noble features only complimtented the eyes themselves. The bright green orbs seemed to catch everything in their never-ending sweep of the surroundings. Curly red hair topped the head, and generally hung in an unkempt mess.The young man is short and sinewy. His clothes don't so much fit, as drape about him. A faded, blue blazer adorns the upper half, covering a white wife beater. The neck carries a tattoo of some sort of bird, with a compass behind it just above the sternum. The lower half is complimented with a pair of blue fatigues held up by a thick black belt. The buckle depicts a hummingbird feeding on a flower. The feet rest in steel-toed boots, that just barely peak out from under the untucked fatigues.The final noticable details are the dozens of cloth and metal bracelets adorning the wrists, and what looks to be a plastic coffee mug hanging from the belt. A small pack of ciggarettes peek out from the only blazer pocket.
Anthony Squire, like the rest of the human race, is alot like an onion. Filled with various layers and other quirks that make up the entirety of his personality. On the exterior, he tends to be very outgoing and always wearing a bright smile. This, coupled with his caffiene addiction, can be EXTREMELY ANNOYING in the wee hours of the morning. Inside, he's the coldest of cynics, and has real trouble relating to any other human beings.
Skills and Abilities
Flying. Coffee Drinking. Smoking. Flying. Maintaining his ship. Shooting at or around things. (Nobody mentioned actually hitting.) Not sleeping. Flying.
History and background
The young man looks across the bar for a second, giving a sort of huff. Then he's tearing open a sugar packet and pouring it into his mug. He sort of blinks at you before speaking. "I.. uh.. well. My past? Uh. Hmm.." His hands visibly shake as he bites his lip, and then brings the mug to eye level. Seemingly not satisfied, he quickly glances about, and then snatches up a stray toothpick and begins to stir the drink. "I was born on Regina. You know, Bowden's Malady? That was in ...2504. My father was a team foreman at the mine. My mother, she was a nurse working at the clinic. I had one older brother. He died when I was two, Bowden's Malady. Later that year my parents bought passage on a transport ship to Alexandria to live with my uncle. He owned a transport business you see." A pause, and the man brushes a red curl off of his forehead. Then he's using his free hand to scratch at his nose. Blinking, he looks back to you. "Uh. Well, business was good. Good enough to get me out of the house, to avoid my parents and their marital issues. I spent ALOT of time working with my Uncle's mechanics. Not anything useful you see, just learning bits here and there. My real passion took hold during my first flight. Nothing special, just a test flight aboard an aging Trans-U. Every day after I begged, pleaded, and cried for just one flight of my own."A laugh, and he takes another sip. "My uncle finally obliged, and started to teach me the basics. Nothing big mind you, I spent alot of time aboard the family YellowJacket. You know, those little tiny shuttle craft? Anyhow, I was.. uh.. sixteen when I made my first flight? My uncle in the sideseat of course, but its still something I remember to this day." His hands continue to shake as he licks his lips and glances about and then back to you. "I spent the next few years doing courier runs for him. All the while my parents where solidifying their divorce. I guess I just grew distant. It was really hard to live in my brother's shadow, and after I chose a life of flying, they just gave up on me. Can't say I really missed out on a life of mining." A forced smile, followed by another sip. "My uncle died when I was nineteen. I had just finished learning how to fly a capital ship for his salvage operations when he kicked it. Sad day." Another blink. "He left me that little Yellowjacket, and I started to make trade runs of my own. I was way to young, but you know how it is, me against the world and all that." A glowing smile now. "I took alot of chances, did alot of stupid things in the favor of quick money. I lost my ship about six months ago. Been wandering around Persephone since then. Lady Luck never did have a way of showing me her affections. I made up for it with damn good flyin' though." Rubbing his fingers together, he can't help but grin at your next question. "Ah, uh.. no, I uh, I drink ALOT of coffee.. like.. six to seven cups a day. I also smoke quite a bit. If I'm hooked on anything its stimulants. Just need to stay awake for ONE more trade run. What can I say? Its a habit that stuck. I once stuck an Epinepherine shot in my leg, you know, the kind they use to treat allergy shock? WOW OH WOW!" He emphasizes this last with a slow flapping motion of the arms. Almost losing his drink in the process. "Yeah. I uh, toned it down since then, but... its hard. ya know? Life is hard."