NICKNAME(S) – Knux, Thimble.
AGE – twenty-three
GENDER – male
POSITION – Power-Core Technician / Impromptu Medic
HEXCODE – #DB6F00
APPEARANCE | tall and gangly
Slender, and clumsily-built, Knux was never cut out to look intimidating even though he’s so tall. That opportunity was long gone when he chose his profession, instead, he’s got boxy-shoulders, a somewhat willowy build with little to offer in musculature. A little too thin, maybe. Ginger-haired, with bright, speculative amber eyes, almost startlingly so. A smattering of freckles line sharp cheekbones; a constellation covering the majority of his body. There are scars, as well. Nicked across his nose, jawline, and arms, predominantly. He tends to wear a particular array of clothes, vintage in flavour, obviously lacking any fashion sense.
HEIGHT – 6’2”
WEIGHT – 175lbs
PERSONALITY
Knux is a strange, strange man; an anomaly, a bundle of misfired wires, tangled into one fairly distraught package. A mess of idiosyncrasies, and embarrassing neuroticisms that keeps him apart from people, because he isn’t quite sure what to do with himself. It isn’t to say that he doesn’t try. He does. He’s always trying—to fit in, to settle himself in conversations, but he’s always found himself more at home with the hum of mechanical whirs, and the tick-tack of holographic screens, blinking to life. Better to spend time in the company of inanimate objects, bustling with energy, then to struggle through the nuances of social interaction. People are confusing creatures, leaving him scratching his head. He’d like to think he’s a fairly simple man, who enjoys simple things, but he’s long since given up thinking he’s normal. His pursuits and curiosities, doggedly hounded and endless, are his foundation, his comfort. It’s the only time he feels truly at peace, a little taste of freedom.
Methodical to a fault. He’s skeptical when it comes to the abilities of others; believing that if he wants something done right, he better do it himself. This is why he’s incredibly reluctant to let go of his mantle, his allotted controls, whether it’s to the Power Core, or any under his jurisdiction. He is, however, easily impressed by a desire to learn and listen; talking someone’s ear off about something that makes his eyes sparkle is as easy as mumbling how does this work? Bookish, grounded, logical. Certainly passionate, bordering on obsessive, given how much time he commits to his profession and trade, his many hobbies. Even if he’s eager to join a crew, he excels working alone, simply because he isn’t sure where he fits, or even if he does. It’s a concern he frequently agonizes over. Easily flustered, and distracted, Knux’s head lies somewhere in the clouds, staring off into the galaxy far, far away.
compassionate, analytical, reliable, friendly, disciplined.
neurotic, obsessive, tactless, eccentric, stubborn.
SKILLS | power-core and medical knowledge, hacking, logistics.
There are those who have to compensate for their weaknesses; Knux is one of those people, especially so for someone with a desire to join someone's crew without any combat knowledge whatsoever. Where Knux could not navigate his way around a pistol, let alone his fists, he's had to make due with what he could: his mind. His studies, his tenacious desire to learn more and more, absorbing all he can. His memory is remarkable, for better or worse. Conversations, variables, variances, programs and codes, it's all there, flying from his fingertips. This isn't to say he's entirely useless without his calibrations, his computer and tech, because he's dabbled in other subjects, as well. The medical field. He's still learning, however. How people work, how their bodies function; anatomy, setting bones and basic curatives. While his bedside manner leaves a lot of room for improvement, he's excels at what he does.
KNOWN HISTORY – "When I was a boy and I looked at the stars, I thought it was magic."
Knuxley's story is fairly simple. Average. His life, his parents, his upbringing. His mother stayed at home, too feeble to do much besides care for him. Always doting and always smiling, even if she was riddled in pain. An age-old spinal injury; too expensive to be fixed. Prosthesis' were reserved for the wealthy, especially when they were so invasive. Restricted to those with a well to-do job, or those willing to dip into the city's criminal associations, hands dirtied and minds rotten. It was a world far, far from them. Unavailable. They made due with what they had. They weren't too poor, and certainly not too rich. Middle, lower-class. Never living beyond their means.
On the other hand, his father was a grease-monkey; owning a chop-shop for augmented limbs, whenever they were too broken to fix back up. A dumping grounds, and the small, ginger-haired boys' personal treasure-trove. A place he could tinker and build and create with no limitations; it's there where his fixations were born.
His obsession with the buzzing contraptions, with ships and crews and to some small degree: adventure. Nothing came easily. Not without hard-work and sleepless nights bent over his desk; studying to become more than just another laborer, bent over stoking fires or working alongside his pops. He wanted more. Wanted for nothing less. In his studies, he excelled. Logistics, medical technician, programming. Top of his class. One evening spent in a museum was all it took to turn him towards his specialty: Power Cores.
Power Cores of all shapes and sizes; they call to him. Keep him enamoured. They're riddled with mysteries he'd like to uncover. It became a passion, of sorts, as anything did that caught his eye. Of course, his motivations remained the same. Money. Lots of it. Enough to afford the surgery his mother needed, so that she could live a better life; one without pain, without the dull ache she'd suffered so long. It was the least he could do, for all she's done for him. The Astral Providence was just the ticket he needed.