Bryony Ferris
Half-Jack
Name: Bryony Ferris
Faction: N/A
Rank: N/A
Species: Human
Age: 27
Sex: Female
Height: 5’ 8”
Age: 27
Sex: Female
Height: 5’ 8”
Weight: 134lbs
Eyes: Brown
Hair: Brown
Skin: Caucasian
Force Sensitive: No
Hair: Brown
Skin: Caucasian
Force Sensitive: No
Strengths and Weaknesses
[+] - Customer Service Supastah - The power of the people. Spending her time in the world of retail has already hardened Bryony to the realities of life. Oh sure, you’ve got your harsh Sith trails, weed out the weak, know true suffering, blah blah blah. But this is soul crushing reality. This is life. Robberies? Whatever, I don’t get paid enough. Being treated like dirt? Par for the course. Prospects and hope for the future? HA! Dying alone, unloved, unfulfilled and poor, probably of hypothermia because the pension is too small to cover the costs of both heating and eating? Yeah, I know. Whatevs. I could die tomorrow, no big deal.
[+] - Customer Service Supastah - The power of the people. Spending her time in the world of retail has already hardened Bryony to the realities of life. Oh sure, you’ve got your harsh Sith trails, weed out the weak, know true suffering, blah blah blah. But this is soul crushing reality. This is life. Robberies? Whatever, I don’t get paid enough. Being treated like dirt? Par for the course. Prospects and hope for the future? HA! Dying alone, unloved, unfulfilled and poor, probably of hypothermia because the pension is too small to cover the costs of both heating and eating? Yeah, I know. Whatevs. I could die tomorrow, no big deal.
[+] - Sassatron - Bryrony, having lived a life of menial labour in the world of customer services has developed a quick wit and a sharp tongue. Comebacks are aplenty in this realm, even when it is not at all appropriate.
[-] Common People - Usually in a job interview being a civilian is probably not considered a weakness, usually just a fact. However this is an entirely different realm, full of monsters, wizards, warriors and sentient guns (probably). Bryony is just a person. A squishy person who makes minimum wage. Which y’know is a problem because…
[-] Can’t Fight - Unless you count the power of the serving tray, this waitress is not trained in any form of combat, can’t use a blaster, isn’t actually aware of her Force potential and she cannot dance very well at all. This is bad.
[-] Common People - Usually in a job interview being a civilian is probably not considered a weakness, usually just a fact. However this is an entirely different realm, full of monsters, wizards, warriors and sentient guns (probably). Bryony is just a person. A squishy person who makes minimum wage. Which y’know is a problem because…
[-] Can’t Fight - Unless you count the power of the serving tray, this waitress is not trained in any form of combat, can’t use a blaster, isn’t actually aware of her Force potential and she cannot dance very well at all. This is bad.
[-] Arachnophobia - Bryony is legitimately terrified of spiders. Be they tiny creatures of a harmless nature or monstrous creatures of giant hideous proportions. You best be keeping those egg butts and eight legs away from this lady, otherwise she will run in the opposite chuffing direction. No joke, the fear is real
Appearance
Let’s stroke the ego. This is a fine lady. The finest lady, well not quite but she’s definitely attractive in that conventional way. Her eyebrows aren’t weird enough to do modelling and she’s not malnourished enough for the catwalk so well...
Honestly, I’m sitting here looking at the avatar choice I’ve picked and it’s like, well, you can see it, so why do I need to tell you about it? Isn’t this category kinda null and void if you don’t have any cool scars, tattoos or a monstrous ego? I mean, in this galaxy you’re either hot or a hideous homunculus so we’re obviously hitting the former.
Graceful face, brown hair, brown eyes, a dope pair of legs, y’know? Cleans up well for work, but in her downtime looks like a slovenly mail-order bride, it’s probably the tracksuit (never been used to work out). I don’t even know why I’m writing this part, look at the picture, you’ll know. If somebody like, bites off her nose, I’ll come back and change it.*
*I probably won’t.
Personality
THE MOST BITTER OF ALL SHREWS.
No, probably not the most, but you know what customer service does to a woman, especially a woman embroiled in said industry for eleven years. You learn about people, you learn about how people are absolutely terrible. Yeah, sure, once every three years there’s going to be a guy that comes in and he’s like an absolute sweetheart that treats you like an actual human and asks how YOUR day is going but in the end, he’s a forgotten legend and all we’re left with, is the rest of the galaxy.
Let’s stroke the ego. This is a fine lady. The finest lady, well not quite but she’s definitely attractive in that conventional way. Her eyebrows aren’t weird enough to do modelling and she’s not malnourished enough for the catwalk so well...
Honestly, I’m sitting here looking at the avatar choice I’ve picked and it’s like, well, you can see it, so why do I need to tell you about it? Isn’t this category kinda null and void if you don’t have any cool scars, tattoos or a monstrous ego? I mean, in this galaxy you’re either hot or a hideous homunculus so we’re obviously hitting the former.
Graceful face, brown hair, brown eyes, a dope pair of legs, y’know? Cleans up well for work, but in her downtime looks like a slovenly mail-order bride, it’s probably the tracksuit (never been used to work out). I don’t even know why I’m writing this part, look at the picture, you’ll know. If somebody like, bites off her nose, I’ll come back and change it.*
*I probably won’t.
Personality
THE MOST BITTER OF ALL SHREWS.
No, probably not the most, but you know what customer service does to a woman, especially a woman embroiled in said industry for eleven years. You learn about people, you learn about how people are absolutely terrible. Yeah, sure, once every three years there’s going to be a guy that comes in and he’s like an absolute sweetheart that treats you like an actual human and asks how YOUR day is going but in the end, he’s a forgotten legend and all we’re left with, is the rest of the galaxy.
Cynical, polite-to-your-face-but-probably-doing-a-cruel-impression-of-you-right-now-in-the-back, disgruntled, losing faith in herself and those around her...man the grammar of this sentence is gone and it’s not coming back.
She’s a twenty-seven year old woman who still doesn’t know what she wants to be, and while that’s perfectly normal for all of us, when you’re approaching your thirties it feels like the end of the world at times.
It’s totally the end of the world.
Biography
My life? You want my life?
This is it. Nar Shaddaa. The land of fething dreams. Not so bad if you’re not a refugee. Still a bit rough if you’re lower class. You get used to it. It’s not glamorous but it’s not absolute poverty and that’s life. Then again, you talk about your lower classes and some dude interjects about how he’s way lower class and then there’s some people sneaking in speaking about how they didn’t get new shoes in seventy-three years and I’m like, dude, you’re only nineteen and...wait this derailed.
Life is normal. Education is normal. Parents split. Dad cheated. Too bad, so sad. He’s a piece of shet, mother is an angel. He still keeps in contact though, feels sorry, feels guilty. Whatever. It’s no big deal. I don’t understand how people can become so unhinged because their parents split. Get a grip. I managed, I’m hardly a stoic action hero in the flesh, no need to become a Sith Lord over it, man.
Schooling leads to a level of average. Bad decisions. I DON’T KNOW WHAT I WANT TO BE! I still don’t know, I’ll never know. I’ve got a job though. Had a job since I could get one. Same place, it's called Asco. Retail dream. Supermarket chain of Nar Shaddaa. It’s not glamorous but I’m here. I’m earning a wage. Not pumping out children praying for benefits. Not selling make-up on social media in a really FETHING obvious pyramid scheme. I have a job. I exist. I matter. Maybe there’s something out for me in the future.
Fall in love.
It dies.
That’s that.
And here I am now. Still working retail. Still dealing with you, you lazy cretinous creatures. Trying to justify not putting your carts back. I’M GIVING THEM A JOB. Yo, son, he could have been on the checkouts instead of compensating for your poor upbringing. Sorry to say, but then again, you freely litter on the streets, so I’m not so sorry.
I remember the last time I felt something. Went to buy a cheese twist on my break and I forgot my purse. I stood in the empty stairwell and screamed. It was wild and unhinged, bouncing off of the walls like a gizka hopped up on spice. After that I felt a hollowness, just behind my eyes. As if there had been something there before, which biologically speaking is probably wrong. I dream about hurting my colleagues. The managers discipline me and I feel nothing, just empty nods and then back to the usual.
I’m tired.
