Mack Revette
Slinger of Guns
NAME: Mack Revette
FACTION: None
RANK: None
SPECIES: Human, or indistinguishably near to it
AGE: Unknown exactly; estimated late 30's or early 40's
SEX: Male
HEIGHT: 5'10"
WEIGHT: 160lbs
EYES: Heterochromatic: right is green, left is blue.
HAIR: Short-cut, blonde silvering to gray.
SKIN: Sickly pale, leathery.
FORCE SENSITIVE: Unknown; shows no aptitude and never formally tested.
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STRENGTHS:
~ Huckleberry. Mack is a prodigious shot and practiced with all manner of firearms. But he is not just practiced, not just a prodigy; Mack is a freak of nature with pistol, a skill bestowed by a lifetime whose continuation depended on the speed and accuracy of his weapon. Mack can draw and fire accurately up to 10m in no more than 0.1 seconds - literally faster than a blink, so quick that many of his enemies weren't even aware he'd drawn before they died. If the Force follows him, this is where it shows - but it's unlikely, given Mack's deathstick habit in his younger years.
~ Fisticuffs. Mack's appalling speed in his hands is somewhat less when it comes to knives or punches; but even 'somewhat' less with Mack is faster than many.
~ Wrench Monkey. Mack has spent many years making passage by freelance mechanic & computer work in between his jobs. He's nothing special, but has significantly more ability than your average Joe.
WEAKNESSES:
~ Habits. Mack is a lifelong substance addict. The strain of it shows in his body, in his pale wasted skin and sunken eyes, in the nervous tics and hair trigger mood swings. These days, Mack has left behind his various narcotic habits and keeps primarily to alcohol.
~ Guano. Mack is utterly insane, and can be just as dangerous to his allies as his enemies. More than once he's attacked friends on imagined threats. His mind is fried by his substance abuse, trauma, and what is likely a severe case of un-diagnosed schizophrenia. His purposes are inscrutable, his logic confounding, and his intentions famously opaque.
APPEARANCE: Mack is a definitively odd figure. His left eye is frozen, cobalt blue, and his right eye is brilliant emerald green. His short blonde hair, now misting into silver, is perpetually untamed and messy. Beneath the matting of scars crisscrossing and studding his body, Mack's skin is pale and wasted, and drawn tightly over his bones and muscles. It lends him a sickly, corpselike, emaciated appearance - however, Mack is anything but sickly. His clothes hang loose, too big for him, hiding a lean body of whipcord and spring-steel. He wears simple white crew shirts, a pair of drab trousers, a long black jacket, black boots, and black shooter's gloves.
As is typical with Mack's sort of criminal, he features a profusion of tattoos. Seven blue tears fall from his right eye. Across his chest is an indiscernible symbol, voided out by a thick rope of scar tissue where the flesh was removed. Below his left ear is a ring with a skull inside it. On his left arm is a series of bands a half-inch thick, starting at his wrist and continuing up to his shoulder. Covering his right arm is a webwork of chains, also from wrist to shoulder - and each chain is broken and sundered in some way. On the back of his right hand is a 'forn' character within a square.
Mack's carriage is always loose and relaxed; not slouched, but easy, showing off his height without looking uptight. The image he presents is of an unregenerate drifter and lowlife, a man who has wasted his life living as cheap muscle and chasing cheap thrills. It's only when you get on the other side of his pistols, or close enough to see the striations in his blue and green eyes, that you begin to get a hint of how dangerous this man is. Something in the set of his jaw, the squint of his eyes, the curve of his lips, gives a hint that he is not all that he seems: possibly that it's all an intentional facade. How much of it is intentional, however, is impossible to determine. After all, Mack is also quite obviously insane. You see it in the way he spins his pistols as a nervous tic, the absurd width of his grin, and in the way he speaks like words are a natural resource that he's determined to exhaust.
EQUIPMENT: Mack wears a two-gun rig on his waist, with a customized blaster in each holster. Under his jacket is a double shoulder rig, each holster carrying a .45 caliber automatic slugthrower. On his belt is a bowie-style vibroknife. He generally carries a large duffel bag, containing spare clothes, ammo, and a T-6 Thunderer with a folding stock. He'll sometimes add a layer of light armor under the jacket, if he thinks he'll need it.
BIOGRAPHY:
To some, the name 'Mack Revette' carries no weight. That's fine. Go around a little tavern somewhere in the Coruscanti underworld, though, and ask about him. Wander around the galaxy a while, and mention his name in the right dives and back alleys, and there's a wholly different story to be told.
In those sorts of places, Mack is a legend. He walks through fire and blood and leaves the same in his wake. He's faced down Imperial soldiers, gang armies, and the occasional horde of Sithspawned monsters, and the bastard has never lost. He got his start as a gunner for an underworld gang on Coruscant, and had gone freelance by his early twenties, killing his way out of their association. They were the ones who got him hooked on deathsticks originally.
After that, he spent the next two decades taking jobs, meeting a girl, watching the girl leave him, and taking more jobs. He wandered the galaxy and took jobs where he could, same as he always has, same as he likely always will.
SHIP: None.
KILLS:
BOUNTIES COLLECTED: None.
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ROLE-PLAYS: None.
FACTION: None
RANK: None
SPECIES: Human, or indistinguishably near to it
AGE: Unknown exactly; estimated late 30's or early 40's
SEX: Male
HEIGHT: 5'10"
WEIGHT: 160lbs
EYES: Heterochromatic: right is green, left is blue.
HAIR: Short-cut, blonde silvering to gray.
SKIN: Sickly pale, leathery.
FORCE SENSITIVE: Unknown; shows no aptitude and never formally tested.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
STRENGTHS:
~ Huckleberry. Mack is a prodigious shot and practiced with all manner of firearms. But he is not just practiced, not just a prodigy; Mack is a freak of nature with pistol, a skill bestowed by a lifetime whose continuation depended on the speed and accuracy of his weapon. Mack can draw and fire accurately up to 10m in no more than 0.1 seconds - literally faster than a blink, so quick that many of his enemies weren't even aware he'd drawn before they died. If the Force follows him, this is where it shows - but it's unlikely, given Mack's deathstick habit in his younger years.
~ Fisticuffs. Mack's appalling speed in his hands is somewhat less when it comes to knives or punches; but even 'somewhat' less with Mack is faster than many.
~ Wrench Monkey. Mack has spent many years making passage by freelance mechanic & computer work in between his jobs. He's nothing special, but has significantly more ability than your average Joe.
WEAKNESSES:
~ Habits. Mack is a lifelong substance addict. The strain of it shows in his body, in his pale wasted skin and sunken eyes, in the nervous tics and hair trigger mood swings. These days, Mack has left behind his various narcotic habits and keeps primarily to alcohol.
~ Guano. Mack is utterly insane, and can be just as dangerous to his allies as his enemies. More than once he's attacked friends on imagined threats. His mind is fried by his substance abuse, trauma, and what is likely a severe case of un-diagnosed schizophrenia. His purposes are inscrutable, his logic confounding, and his intentions famously opaque.
APPEARANCE: Mack is a definitively odd figure. His left eye is frozen, cobalt blue, and his right eye is brilliant emerald green. His short blonde hair, now misting into silver, is perpetually untamed and messy. Beneath the matting of scars crisscrossing and studding his body, Mack's skin is pale and wasted, and drawn tightly over his bones and muscles. It lends him a sickly, corpselike, emaciated appearance - however, Mack is anything but sickly. His clothes hang loose, too big for him, hiding a lean body of whipcord and spring-steel. He wears simple white crew shirts, a pair of drab trousers, a long black jacket, black boots, and black shooter's gloves.
As is typical with Mack's sort of criminal, he features a profusion of tattoos. Seven blue tears fall from his right eye. Across his chest is an indiscernible symbol, voided out by a thick rope of scar tissue where the flesh was removed. Below his left ear is a ring with a skull inside it. On his left arm is a series of bands a half-inch thick, starting at his wrist and continuing up to his shoulder. Covering his right arm is a webwork of chains, also from wrist to shoulder - and each chain is broken and sundered in some way. On the back of his right hand is a 'forn' character within a square.
Mack's carriage is always loose and relaxed; not slouched, but easy, showing off his height without looking uptight. The image he presents is of an unregenerate drifter and lowlife, a man who has wasted his life living as cheap muscle and chasing cheap thrills. It's only when you get on the other side of his pistols, or close enough to see the striations in his blue and green eyes, that you begin to get a hint of how dangerous this man is. Something in the set of his jaw, the squint of his eyes, the curve of his lips, gives a hint that he is not all that he seems: possibly that it's all an intentional facade. How much of it is intentional, however, is impossible to determine. After all, Mack is also quite obviously insane. You see it in the way he spins his pistols as a nervous tic, the absurd width of his grin, and in the way he speaks like words are a natural resource that he's determined to exhaust.
EQUIPMENT: Mack wears a two-gun rig on his waist, with a customized blaster in each holster. Under his jacket is a double shoulder rig, each holster carrying a .45 caliber automatic slugthrower. On his belt is a bowie-style vibroknife. He generally carries a large duffel bag, containing spare clothes, ammo, and a T-6 Thunderer with a folding stock. He'll sometimes add a layer of light armor under the jacket, if he thinks he'll need it.
BIOGRAPHY:
To some, the name 'Mack Revette' carries no weight. That's fine. Go around a little tavern somewhere in the Coruscanti underworld, though, and ask about him. Wander around the galaxy a while, and mention his name in the right dives and back alleys, and there's a wholly different story to be told.
In those sorts of places, Mack is a legend. He walks through fire and blood and leaves the same in his wake. He's faced down Imperial soldiers, gang armies, and the occasional horde of Sithspawned monsters, and the bastard has never lost. He got his start as a gunner for an underworld gang on Coruscant, and had gone freelance by his early twenties, killing his way out of their association. They were the ones who got him hooked on deathsticks originally.
After that, he spent the next two decades taking jobs, meeting a girl, watching the girl leave him, and taking more jobs. He wandered the galaxy and took jobs where he could, same as he always has, same as he likely always will.
SHIP: None.
KILLS:
BOUNTIES COLLECTED: None.
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ROLE-PLAYS: None.
