Beowoof
Morality Policeman :)
Once upon a time on Nar Shaddaa, a twi'lek girl had been born in a gutter. From that moment on, she was somewhat cursed to live alone and tough on luck. She learned she could make her own luck through a little bit of sneaking and hands-on experience, but sometimes things just happen. Recently, she had been deported after having stowed away for a brighter world. It turns out that Corellians are a little touchy about letting just anyone make themselves at home over there.
Taci's business was in itself just as illegitimate as her birth, using her small size to her advantage in raiding supply closets or supposedly abandoned quarters in the murky lower levels of the Hutt playpen. Sometimes what she needed was even just lying out in the road for her to pick up. It may not have been the right thing to do, but how she conjured up her materials mattered little when one was hungry.
The things she produced, however, were a little more extraordinary than her slippery methods. She had her own hidden collection of scrap parts stacked against the walls of an ancient boiler room in the very depths of the city, in the shadow of the famous Promenade. Thousands of tired components found new life in her hands as she developed little gadgets that would line the pockets of her grungy coat. She even carried a custom-made pistol despite her aversion to firearms.
What she was most proud of, however, was a skill she had learned off-world before being kicked off the trade planet. Her 'kind' was not allowed to hang around The Promenade, but just outside of it, she could be found regularly stationed at an easel before dusk, swirling paints against a canvas in a nearly-forgotten art. She had grown to be paranoid, but was able to keep her eyes fully concentrated on her work. Somehow, she always knew when someone was looking at her.
[member="Asemir Lor'kora"]
Taci's business was in itself just as illegitimate as her birth, using her small size to her advantage in raiding supply closets or supposedly abandoned quarters in the murky lower levels of the Hutt playpen. Sometimes what she needed was even just lying out in the road for her to pick up. It may not have been the right thing to do, but how she conjured up her materials mattered little when one was hungry.
The things she produced, however, were a little more extraordinary than her slippery methods. She had her own hidden collection of scrap parts stacked against the walls of an ancient boiler room in the very depths of the city, in the shadow of the famous Promenade. Thousands of tired components found new life in her hands as she developed little gadgets that would line the pockets of her grungy coat. She even carried a custom-made pistol despite her aversion to firearms.
What she was most proud of, however, was a skill she had learned off-world before being kicked off the trade planet. Her 'kind' was not allowed to hang around The Promenade, but just outside of it, she could be found regularly stationed at an easel before dusk, swirling paints against a canvas in a nearly-forgotten art. She had grown to be paranoid, but was able to keep her eyes fully concentrated on her work. Somehow, she always knew when someone was looking at her.
[member="Asemir Lor'kora"]