Chairslayer

IC: Ronan McKay The rest of Omega was relatively busy. The usual number of people on the streets, all going about their business as per usual. Noise. Conversation, yelling. Footsteps. Ronan was sitting against a wall near there, staring at the ground. He was in his full armor, his guns keeping his body further against the wall. It wasn't comfortable, but it kept people from trying to start things with him. At least, that's what he figured it was. He found himself listening to a rather "enlightening" conversation between two Vorcha. Initially, he found himself thinking about what he'd do for a job. This was no place for him, and he only realized that after it was too late. There wasn't money to be made on Omega unless you were heartless enough to take it. Not for a man who lived by the gun, at least. "There you are, big guy," a voice says, followed by a nudging kick to his boot, "Guessing work isn't working out for you, huh?" The man was a mercenary recruiter, for... Actually, he couldn't quite remember who. Blue Suns? Eclipse? Maybe he was a third party contractor? Either way, when Ronan had first arrived, he had turned him down in favor of picking his own work. The man laughed, at the time. But now... "Desperate enough to take a chance on me?" the man asks, offering a hand out. Ronan simply looked up with a blank stare. In a way, he was surprised the man remembered him, and still took interest in him. Though in truth... He was that desperate. Even though he knew that going along with him would be something he regretted in the long run. He took his hand, standing himself up. He didn't really have options here. "That's it," the man says, with a triumphant grin, "C'mon. Let's go to Afterlife. I'll put you in touch with some people." "... Let's just make this quick," Ronan says reluctantly. "You'll thank me later," the man says, as they walk. Afterlife wasn't too far away, thankfully. Not that his new companion wouldn't have been decent company. Ronan just didn't feel like talking to him. In a way, he had just admitted defeat to this city. Hopefully he could leave soon though... They stepped past the bouncer, who didn't make an effort to stop them. "I'm gonna disappear and ask around for a bit, see where we can land you," the man says in the entry hallway, raising his voice a little to meet the distant thumping of the music inside the club, "You enjoy yourself. Get some drinks, mingle. Looking at you now, you could probably use the down time." With what money? he wanted to ask. "Just start a tab and we'll have whoever hires you on pay it off later," the man says, answering his question without him asking it. He seemed to be confident, at least. What did he stand to gain from this, Ronan wondered? "Welcome to Afterlife." As soon as the main door was opened, the music became a lot louder. The lights, the people, the scenery. It caught him off guard, since it was his first time being in here. He wasn't usually a club person. While he was distracted, his new "friend" had wandered off, leaving him alone. "A drink, huh?" Ronan says to himself, feeling a bit out of place, "... Why not." He walks to the bar on the upper floor, leaning against it, not bothering to grab a seat. He ordered a drink for himself, turning and looking at the rest of the room while he waited for it to be made. The infamous Afterlife... What sort of people would he find here, he wondered?

Name: Ronan McKay Species: Human. Age: 27 Years Old. Gender: Male. Faction: Formerly EU; Now freelance. Class: Soldier. Abilities: Adrenaline Rush, Armor-Piercing Ammo, Cryo Ammo, Incendiary Ammo, Disruptor Ammo, Fortification Weapons and armor: Ronan tends to favor heavier weapons and armor. As far as weapons go, he prefers those that deal out huge damage in one shot. Typically he carries his Saber assault rifle (Tailored to him), an Eviscerator shotgun, and a Paladin heavy pistol, as a backup. When he finds them on the field, he will use heavier weapons, though typically he prefers to carry just these. For armor, he has a modified N7 Defender set, making him quick bulky in appearance. The faction markings are painted over. Skills: Ronan's a pretty decent shot with his weapons, though he wouldn't qualify as a sniper. His best skills would probably fall more under a support and heavy weapons role. He's rather good at drawing attention, both in and out of combat. His body is quite durable, and his healing rate is rather remarkable. Otherwise, there isn't much to speak for. Personality (optional): Generally quiet and serene, Ronan is the type to fit the "gentle giant" type of personality quite well. In everything he does, he prefers being patient, thoughtful, and just. In some ways he takes everything a little too seriously. He forgets to joke as often as he should, and is all but oblivious to flirting, leaving people to see him as a bit uptight. But in a fight, he will always be one of the most dedicated and loyal people one could have at their side, assuming he has respect for them. Appearance: Standing quite large, Ronan sports a well muscled, tall frame. This tends to be the first thing people notice about him. He's somewhat pale, from spending a decent deal of time indoors and on ships. He has a strongly built face, with short black hair, a full beard, and bright blue eyes. Usually he's in armor, but when not he prefers clothes like what he used to wear in the military. He generally likes to have a weapon on him at all times. Ship specifications (if applicable): None. Bio: Ronan was born to a Scottish family, but grew up in England. His accent was varied because of this. He was always something of a big brother figure to the kids around him, all of his friends. This was something that he hung onto throughout his whole life. When he came of age, he enlisted in the military, in the hopes of making a difference. His idealism didn't take him too far. Instead, he was assigned pointless jobs. At least in his eyes. The leaders he served under didn't do enough to sate the hopeful altruist inside of him, and so when his service was up, he left. But what was a man like him to do? The only thing he knew how to do. Fight. He went and put himself on the market as a freelancer, though he was very discerning in what jobs he took. Because of this he more often than not wound up living poor and miserable. And these are the shoes he finds himself in now. He doesn't feel a sense of purpose, and he questions why he does what he does. But he sticks to his morals, and tries living as best as he can doing what he does. All he can do is hope that things change for him soon.