nash alvarez // muse with gnawed :v tw: familial death
name: nash alvarez age: 27 fc: samuel larsen personality: Nash is fairly grounded, not bothering to place his trust in the hands of hope. Itâs do or die, and sitting on his ass isnât going to get him anywhere. Growing up on his home-planet among the older mechanics has made him a bit of a flirt, always eager to find a piece, but he never has ill-intentions. Straight-forward in what he says, Nash doesnât tend to beat around the bush. Of course, being a gambler does let him play the long-game if necessary, although heâd much rather break down the maze walls rather than solve it. Loyalty is important to Nash, and so long as he isnât going back on his word he sees himself free to do what he pleases so long as it causes no physical harm to others.
skills: mechanic intelligence, ship maintenance, understanding of technology, gambling, cheating, card games, pool, fist-fights and shoot-outs.
bio:
Nash grew up on a large dust-bowl of a planet. Dry-mouth and sweat are common to him, just as much as the grease that somehow finds to smear itself across his cheek as he worked. During the day Nash made an honest living working as an apprentice mechanic, his teacher taking him in when his parents passed soon after he was born. At night when all the staff would find themselves at the local pub to drink off a long day, Nash would be the first person with a deck of cards in his hand.
Losing isnât in Nashâs dictionary. Heâs good with his hands, and sometimes stacking a deck isnât so hard to do once you play a few rounds and get an idea of where all the cards lay. Of course, heâd lose some nights-- just so the other guys didnât catch whiff of his games. His teacher needed food to feed them both, tools to work on parked crafts, and rent to pay off protection fees of dirty guards and the like. He was just doing his part.
For someone that seemed to be doing fine for himself, nobody would imagine Nash had dreams of his own. Dark eyes would stare up at constellations, fingers pointing out the different planets that encircled the poverty-rock he was supposed to call home. It wasnât much longer until the dust in his teacherâs lungs became just a little too thick. Coughing fits became a norm, and eventually, there was a whole year that only Nash worked in the shop. What came next was quiet and peaceful. No pain, no loud displays of fear. Just acceptance.
The shop he grew up in didnât have the For-Sale sign for long. It was bought quickly, and now Nash could leave this planet without any guilt in his heart. All the tools he and his teacher used were packed up in his bags alongside clothes and a few sentimental pieces. Not much else other than some dice and decks of cards. Boarding a ship as an on-board mechanic, Nash was eager to see what was beyond the stars.