Name: Rebecca "Alebrije" Marie Starr
Age: 25
Gender: Female
Profession: Washed out U.S. Navy Lieutenant Commander & Fighter Pilot. "Hydroponics" Expert. Cartel Pilot.
Description: Auburn hair and amber eyes. She has a curvy build made a little too thin by poor sleep habits and risky living. Her naturally fair skin is darkened by the sun and frequently sports sunburn across nose, shoulders, and ears. Despite her reckless living, a vegan and admittedly somewhat "hippie" lifestyle has helped to counter-act the self-abuse in which she otherwise immerses herself. A constellation of freckles is mapped across her body, obvious across her nose and fainter elsewhere. Her left arm is covered from fingers to shoulder in colourful and fantastical animals and monsters with small symbols with personal meaning hidden within the patterns. She usually wears white shirts in varying cuts under studded, distressed, or otherwise embellished black or blue denim jackets and pairs those with low-slung jeans. A silver chain with dog tags boasting someone else's name is always around her neck and often accompanied by a turquoise choker. For long-haul flights she often throws an oversized men's flight jacket over her regular clothing. Tawny coveralls are stashed in the drug operation's Cessna for use in loading, unloading, and mucking about more "rustic" locales, so sometimes she can be seen sporting those also. She prefers to go barefooted, but has fallen back on her big black military surplus boots currently.
Weapons: Through time involved with military training, a special ops sometimes-boyfriend, defending a grow operation, and moving product for the Cartel; there have been ample opportunities to hone her basic firearms skills. While far more comfortable in the air, she is a trusty shot with the SIG Sauer P228/M11 which she always carries and her more dated Smith & Wesson .38 Special that serves as a sort of "oh shit" emergency weapon. Her operation also owns or has access to AR-15, AK-47 and FN 5.7 through their affiliations with the Cartel (as well as a cache of items like fragmentation grenades, Beta-C magazines, PMAGs, assorted handguns, etc., that would be impossible for one person to carry), but she prefers and maintains a few M4 carbines personally. She managed to stuff a hiking pack full of ammunition, a little sustenance, and a few creature comforts before shuttering her operation and booking it from her residence.
- SIG Sauer P228/M11 w/13x9mm magazine (x1)
- SIG Sauer SRD9 9mm Silencer (x1)
- 50 round box of LE9T5 HP ammo (x4)
- Smith & Wesson .38 Special (x1)
- 50 round box of Fed LE Tactical Hydra-Shok JHP ammo (x1)
- Colt M4 Carbine (x1)
- M4-2000 Silencer (x1)
- 30 round STANAG EPM cartridges of 5.56mm M855A1 EPR ammo (x14)
Equipment:
- Keys to a Piper M600 (x1)
- Keys to a Cessna SkyCourier (x1)
- Toiletry Kit (x1)
- Smoking Pouch (x1)
- Organic, Vegan Seeds & Nuts "Trail Mix" (x15 servings)
- Waterproof Matches (x20)
- Assorted Pills (x100)
- Roll of Quarters (x4)
- Whisky Flask (x1)
- Bottle of Sotol (x1)
- Set of Waterproof Oil-based Art Pens (x1)
- Survival Knife with Fire Starter (x1)
Background: Known for her auburn hair often highlighted unnatural hues and her honeyed-amber eyes as much as the colourful tattoos that sleeve her left arm and shoulder, Becky earned her nickname from the Cartel members with whom she frequently serves as a transport pilot due to her laid back and whimsical nature. Her knowledge of both civilian and military flight patterns and procedures is an asset, as is her easy demeanour and frayed moral fiber. It is difficult to find her sober, whether it's drink or drugs, though she is uncannily functional despite this fact.
She was a bright and ambitious aerospace engineering student before she was a cocky naval fighter pilot with prodigious talent. A nasty incident resulting in two dead pilots and a dead ensign landed her in the cold with a dishonourable discharge headstoning her career like a scarlet letter. That was the best case scenario, unfortunately. After a few months deep dive into the seediest circles in Pensacola, she packed up her beat up clown-red Chevy Chevette and started a series of vehicular breakdowns that would eventually bring her to a little mechanic's shop in Denver, Colorado owned by a friend of the friend along for the road trip.
She had come for the skiing and her friend had come for the legalised Jane. After a few weeks slumming with the hydroponics enthusiasts to whom the mechanic had introduced them, she was convinced to step in for their regular transport pilot and from there her career took wing. It was the perfect way to wallow in her shame whilst taking the edge off with the goods. She was quick to learn the workings of the grow operation and eventually, after a couple of years, became a partner.
Flash forward to today, one week after Denver, Colorado collapsed into madness. Good news is: she's the only surviving partner. Bad news is: the world's gone to utter shit. With her grow operation shuttered for who knows how long and the city in crisis, she spent some time preparing herself to take off from the landing pad holding her recently-returned Piper M600. Unfortunately, though she was able to refuel, her boyfriend was missing in action and none of her scattered operations underlings had seen him in her place. In fact, none of them had shown up at her penthouse at the scheduled rendezvous time. She's made it to the police precinct fueled only by muscle memory, luck and cocaine after getting caught out in the streets hunting for her people in a badly hit part of the city. True to her usual good fortune, that was where a ragtag bunch of military and emergency services workers picked her up at just the right time. Fortunately, no one is asking too many questions these days about who has gotten their dirty little hands on which contraband.
Bookmarks