I've had Zev dancing round for a while. This is going to just start off as encounters of hers, but may get more of a plot if I'm inspired by something. Either way, should be fun as hell and entertaining. So enjoy!
My name is Zevra Jade and I've got some anger issues. Or at least, that's what the counselor who I was seeing before I broke her office said. Mind you, it wasn't my fault her office got broke. I bet the question you're asking is why sweet little me would have anger issues?
I have anger issues because my blasted back stabbers of a crew stole my ship!
That thing was my baby.
And no, I didn't trust my crew. Who is stupid enough to trust a space crew? Not me certainly. But there were a handful I trusted. And one of them double-crossed me. And let me tell you, the S.O.B. has no idea I'm alive. Or at least he damn well shouldn't. Shit, what with him drugging me, taking all my weapons and tying me up before dropping me off on an aggressive planet I'm surprised I'm still alive.
I'm also glad my eyebrows have grown back since then -- I may have gotten out alive but certainly not in one piece.
So yeah. I have some anger issues. But they're all focused on that crew, and specifically that grub-eater. He better be praying to his fuzzy little gods that I never find him -- because I swear to stars if I do I'm going to make him wish he never crawled out of his mommy's womb.
But still, the fact that remains is this: I miss my ship. I may have been earth-born, but my spirt is star-fed, and I can't stand more then a month dockside before going completely and utterly batty.
Which is why I did the fool thing and signed up with the Berchkly Brothers BodyGuard Service.
Now you've got to be wondering how a sweet little thing like me could be a bodyguard? The answer is quite simple: I can hold my own in a gunfight and am about two inches from completely fearless. It's doubtful they would've hired me on had they know I was a girl, but shit, I've been pretending to be a guy since as long as I can remember.
Okay, it's only been about ten years, but that's plenty. None of my crew -- even when they stabbed me in the back -- knew I was female. They still don't since the morons didn't strip me when they dumped me.
Anyways, you can call me Zev J., bodyguard and odd-job worker, at your service.
It's not actually that hard to pretend to be a guy. I mean, it's basically the same principle as someone wearing a wig. People see what they want to see, so if you have a wig on they're going to assume it's real unless you're giving them a damn good reason to think otherwise. So if you look, even superficially, like a male and act enough like one not to raise alarm they're never going to think you're not one.
So I get away with pretending to be a guy pretty well. And get hit on by girls more then I'm really willing to talk about. (And I'm always kind of confused about it.) After all, I make a pretty feminine guy since I'm not the most masculine of girls. I guess you're looking for a mental image now huh? Well here goes.
I've got longish black hair, which I keep back in a que, as is the style for males in some social circles (mind you, not social circles I ever get a chance to mingle in, but shit, my hair is one of my few vanities, so I've kept it, and it hasn't caused a fuss yet.) My eyes are green and kind of scary I've been told. Mind you, the circumstances in which I was told such made the fact that they were scary more reasonable then just sitting around but...We'll get to that. I'm about five feet, eleven inches (if we're doing this in earth measurements) and genetically tan. Well, genetically and from taking a few jobs sun side -- once the sunburn wears away it's a rather nice tan all things considered. I'm pretty slender, but it's all sinew I assure you. Lord knows how I'd survive without a little muscle on these bones. Oh, and I do keep my bust bound -- not that there's much of it even when it's not, but still. Helps with the looking like a guy and all. I have an eye patch -- electronic of course. It used to connect to my ship so I could keep a close eye on stats while we were flying but now, well, it works as night vision and heat detection as well. Which can come in pretty damn handy. (And assuming the morons didn't turn off the sensor, if I get within a hundred feet of my baby I'll know it.)
I tend to run around in a long grey coat, high black leather boots, dark linen trousers tucked into 'em, a baggy light button up and a black vest. And my two side arms and a knife or two, but really, in this day and age that goes without saying.
Anyways, where was I? The Berchkly Brothers BodyGuard Service. Right. Well after I lost my ship (after I got off that dirtbag) I did some odd jobs, you know, just random stuff here and there. Took on a lot of bodyguard work since that seems to pay well enough and often enough gets me spacewards. Which is how I met up with the BBBGS. And me being the fool that I am got into a situation where I had to accept their offer of a job. So now I'm working for these two slugs doing bodyguard work constantly.
Which is fine. Really. Though it would be more fine if it didn't involve me gettin' shot at so frackin' much! But I'm good at dodging. And as the holes in my coat will show you I'm getting better everyday.
None of my coworkers or my employers know I'm a girl. They'd shit bricks if they knew.
Which brings me to why I'm writing this. See, the counselor I was talking about earlier? Yeah, her. She thinks I'm lying when I tell her what happened during my day. So she told me to keep a journal so that she can analyze me. Well, as I said, she got her office broke and won't see me anymore. So I guess I'm just keeping this log so that future generations can know how fucked up the world can be and can learn to never trust their crew. Or something.
So this is my story, or some of it at least.
Oh. And if you don't have the entrance code to access this it's going to blow up and take you with it in about, oh, three and a half minutes. So I'd suggest you do something about that.
Zevra Jade, or Zev J if you rather, signing out.