Albie Smit

[Cortex Mainframe]

Albie Smit
aqueenvictorious/rvg

Age:	24. With a little time and effort, can pass as anything between fourteen and forty.
Gender:	Male
Primary Occupation:	Parting fools from their money, piloting, flirting
Secondary Occupation (optional):	Haphazard tinkering, running from bad choices, drinking
Appearance:	Aggressively medium unless playing a role. Blondish-brown hair, brown eyes, a bit under 6'. Most notable physical trait is an utter inability to put on weight despite being a human garbage disposal, and a brilliantly charming real smile that almost never comes out.
Faceclaim:	Thomas Brodie-Sangster
Initial Personality:	Depends entirely on context. Like a snake shedding skin, Albie will slip out of one role and into another, approaching everyone in what he perceives to be the best way. He's usually pretty good at gauging what that might be, but definitely not infallible. Luckily, he runs fast... and can take a beating, if there's no way out. His usual base state is a scrappy but cheerful young man, willing to lend a hand and a snarky remark.
Underlying Personality:	Despite his sociability, hours of conversation with Albie will net you a lot of great anecdotes of dubious veracity and very little knowledge about him. You might learn about the alias he's playing, but not much about Albie himself. Someone who gets to know him past the superficial will find someone who's reserved, not inclined to give his real opinion, with a deep pool of patience – but once he's done, he's done and there's no coming back. He won't just cut ties, he'll send them up in flames.
Known History:	Albie Smit was born something else entirely, and (firmly believes) he would let his teeth get dragged out of his mouth before that name is. As far as who he is now, Albie has the general kind of thing available on the cortex – financial information, a handful of data about his life growing up on Lilac, his modest and bog-standard education. It's an excellent forged identity– very natural. Barely any holes at all. There's an outstanding warrant for one alias, Agust Jaro, and should anyone discover it Albie will maintain with every breath that it was not his fault. All right, yes, he should've realized they were pirates when he signed on, but everyone makes a mistake now and then, and what was he supposed to do? Stand up for righteousness in the middle of the black and get chucked out an airlock? Pass. Digging deep enough, one might be able to stumble upon his previous preferred aliases, Elliat Wye and Rene Arthur. The information isn't hidden, both have/had decent presences on the cortex, but he makes a point of keeping his aliases as disconnected as he can.
Other History:	The wooden shack the boy who would become Albie Smit once called home sat outside an unnamed cluster of houses, which sat outside a tiny village named Tanny Hill, which sat outside an abandoned, failed mining town called Newlin on a planet with a name Albie no longer cared to remember. For twelve years, he didn't really believe there was anything more, until he walked his dusty, barefoot way past the houses and village and town and all the way to Tungport. His uncle had said, "go down to Newlin and take the long jump." He'd meant over the side of the dig, but the old mine held better treasure: a map, faded and bug-gnawed, with Tungport circled in purple, and he'd thought, doesn't a port have boats? Some of Mama's stories had boats, and Shepherd Von had talked about big old ships. Big things needed cleaning. Folks always wanted boys for cleaning and dirty jobs. It held true: the mechanics of The Mazy called him dogsbody and let him bunk with the dog, too, on a soft pallet near the warm engines. They offered them both scraps, and they offered them both whiskey, and they were both sick, sick, sick. But they let him watch what they did, and Albie learned, and kept on learning.
Skills and Strengths:	Capable of both attracting attention and avoiding it. For all he's got a knack for charming the pants off the staidest parish priest, he'd rather be the pickpocket blending into the crowd than the decoy on the stage. He won't ever stay knocked down (though he'll probably wait for the knocker to leave before he drags himself back up). Handy with minor things and willing to hit more complex machinery until it cooperates. Picking up flying with all the eagerness of a foal just discovering it can run.
Weaknesses:	Albie is an absolute magpie, and not just for shiny things. Interesting people, particularly fine horses, excellent ships... Albie falls deep and hard in love, for about an hour. Any plan that hinges on him being in the right place at the right time will be imperiled the moment he sees something he wants to take or someone he wants to know... or an opportunity for a really interesting con.  Not great at leadership or strategy – in general, much better at responding to situations than following directions. Not a fan of blood, guts, gore, or any other medical issue. Avoids doctors. He can get through it in crisis mode ("I have to hold this cloth on this person or they will DIE but I am DEFINITELY going to puke about this later") and that's about it. (This includes himself and is a big part of why, though he can get up after quite a bit of pummeling, he'd rather avoid it in the first place.) A good immune system has carried him far, but when he does get sick he's the absolute worst giant baby about it.

[aqueenvictorious]

Equipment

Lockpicks; gun and two knives, all well cared for but of only moderate quality; pack of cards and set of dice; flask of something he won't share (because then you'll know it's basically alcoholic syrup and not Manly, Gritty Whisky), a grimy and faded printed out picture of a young Albie posing with a handful of grizzled older men, Mazy's Lazy Boys scrawled on his shirt to patch the patches on their coveralls.

[aqueenvictorious]

Medical Records

Official Records:

MALADY	DESC-TREATMENT-ETC
INJURY	DESC-TREATMENT-ETC

Alias/Ship Records:

MALADY	DESC-TREATMENT-ETC
INJURY	DESC-TREATMENT-ETC

[noseatbelts]

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