Wes Kallintz
The Basics
Name: Wes Kallintz
Age: 21
Origin: Corellia
Race: Human
Gender: Male
Class: Scoundrel
Concept: Lost Smuggler
Affiliation: Self (in his mind, that's the point of the lifestyle), sentimental obligation to aid Jedi Order
Weapon of Choice: Twin medium blaster pistols
Ship of Choice: Red Sun Scavenger (Heavily modified YG-4210 light freighter)
Mood/Theme
Music
Good music for the character - the lyrics aren't necessarily relevant, but the mood created by them is.
Stories
- Wes is currently involved in a chronicle being run by Brian K.
- Wes's adventures prior to the chronicle will be detailed in a two part story. The story's two parts fall before and after the defining moment story written below. The story is Fare for A Brigand.
Defining Moment
Wes let out a sputtering cough as stumbled around the corner. He let himself fall back into the corridor wall as he discharged the clip from his pistol. The cement was cold and wet; it was an unpleasant reminder of the rain. Wes hated Nar Shaddaa, and this was why. He'd already been taken a rifle blast to the chest, and the number of his assailants had since tripled. He slammed another charge pack into the blaster pistol and took a deep, albeit painful breath. A glance to his left showed him the road he'd need to take to make it to the cantina - it was, however, across the intersection. He didn't have long before his pursuers would round the corner. He reached down and detached the hold out blaster from his ankle holster. Steeling himself, he dove into the middle of the street, slamming the triggers to both weapons as rapidly as he could, unleashing a hailstorm of plasma in the direction of the three thugs. He did his best to roll as he hit the ground, though his tumbling was subpar - he bounced awkwardly and rolled along the ground, though he reached his destination. He'd made it to the other side of the street alive, and was again safely behind cover. He'd only taken one hit to the shoulder, which at this point, was a blessing set against the injuries he might've sustained pulling such a stunt.
Not one to waste time, Wes bolted down the alleyway, looking at each shady door as he ran by it. The thugs had caught on at this point, and amidst a hail of oncoming fire, Wes managed to take a half-look behind himself and unleash a few return shots. Conveniently, one of the thugs dropped - Wes had hit him in the leg twice now. As he moved his gaze straight ahead again, he realized he'd passed the door to the cantina by just a few feet. Nearly stumbling as he forced himself to an immediate stop, he jumped for the door, throwing it open and slamming it shut behind him with equal rapidity.
The cantina music was loud, poorly played, and repetitive. He knew he'd come to the right place. Leaning against the door and panting for a moment, he dashed to the bar, pushing a few unruly patrons aside as he searched frantically for what he'd left behind. It adorned the shoulders of an unfriendly-looking Sullustan at the counter when he found it - He should've guessed that most Hutt establishments didn't have much of a lost & found. Knowing his time was short, Wes did away with the pleasantries. After getting the Sullustan's attention with a tap to the shoulder, he placed the barrel of his larger blaster to the alien's forehead.
"Jacket, now." Wes gave his best scowl.
The Sullustan stuttered, taken aback, and reached for his own blaster, but realized how serious Wes was when he clicked the trigger partway down. The Sullustan replied in his best Basic.
"S-Sure, jacket, s-sorry..." He fumbled as he pulled the jacket off - it fit his smaller frame poorly, anyhow - and handed it back to Wes, who'd turned to face his assailants once again; they'd entered the bar, and were approaching with blasters beared. Wes, unhesitating, fired two shots at them as he leapt the counter (shattering several glasses) and shoved the bartender in the direction of the thugs. He crouched low, and under the cover of the counter, made his way back to the storeroom. He prayed for a backdoor, and his prayers were answered. Safely behind the storeroom's door, he stood up again, dashing to the backdoor. He exited into yet another dark alley, though his intuition was enough at this point to lead him in the direction of the spaceport. After a few creative shortcuts, Wes seemed have lost them, at least for a moment. The spaceport was in sight, and this gave Wes that last burst of strength he needed to make it to the ship he'd flown here. His sprint picked up, and though he barreled over a few spaceport denizens as he passed (on Nar Shadaa, they were used to these sorts of affairs), he managed to reach the boarding ramp of his craft as the thugs entered the platform. As he backed up the platform, coughing and struggling to catch his breath, he fired again, with both pistols. They returned fire, catching Wes again in the shoulder, reminding him that he probably should have left well enough alone once he'd reached the ramp.
He tore through the ship's corridors, making his way to the cockpit, where the glare he received from Naala hit him harder than any of the thugs' blaster fire.
"What the hell are you doing?!"
Wes, panting, bore that roguish grin that was able to dispel even the harshest bouts of anger.
"I forgot my lucky jacket."
Many people would call Wes Kallintz crazy for flying a Hutt's ship, stolen, back to its home spaceport after successfully escaping with it. Naala, his Bothan partner-in-crime, was one of them.
"You forgot your lucky jacket?! Are you insane? We nearly died getting that thing out of here, we only escaped the planetary patrols through dumb luck, and now you're just about dead! How the hell do you plan on getting us out of here... again?!" Naala shouted over the sounds of blaster fire pelting the hull of the ship.
"It's that 'just-about' part," Wes spoke between pained breaths as he closed the boarding ramp and started the ship's takeoff sequence, "that makes all the difference."
There were a few moments of angry silence between them before Wes's mischievous charm won Naala over again, her anger fading into half-playful scorn as she fell back into her seat. She couldn't help but like the bastard.
"What's so lucky about that jacket, anyway?"
Wes, ever the scoundrel, decided to push his luck. Donning the grin once again, he replied. "Well, it got me back to the ship alive, didn't it?" Grin wider than ever, Wes looked briefly to Naala to catch her reply.
Before she was able to snap out of the slack-jawed amazement Wes's reply had elicited, Wes slammed the upward thrusters, launching the ship into its second perilous ascent from platform 56 at Nar Shadaa's largest spaceport.