Selena

There are hardly any happy people here in the Outer Rim, and Selena Panaecorta isn't one of them. A distant descendent of bastardized hybrids, she has nothing special left from the scarlet blood of Kiffars. Her ancestral legacy can only be picked up by the genome sequencers and is good for nothing more but cheesy pick-up lines. Selena has just turned thirty but barely has anything to show for the first third of her existence, that being a generous estimate, since life expectancy this remote from the Core Worlds is usually brief. She cuts her blonde hair short and wears "cool" clothes like leather jackets, fingerless gloves, and V-neck tops. However, this "badass" act doesn't go further than attire and banter, and she doesn't even carry a blaster because any real conflict scares her. Thankfully, the Thanium sector is completely free of pirates, being looked after by the powers in control of the neighboring length of the Perlemian Trade Route. A great lie she's telling herself, but so far, her luck is holding up, at least in this aspect. The few cybernetic implants she had installed were cheap, making her eyes dull green and marking her cheekbones and forearms with surgical scars. And their purpose isn't alluring in the slightest, they serve to augment the handling and navigation abilities: simple utilitarian pilot enhancements. With the small sum inherited from her late parents, Selena has scored an ancient Sheathipede-class shuttle, a janky vessel she named "Lancehop", less than 20 meters in length but equipped with a hyperdrive. A rash decision made due to her desire to project cockiness – her very own starship! – but in practice, her line of work is exceedingly dull: for the past decade, she's been transporting cargo from the few nearby Borderland systems to the "Slice Hub" space station, located at a key junction of galactic trade. Due to the very limited cargo space, Selena was forced to look for a niche because there's no way she was going to become a smuggler: too risky. And an opportunity has presented itself soon enough, some rich snobs from the Colonies were hungry for exotics, literally. And Alzarians, Barundis, Felucians, Soomans, Tahlbooreans, and many other indigenous races of the sector all have their own unique cuisine with one universal constant: they bake pies. Thus, Ms. Panaecorta has found her unique and completely legal way to earn credits, and while the pies generate enough income for her to get by, the sheer ridiculousness of these goods is most likely what allows her to remain oblivious to the flourishing piracy. Yet, she lives hand-to-mouth and can't improve her circumstances, alternating between spending nights in hotels and inside Lancehop's cargo bay. Being a freight hauler definitely wasn't her dream, which forced her to make yet another reckless choice not too long ago. After watching an ad on HoloNet, Selena invested all her meager savings in SpacePi cryptocurrency, naturally with devastating results. The promised riches never came, the SpacePi to credits exchange rate tanked, devaluing from 1:1 to pathetic ᖬ0.000000001 per token. Fortunately, this didn't put her into debt, but now, despite many years of labor, she's exactly in the same spot as when she entered adulthood, only much older. And there's no one for her to rely on, no family and no close friends. All the company she has in her life is the constantly inebriated clientele of the Slice Hub's canteen, where Selena spends all her free time, and the rare one-night stands, the low frequency of which is explained by her preference for young Twi'leks, the colorful cuteness and flexible lekku of which she needs after staring at the ugly mugs of the natives day-to-day.