❥ ─ Killamere

[neon.]

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[tryout for readopt]

[Dangerous Criminal! Do not Aide or Abide]
Killamere Ruthin - known as 'Bullshark'.
Wanted in five planetary systems for unlawful seduction of nobility, grand theft auto, grand theft flora, and unspeakable remarks to the galactic council. Convicted for larceny of the highest order and piracy.

If seen, please report to your nearest galactic office and make a report.

Do not attempt to engage the criminal. His abilities to swindle innocents are legendary.

[playlist]
part 1 - spaceman
part 2 - lone digger
part 3 - can't hold us [language warning]

art by me

[neon.]

You don’t know this place. It’s a bit disconcerting, to wake up in a different place than you fell asleep. Still, you’re used to it. You’re used to the odd- this weird and wacky universe wasn’t ever going to stop surprising you.

And you’ve traveled most of it, after all.

Born Killamere Ruthin- nowadays, you're known as ‘Bullshark’. Or if you’re feeling particularly feisty, sometimes ‘The Gambler’ or ‘The Red Robber’ or even just ‘The-One-Who-Destroyed-Sector-41’. To be fair, it wasn’t your fault sector 41 got in your way. And you're glad you escaped responsibility for sector 43, because that one really wasn’t your fault.

Alright, it kind of was.

Killamere Ruthin hadn’t always been one of the galaxy’s most wanted. He’d had a long journey through piratehood, as he liked to call it. A lifetime of crime tended to make one a bit of a professional, and he liked to think that all of his experience is what lead him to have his face on many a wanted poster.

Still, it hadn’t started out that way.

Killamere had been born on a small planet with an even smaller star. Its tiny sun was close enough that it provided enough light and warmth- more than enough, actually. The planet was nearly all desert. Killamere spent his days building sand castles that were more like hills- this was not the kind of sand that held together.

He spent his nights doing things other than sleeping. His mother hadn’t wanted him to work so young- she wanted him to enjoy his childhood. But things are never easy when the wind is always tearing down what you’ve built, and sand is always ready to collapse. He stole, usually. His small size made him perfect for getting into hard to reach places.

His bright neon colors, well. He fit right in with the gang he worked for- the Bandits of the Poison Sands were all brightly colored. It meant ‘watch out’. It meant ‘danger’. These bright colors were a warning, a mark of their kind. He learned from these bandits how to steal, how to lie, and most importantly, how not to get caught.

Still, his days were filled with playing, and more than that- dreaming. The bandits were relegated to the ground of their planet. To the sands from which they were named. Nothing more, nothing less. But there was more out there, he knew it. He’d stolen from the supply ships, once. It had been a book of the more important planets in the galaxy. Killamere had memorized it now, with how many times he’d read it. He’d touch the soft blue oceans that made up Galix, and then brush against the greens of Enervian. He’d go there, he’d go to them all.

He’d always been a disobedient kit, and when his mother moved away, left him, she’d said she’d had to, but still she left- he’d stowed away on one of these ships. These spaceships.

Stowed away, and then found when the supply ship had been boarded by pirates. Or bandits, maybe. But not quite like the bandits from back home, no, these were something new, something extraordinary- and they hadn’t killed him. They’d took him with them.

‘Killamere. That’s a good name, but I’ll give you a better one.’

[neon.]

Bullshark, sixteen and restless. He wasn’t quite brutal, like his name made him out to be, but he was vicious. There was no job he wouldn’t take, no place he’d step away from. The galaxy was fair-game, and there was no where safe. He worked alone- his ship was faster than anything, and his piloting was perfection. Well, according to rumor. He knew there were better pilots out there, but that would change eventually. He ached to do something more, some grand heist. Sure, he was known, like any other pirate was known. He wanted more, he wanted renown. Hijacking ships, stealing from them- he gained wealth, but he felt like he had nothing to use it on.

He did it for fun, for the adrenaline rush of sweet success. But nothing more, no grand purpose. He’d tried to visit his old home and found nothing left. So there was nothing to give, not there. He threw himself into work, the shark of space, a man so daring as to steal the stars from the sky.

He may be young, but he was an adult- he’d grown up too fast, maybe, in the eyes of most- but he considered that it had to be done.

Bullshark, the lone shark of the skies. Lone, certainly, but he still worked with the pirates that had originally found him. He didn’t like that they seemed settled with what they were doing, alright with only amassing wealth and not doing more.

[neon.]

At twenty four, he was still the Bullshark, but he was also a Gambler- a runner, to be precise. The Galaxy was a beautiful place, and large. There was always somewhere touched by war. He’d become someone that stole princesses, that smuggled the heritage of a kingdom from one place to a next. It was more dangerous, when you were involved in what could be the fall or rise of an empire. But it was something so much more, when what you did had an effect that could last.

He’d become better at talking too- rough edges, smooth tongue. He could sell his act anywhere and everywhere. He wasn’t settled, but he was better- he was known as a mercenary, a shark of seven moons, he could find anyone within the galaxy. He wasn’t an assassin- never had been, nor a bounty hunter. But he could get anywhere, go everywhere, and finding someone lost was right up his alley.

He never felt lost himself, in all his travels. He had in the past- when he was younger, still Killamere in heart, Bullshark on the outside, all aching for notice. He was better now, rougher now, but better pieced together. When you were so confident, the impossible was just a challenge.

Still, there were times that he was overconfident. Times that had led him to wake up like, this so disoriented. He didn’t recognize his surroundings. He knew he would never go to sleep without a gun near him.

And more than that, he would never go to sleep tied up.

“I’m at the end of my rope here,” he said aloud, testing the bonds. “No idea what I’m in for, either.” Bullshark looked around, tilting his head, “But it’s time I find out.”