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|Age:||Thirty-three, but he may feel younger energy wise, depending on the drug he's taking at the time.|
|Affiliation:||None. None at all.|
|Side of the Force:||Neutral.|
|Occupation:||Primarily a gardener. He was formerly a hotelier, but now he's taken up a living as a reluctant privateer.|
|Force Affinity:||None. NONE! And that's just fine with him.|
Meddle is a boney and far-sighted human, his stature small and complexion the dark, woody color of tree bark, much in the same manner of the Irish fey (learn your Irish fearie lore, people!). His hair is brilliantly red, contrasting wonderfully with the rough, brown-gray tones of his skin.
The fleshy, vulnerable skin on the inside of his arms is speckled with the tracks left behind by needles stuck into the vein. He'd normally take the time to conceal this, but its not like any good would come from trying to hide it from anyone--least of all himself. He finds that long sleeves just get in his way, anyway. Thus, he prefers sleeveless tunics and long pants--all of his attire very plain and simple, being a man very short on money these past days.
He owns two different pairs of shoes, but he prefers the ground under his own bare feet rather than the leather of a shoe, remembering the feel of sifting sand between his toes back in his home on Tatooine. Perhaps because of this, he has 'nice' fet in the same way that some people have finely manicured hands.
'Good' people can sometimes do 'bad' things and Rocco is certainly no exception. The guilt of drug addiction is always at the back of his mind; tapping away like an impatient mother taps her foot. He figures he ought to do something about it, but never has.
His coy personality comes and goes at random; sometimes he won't profess an opinion at all, just shake his head and shrug. At other times, he is loud spoken, energetic, and unpredictable. He's quite the humanitarian, opting for peace over war, equality over some outdated social system. He makes it his business to break up fights though he doesn't go out of his way to look for them. He speaks out for those who won't speak up for themselves, and doesn't hold grudges, except against authority figures. He values tolerance above all else and will openly welcome anyone who comes to his doorstep. He is an excellent listener, lending his ear to anyone who needs it, whether they abuse his ears with emotional venting or just to relate some fact or story.
The concepts of right and wrong hold no meaning for him. He thinks that people should be whatever they need to be, and that no one should deny them that (because, as he's said before, its sometimes all people have). He feels no need to elaborate; he is usually humble and reserved, and though he could go on explaining for hours, he sees no point in it. Even so, he has no patience for cruelty or ignorance.
And yet all of that changes when he's angered; he is small, but he is fierce. A rebel at heart, the burning blood that comes with anger easily swallows any feelings of fear or indecision Rocco may have at the time. He becomes almost immune to intimidation, mostly oblivious to physical harm (lest it should be some kind of a mortal wound), rude, snappish, and downright nasty, fidgeting and tossing his head in the face of rage. He restrains anger, keeping himself calm and releasing the violent in droves when the moment calls for it. Though he seems wholly reasonable (if not a mite dangerous) when he's angry, most times his mind has been closed to anything other than his goal. For the best results, sense sometimes has to be physically and literally slapped into him. (Fire works well for this.) Nonetheless, once the teeth are bared, the hackles raised, the fists clenching and unclenching, the soft-spoken human is quite a force to be reckoned with.
When violence is unavoidable (which totally usurps his philosophies, but hell if you can get someone to stay in a room long enough to listen to him rant about his philosophies…), he will wound but he will not kill. He prefers to leave that job to other, more willing companions. He has the capacity to cause great harm--physically and mentally--but sees no reason for it.
Favored Force Uses
None at all, and he highly begrudges its use by anyone, whether the intention is ill or well. While some consider the force to be an entity within itself, even a kind of 'higher being', he sees it as unnatural and strange. While it can be used for great good, something about the concept of the force strikes him as...off.
He owns two small handguns, but would rather never use them. Even in a situation where he would need them, he'd rather fight face to face or not at all. Despite this, he does carry a small knife on his person. Guns and lightsabers are nice, really, but small knives should never be underestimated--after all, it doesn't take any training whatsoever to grab a small, sharp object and jam it into some vulnerable place on your opponent.
If he has to fight, he'd rather it was with his own God-given fists.
Willfull and driven, Rocco tends to speak up for himself and others, sometimes recklessly. He's very resourceful when he needs to be, and practically anything can be used as a weapon with a little imagination. To quote George Carlin, "...You could probably beat a guy to death with the Sunday New York Times, couldn't you?" But again, when do you think a hippie is ever gonna need to use something as a weapon?
Due to his far-sightedness, he's a hell of a shot with ranged weapons. The problem is convincing him that pulling the trigger is a good thing.
There are many things he finds himself susceptible to as weaknesses: physical abuse (of animals or otherwise) tears at his heart, as does the sight of people living off the street, particularly children (after all, they do say the orphaned are the most innocent of us all). Slavery, ethical 'cleansing', poverty, and prejudice are all things that he's seen for himself, and each one stung just as much as the last. There, of course, is a whole myriad of other things, including his own addiction. Though, if you want a physical weakness, he's far sighted, and can't see much of anything when it’s too close to him. (Kind of makes you wonder why he’s such a prolific gardener…)