Born to a single mother, an Arkanian Off-Shoot, on Nar Shaddaa, Psylina grew up in poverty, in the lower sectors. She never met or knew who her father was. A one time thing when there were many one time things except it ended up producing a new life. Scavenging to survive, finding minor labor to scrape by on credits, that was her life. Her mother worked as a waitress in a seedy cantina working for some less than savory people. Eventually her mother passed in a violent altercation, staff were killed. Stray blaster bolt. Unfortunately, her mother racked up a debt borrowing money, and working to pay it off on repeat. Living on Nar Shaddaa is like that, you tend to rack up a debt just trying to get by. Eventually she might have paid it off, if she didn't die. Now it falls on 18 year old Psylina to work off the debt herself, taking the job as a waitress after her mother passed, filling the position. Young, inexperienced but otherwise well aware of the criminal world she grew up right next to, she looks like an easy target. She probably is.

Credits - needs money to pay off debts. Wants to be debt free.

Debt - 20
Owes 20,000 credits.
The crime lord is a Zabarak male. His name is Drapa.

Standing at an unpretentious 5’4”, she carries a silhouette that effortlessly balances fragile elegance with a wiry, quiet resilience. Her build is lithe and slender—narrow shoulders, a trim waist, and a fluid, nimble posture—accentuated by a lush, soft D-cup bust that gives her lean frame an unexpectedly striking contour.

As an Arkanian Off-Shoot, her engineered heritage is written clearly across her features. Her skin is snow white with a subtle blue undertone, and her fine, straight hair falls in smooth white-blue long hair tied up in a fashionable bun. Her eyes are humanlike unlike proper Arkanians, with bright blue irises. Her hands, delicate yet sure, moving with the understated precision of someone used to handling delicate glass and heavy trays under pressure.

She wears a form-fitting, soft charcoal-gray shirt tucked cleanly into high-waisted, heavy-duty blast trousers in a scuffed tan shade. The pants are reinforced at the knees and thighs with durable synth-hide patches, built to withstand grease, grit, and engine grime.
Over the shirt, she wears an open, sleeveless utility vest crafted from weathered brown leather, loaded with internal pockets, small clip rings, and a weathered commlink pouch. A wide, dark-leather utility belt sits casually angled across her hips, secured by a brushed durasteel buckle and equipped with a small, snap-shut holster pouch on her right side. Mid-calf spacer boots—broken-in, scuffed at the toes, and strapped with heavy metal buckles—complete her outfit, giving her a grounded, pragmatic look that still flatters her slender frame.

Honed by years of working busy cantina floors, she possesses a natural, calm magnetism. She isn't inherently talkative, nor does she feel the need to fill quiet moments with empty chatter; she prefers to observe the room, reading body language and listening carefully before speaking.
When spoken to, however, her charm is disarming and immediate. She maintains warm, attentive eye contact and speaks in a soft, clear voice that carries an easy warmth. She can hold a conversation with effortless grace, using quick, polite smiles, intuitive nods, and a subtle, dry wit to put people at ease without ever needing to dominate the conversation. She radiates the quiet composure of someone who knows how to de-escalate a rowdy patron with a single gentle remark—a useful trait whether serving drinks or navigating the unpredictable company of spacers and mercenaries.

18 years old.