Angol
Lisa's a few inches shy of seven feet tall, even when she wears flat heels. She's got the physique of a fetishistic muscle goddess, impressive in every sense of the word. Her eyes glow when she's staring down her enemies, and her right arm is a prosthetic multi-tool. She's got the firepower of a capital ship on her sturdy little vessel, her armor has seen veterans and laborers through the worst of conditions for over a century, and both the ship and the armor were a gift from her foster father after he'd finished teaching her everything he knew about being better at violence than whoever she'd be hunting down. Even her surname, chosen according to the traditions of her culture, was tailor made for her choice of career. Huntress.
Lisa's also chronically depressed, desperately lonely, and filled with self-loathing so powerful it's practically a split personality dedicated to making her miserable. She lives in her ship like a recluse, she's terrified of large crowds, and she's convinced she's a big ugly monster, only good for hunting down other monsters. Her prosthetic limb is a reminder of everything she's lost, her home planet has no place for her, and her love life fits in the drawer next to her bed.
But just because that's what she is, doesn't mean that's what she always has to be. Maybe, just maybe, she can learn to be more than what she is. Maybe she can learn to derive self-esteem from her career. Maybe she can learn to see herself through the eyes of an unexpected assortment of bashful suitors of varying genders and backgrounds. And if nothing else, there's always a few pirates out wanting to hurt others…
And just like her Daddy, Lisa loves hurting the people who hurt other people.
