Cassiopeia Steele

The Proscenium bustled with smugglers, rogues, and mercenaries. Cassiopeia Steele leaned at the bar, hat low, drink in hand. A figure slid onto the seat beside her. Cass didn’t look—she didn’t need to. "If you’re lookin’ to chat, sugar, I ain’t the friendly type. If you’re here for trouble, well… best know I shoot faster than I talk." She took a slow sip, fingers tapping her holster.