First impressions are very important, and they can very much color your interpretations of things, and I say that because after seeing the official art of today’s subject, I can’t help but interpret them as Ernest P. Worrel (a “dumb chatty hick” character predating Larry the Cable Guy) meets the Vreedle Family from Ben 10 with reshapable tentacle limbs. Seriously, google image search “starfinder brakim” and tell me that isn’t what it is.

That aside, the brakim are another species native to the region of space controlled by the Azlanti Star Empire, and at one point were probably the best equipped to actually fight back against them… if it wasn’t for the fact that they had already nuked themselves back into the stone age prior to that, reduced to a hunter-gatherer civilization salvaging what tech they could from the ruins of their prior technological heights.

Most brakim remain on their ruined world of Bortan II, but those seeking to leave the brutal life of scavenging and fighting over resources often hire on as engineers aboard starships leaving the planet, a task they excel at due to jury-rigging and salvaging being a key survival skill on the planet. However, they often struggle to make friends due to being slow to trust as another survival skill.

Indeed, brakin thrive when working, being an industrious people with an knack for technology, viewing it as much more reliable than magic in most cases.

From a distance, brakim could be mistaken for humans, but the illusion breaks down as one gets closer. While they possess two arms and two legs like a human, mostly hairless skin with scalps of hair on their heads, the similarities break down quickly, for their eyes are bulbous and blood red with no discernable sclera or pupil, their mouths are wide with too many teeth, and their limbs are more akin to highly specialized tentacles with fingers and toes than they are skeletal limbs, and their skin is decorated with splotches of color akin to what some species of octopi exhibit while at rest. The result is a gangly appearance similar to if a cephalopod evolved to mimic humanity albeit imperfectly.

However, despite their residence firmly in the uncanny valley, brakim physiology is fascinating, for their limbs are quite malleable, capable of being reshaped with conscious effort, allowing them to stretch their arms or legs for reach or added height, or even convert all four limbs into legs or into arms for added overland speed or a literal all hands-on task respectively. I imagine that their spines are similarly flexible, no doubt giving them a fluid, almost rubber-hose cartoon movement. They lack an internal skeleton, so I imagine that what passes for bones are made from a pliable cartilage supported by banded muscle that can be bent easily, or reinforced for rigidity when they need to bear weight.

Like cephalopods, they even regenerate lost limbs when needed, and most consider the loss of a limb as a minor cost for staying alive.

Despite their often brusque attitudes, brakim are nothing if not adaptable and can develop strong bonds of trust with those that prove honest and reliable. They like things simple and practical, in the same way they prefer engineering to computing and magic, and so have a hard time trusting those that overcomplicate their lives and those of others.

Brakim are dexterous and tough, but their difficulty trusting others inhibits them socially.

Living in wastelands salvaging what they can means that all brakim have a base understanding of how machines are put together.

Their most iconic ability is the malleability of their limbs. They can modify the length to reach far or grow in height, though doing so makes those limbs awkward and clumsy, or convert their arms into legs or legs into arms to gain increased speed at the cost of grasping limbs, or becoming nearly immobile to have more hands to handle and use equipment. Additionally, they can detach a limb that is grabbed or trapped, regrowing them in a few hours. Overall, this flexibility also makes them excellent climbers and swimmers as well.

The radioactive landscape of their homeworld has also toughened them, making them resistant to radiation and able to better scrounge for supplies and survive on less food and water for longer.

With their toughness and flexibility, brakim make for good tanky characters, favoring the likes of vanguard, soldier, evolutionist, and nanocyte. Their love of engineering also makes them natural mechanics, possibly making technomancer their most common spellcasting class as well. Skilled and cunning operatives are also a good option. Their weakness with charisma makes envoy and solarian slightly difficult, but not insurmountable. Meanwhile, culturally they may tend to avoid spellcasting classes, but there’s nothing stopping you from using any of them, possibly favoring precogs and technomancers. The adaptability of brakims means they have options for fast motion, added reach, and additional hands to wield equipment and weapons, and they can do this without spending any sort of action, so adapt and change constantly with the needs of the battlefield and the scenario.

There was still much that they were learning about each other. Seven months into the relationship marked their first fight. They had fought about going public with their relationship. Britton had been eager to introduce him to her friends and Rakim had no interest. Rakim enjoyed their solitude and besides Wallace he was not looking forward to meeting her family.

Britton stormed out of the apartment and stayed at River's place, a woman who he knew much about but never met. Apologies were made later on and they came to a compromise. One night a week they would go to something social. The first was dinner with River who he found to be an excellent female companion to Britton. River possessed a drier sense of humor as well as a pessimistic view on life. While the love of his life had worn a bright robin blue dress, Robin had shown up to dinner in jeans and plain sweater. He supposed that was the nature of their relationship. 

They happened to be at the restaurant on kareoke night and when the spotlight was turned on her, River had dragged her to the stage.River sat back down and turned to Rakim. "Have you ever heard her sing?" she asked. Rakim thought for a moment before shaking his head, "No, I don't believe I have." 

River reached for her glass of wine. "Well you're about to hear the reason why her parents disapproved of college." Rakim turned to the stage and Britton brought the microphone to her lips as the words for 'Give It Up' popped up on the screen. For the next three and a half minutes it was the first time Rakim had truly felt his jaw drop.

She sang beautifully, a voice that pleased every ear in the vicinity. Rakim and River sat smiling. 

"I don't know you." River suddenly said, her eyes flashing as Britton continued to sing, "I know a lot about you but I don't know you. I am only willing to make an effort out of love for Britton."

"As am I, we have that much in common." Rakim answered carefully. The two regarded each other before drifting their attention back to other things.

We were strangers on a crazy adventure

Rakim followed Wallace into the vehicle waiting for him. It has been a long flight for him. While he had been a well seasoned flier, Rakim never seemed to keep his patience in check when it came to Britton. The entire flight was a heart pounding ordeal. 

This would be the first time he would see her ever since Morocco. 

"We're here." Wallace smiled and opened the car door. The lights and business of New York City brought a slight smile to his face. No wonder why Britton had been so calm while stranded, she had come from a place of ordered chaos. When Britton told him she had gotten an apartment for them to share, he had expected an apartment. 

While attending Oxford for his undergraduate degree, Rakim and other classmates of his rented a small apartment. He had shared a room with two other men and spent his youth cramped in small spaces, grateful that his mother would always send some treats for him to keep to himself. Rakim was used to sharing. He had done so with his brother and younger sister as a child.

But it was apparent that Britton's idea of an apartment was very different. Rakim was standing in front of a large hotel, resembling the Plaza of Eloise. Wallace took Rakim, who was tired and a bit dirty from travel, up the elevator. The elevator required a key to be put in before letting them go inside. When it opened Rakim was greeted by a hallway, a sofa seen at the end.

"Welcome Home," Wallace nodded as the elevator closed in front of him. Rakim walked down the hallway, cautious but excited. He could hear some ruffling a few feet from him. The hallway opened up and the sofa was clearly out of place. There were boxes and crates everywhere and a half built dining table in the middle. This would be the living area. Turning to his left the dining/living area turned into a kitchen where the love of his life was currently standing.

Rakim indulged himself. Britton was standing over the stove, her blonde hair thrown up in a pony tail. She wore knee length sweat pants, tight enough for Rakim to admire her bottom. A battered white tank top clung to her upper body, showing off her curves. She was humming to herself, stirring the pot.

He then walked up to her carefully before scooping her up in his arms. Her initial reaction was to push him away in shock but once Britton realized it was him she flung her arms around his neck and kissed him. Rakim set her down but she still leaned on him, gazing up at his face.

"You're here, you're really here." she murmured before burying her face in his chest. 

This meeting was not so violent as their last but in the midst of their reunion they wound up naked amid the unopened boxes and crates, cuddling on a blanket. It was twilight from the looks of it. He had covered his body with another blanket from the waist down while Britton stretched like a cat, unashamedly lifting her chest to the ceiling before reclining back on the floor.

She was different from what he remembered. She had matured, her face had lost its easy smile. Britton was still the most beautiful girl Rakim had ever had the pleasure of loving. It was in this moment, listening to the taxis racing beneath them, tasting the wine she uncorked, spooning the meal she made in his mouth that Rakim realized that this was it. There was no going back.

I am human and I will let you down

Fear sat in Britton's chest. It was buried but there were times throughout the day were the fear would bloom and ice her veins. It happened during the calmer moments of her week when her life was beating steady. Britton feared she wasn't good enough for Rakim...for happiness. In all honesty she never imagined she would wind up with Rakim. It had been Lawrence in her life that she assumed she would marry. 

Rakim made her soul sing. She loved his scent that overtook her clothes, her sheets, her skin. Britton loved the way he said her name, the way her ears were becoming so used to his accent that she understood him perfectly. She loved how different he was, how silent he could be. He had a room for himself where he collected books and things to tinker with. 

And sometimes it was when she was tidying up his room she would worry that he would leave her. She worried that she was just some hot lay, a fantasy of his that he was fulfilling before he left to marry someone else back home. And when she confessed this to him one night he lifted her face up and told her that she was his home.

Britton would pick up the books on physics, on electricity, on the history of Congo and she would almost cringe. She was ignorant on most of the subjects he researched. She had her own interests but it still worried her. Rakim was a force in her life she could not live without. He was unexpected. In all ways, really. He was over ten years older than her and grew up relatively middle class. Rakim was from Iraq and spoke Arabic. In fact sometimes he would talk to her in Arabic with simple words, "sabah el kheer" in the mornings and "lahda men fadlek" when he was late. In those ten years he had ahead of her, Rakim joined the military and worked with the US Army and government.

He had a life in Iraq, one he left for her. Britton never saw him homesick or talk about his family much. She did know that he had siblings and that he studied in London. He had lived an interesting life before her. Now he was stuck in an apartment doing housework. He wasn't broke, he had been saving up his whole life and his job in the military paid handsomely. Rakim didn't have to pay for rent so he spent most of his money on gifts for Britton.

While Briton was losing sleep over the possibility of being left, Rakim was suffering from the same fears. He felt like he was living in a dream. Britton was not the woman men like him married. She represented the women men like him wished they married. He was foreign in America, someone that could possibly be attacked on the basis of race alone. 

The apartment was his domain. It was where he spent his days and nights, either sleeping in their room or fixing something in his office. Some days he would laugh privately when he was working in the kitchen, a classic housewife. He liked to think he was retired for now. Rakim had seen the world, had experienced war, accidents, bullets, cross continent chases, classified missions, prison, heart break, and betrayal. He was finally happy to be in his own bubble for once, to be protected. 

Rakim thought he dragged Britton down. Women her age should be partying, dating and breaking up, crying while watching The Notebook, experiencing the time of their lives. Instead she was staying home, working, and loving him. She was too beautiful at times, so horribly perfect. From the way her hair was carefully taken cared of to the attention she paid to her body and face. Her clothes were neatly pressed and bought from designers. Many of the articles of clothing she possessed were tailored for her. Britton was a princess, she was royalty. In many ways Rakim thought of her as the Aurora to his Aladdin. Street Rat and Beauty. But she remained with him, her loyalty so fierce it made him question what was so special about him. He wasn't someone who stood out in terms of intelligence or wit. And he certainly did not have the good looks of his cousins. At best he viewed himself as average and old. Apart from being an operative of course and a graduate at Oxford.

Tell me I'm your Nation Anthem

The Thorley Gala. An Institution of the Upper Echelon of New York City. Lawrence had been attending since he was an infant. To say that the Thorley Gala was eventful would have been an understatement. Anything that happened at the Thorley Gala was sure to be a turn in the year. 

It's where Lawrence and Britton first admitted their crushes on each other and where Lawrence got Senator Thorley's blessing to propose. It was also the night Britton lost her virginity and when Lawrence first did coke. The Thorley Gala was a night of change.

He sat at the bar, waiting for Britton to make an appearance. Sure enough her boyfriend would be attached to her hip. Britton was not the type of girl you left alone at an event like this. She was real arm candy. Lawrence imagined that her new boyfriend would be much like him, without their history.

He supposed that the guy would be smart, probably from the West Coast since Lawrence never heard of him. Britton liked to laugh so he was probably a jokester, probably slim with a rockstar-esque style. Britton was always into a bit of a rebel so maybe it was a rockstar. Lawrence laughed at the image of a Britton dressed in pink walking in with some long-haired country rock star. He almost hoped it.

"Whoa." Buffy whispered. Lawrence had brought her along to keep him entertained. He followed her line of sight and his jaw dropped. Britton looked like a woman, a mature woman. There wasn't any pink or frill in sight. Her hair was up, lipstick red, and her dress was long sleeved and floor length. It was black and half sheer, very modest and yet very sexy. She glided through the crowd, waving and kissing cheeks. She looked how Lawrence imagined she would look after they were married.

She was also alone.

"I thought tonight was when she brought her boyfriend out." Lawrence chuckled as he got up to greet her. "It is," Buffy replied. 

"Lawrence, come say hi to Britton she's been shut up in her apartment and office all year." Her mother Dorthy said and dragged him and Buffy to where Britton was sitting. 

Britton just finished a conversation with River's father when she looked up and her eyes brightened. "Lawrence, it is so good to see you." she gushed. They air kissed. "Brit, this is Buffy, she goes to NYU." he introduced. "Hi Britton!" Buffy greeted enthusiastically. 

"Excuse me, is this table 4?" Lawrence turned to see a tall, dark Middle Eastern man with a little card in his hand. His accent was a bit heavy and there was tones of a British background. Table 4? Table 4 was for people like him and Britton. Why the hell would this guy be at Table 4?

"Yeah," Lawrence answered as he took a seat. The man took a seat across from him, right next to Britton's seat, signified by her black purse. Britton turned and sat down and faced him before leaning in and giving him a kiss. 

Lawrence nearly exploded.

This was her boyfriend? He was obviously much older than her and not at all what he was expected. The man sat very seriously, almost unaffected by the commotion around him. He didn't strike Lawrence as Britton's physical type either. He was fit but very thick in the chest and arms and a small belly poked from his shirt. His hair was thick and curly but in place for tonight.

"Where were you?" she asked, "My father was looking for you."

"Your father was looking for me." He repeated with a bit of mockery. Britton rolled her eyes. "Yes he was."

"I was taking a phone call, apparently Vivienne and Warren hit traffic and will be late. Then Hazel took up some time debating on what shoe to put on." 

"I should've just told her what to wear on Monday." Britton sighed.

"It would've given me time to order a drink." he nodded.

"Oh how rude of me, Rakim sweetie this is Lawrence and his friend Buffy."

Lawrence noticed the flash in Rakim's eyes.

"Ah yes, hello, I'm Rakim."

"I just love your accent!" Buffy exclaimed.

"Thank you, I attribute it to my time spent in England." he smiled.

"Rohi, can you call Kris? River's been waiting for him to show up."

"He's probably still getting ready he and Peter went to the shooting range today."

"Why didn't you go?"

"Ares and I went to the racetrack. Warren and Grey went shopping for backpacks." 

Their conversation went on, an easy rhythm of banter and reply. Britton wasn't all over him and he wasn't groping her at whatever chance he got so Lawrence concluded that they were past the 'crazy in love' phase. Instead there was subtle brushes of flesh and knowing looks. Lawrence couldn't figure out how the hell she fell for him. As the night went on and their common friends arrived, Lawrence observed her. 

She was much more mature now, she carried a womanly charm. Britton was still as youthful as ever but there was a strain of experience and loss that echoed in her stories. And when she dragged Rakim to the dance floor, he couldn't help but notice how naturally Rakim's hand found the small of her back and how Britton dug her face in his chest like she had done it a thousand times. They slow danced, wrapped in each other's arms. They weren't exclusive that night though, their friends went on the dance floor and everyone traded partners at some point. 

Lawrence could feel himself saying good bye. This wasn't the Britton he fell in love with. That Britton was still wide-eyed and excited, full of fun and all nighters. That Britton gave him coy smiles and flirted shamelessly. But this Britton, well, this was the Britton he wanted. Except this was Rakim's time. 

"I know that you and Britton were engaged, Lawrence." Rakim told him at the bar late in the night. Rakim was handling a tumbler, staring right at him. 

Lawrence gave him a half smile. "There's a reason why we're not anymore. She's different now."

"She's been through a lot." Rakim said. 

"So have I." Lawrence lied. 

"I love her." Rakim stated.

"I do too." Lawrence snapped before sighing, "Have her."

Rakim stopped him from leaving. "Lawrence, I want you to know that Britton and I are together. We have plans." Rakim's hand rested on Lawrence's chest, a gentle gesture with a smack of threat.

The men stood there for a moment before Rakim dropped his hand. Lawrence walked away, brushing against Britton. "I'll see you around, Law," she smiled. And there it was, a flash of brilliance and familiarity, the way her tongue said his nickname so easily and the way she smiled. He nodded. 

They stopped asking questions after Britton broke up with Law. Britton knew the very basic fact: her father threatened Rakim and his family. She knew he was still dealing with many things so she left him alone as much as she could.

The two had fallen into an easy routine.

They brought no one (except for Wallace) to the apartment. When they talked about family, it was in the past tense. To Rakim's irritation, Britton went to work in the morning while he stayed home and housekept. He put together most of the furniture and painted the walls and cooked the meals she came to every night. 

Rakim and Britton learned more about each other in that apartment in a week than the months on the island. Firstly, Britton learned that Rakim liked to keep himself very busy. He enjoyed the simple errands. More than that he liked to plan. Rakim saw that Britton always drank tea in the morning and took her coffee to go. She was very particular about her food. She had no reservations when it came to dinner and consumed all Rakim cooked for her. But when it came to breakfast, she was very strict about what she ate. Rakim observed her careful measurement of her daily smoothie, oatmeal, and peanut butter toast. For lunch Rakim would always see something resembling sushi or noodles on her desk at work.

Their sleeping patterns suited each other quite well. Britton did not enjoy sleeping early. She usually watched TV, sorted clothes, played on her phone before finally falling asleep. Rakim was similar. He never went to bed unless he was truly sleepy. Often Britton would feel him slide next to her in the wee hours of the morning.

In the mornings, Britton would wake around five thirty while he kept snoring. She would run in the gym a few floors down for thirty minutes and rush back to the apartment to take a shower. Somewhere in between this, Rakim would wake up and begin to prepare her breakfast. He always started with the tea because she hated it too hot. He would then call to her, asking if she was in the mood for anything. Britton would then walk past him, scarf down her breakfast and take her smoothie and coffee to work with her.

Rakim would then work out in the same gym after she left, take his own shower and begin to do whatever the apartment needed. Usually he read books or listened to the news as he folded laundry. During lunch time he either went to visit Britton to eat with her or run off to the city to purchase what he needed.

Britton would come home and complain about work before her and Rakim would have sex. There was something about the oncoming end of the day and the shade of the sky that made her skin glow and Rakim could never resist it. Happily satisfied, Rakim would start cooking dinner and she would watch her TV.

It was as easy as breathing and as exhilarating as a mountain climber on Mt. Everest. There was a certain fulfillment they each had now. They were done. This was it. Britton and Rakim would take turned gazing at each other from a distance, Britton thinking how wonderful it would be to celebrate a silver anniversary and Rakim chuckling about how demanding she would be when pregnant. 

They never had to say anything to each other and there were days were they spent their time together in silence. The presence of their significant other was just enough.

There was a privacy in that apartment they could not achieve anywhere else. Rakim supposed he was selfish, not wanting to interact with anyone but her at times.

They were learning each others' native tongue. Britton was born in the US but had grown up until twelve in France. Although her parents spoke English at home, it was difficult not being able to speak French every day. For a challenge Rakim was learning French and Britton was attempting Arabic. Neither expected real results but the effort was endearing enough.

One night, Rakim had slipped into bed early, propping himself up with his elbow as Britton turned the pages of her newly purchased novel. "Yes, my dear?" she asked. Her blonde hair was loose, spilling over her pillow. She had her reading glasses on and was wearing one of his tshirts and a La Perla thong. 

It was downright sexy.