Werner Reinhardt Mayer

Rank: Lieutenant
Werner Reinhardt Mayer
Position: Chief Flight Control/Communications, USS Isoroku
Species: Human
Gender: Male
Place of Birth: Bavaria, Germany, Earth
Date of Birth: September 12th, 2351
Father -
Mother -
Federation Standard,

Werner is a caucasian male. His blonde hair is thinning already, but he doesn't mind much. His physique is guite thin and sully, but he quite succesfully manages to offset this with his motorcycle.

His off-duty wardrobe normally consists of denim jeans, any color T-shirt and a denim jacket and half-height western boots.

Werner won't go anywhere long without his motorcycle, or a can of beer. He's far from an alcoholic, but he loves the stuff to pieces. He is easy going and acceptable, but a bit out of touch with the world. He will ask people the silliest things, as if it's the most mundane thing in the world, only to have to explain to people why he wants it. This has probably to do with his upbringing in the agricultural parts of Bavaria. He doesn't have a problem with authority, per-say, but he will ignore or bend the rules a tad if it suits him or his situation.

Werner was born in 2351 in the agrarian parts of Bavaria, where he had a tumultous life as a youth. Always on the edge of getting arrested for loitering or other mischief, but always wriggled himself out of it, as the local police was never able to pin anything on him, technically... He was with the group that was constantly being watched by the local fuzz, though, the local bike 'gang'. More like a local group of friends that happen to like bikes as well.

Being the son of a sanitation technician (plumber), Werner pretty much only had the choice of following in his father's footsteps or joining starfleet. If only to satisfy his adventurous mischievous side, he had no choice but the latter.

The rations he earned in starfleet allowed him to turn his dream-bike into reality. Don't let the glittery pink color misslead you, this bike is hard-core... 88-cubic inch four-stroke single cylinder thumping up and down like a mad jackhammer, custom carburetor, just a couple of drag-pipes as an exhaust, not a hint of muffling in it, ethyl-alcohole fueled with a nitrous booster. There's nothing pink about it.

-- More to Come --