---

---

Ah... Alderaan - what remarkable place! One does not even have to be a native to this planet and spend very long on it for it to feel like a second home. It's familiar beauty inspires a sense of security, and not just because of its devoted servicemen, but the welcoming architecture and friendly populace, who lies on blade-thin edge of being both intelligent and bright, yet adorably naive. What's not to love? Especially when the setting sun shines its light skittering across the top of the atmosphere, casting a pink-ish, peach color across the sky, and when the days wind down as the people prepare for the coming night. On one edge of the horizon, lie constellations while the other still basks beneath said sun. Occasionally, a flying car whizzes past the outside docking platforms.

An old, ugly-looking transport provides an eye-catching contrast if nothing else. Both of it's boarding ramps on both the port and starboard side of the rear deck were wide open for the past couple of hours, so it seemed that just about anyone could walk in. All of you who signed up for the job would know that this was the ship you’re looking for. Upon boarding, you’d see an older looking, muscular… ah, gentleman lounging on a primitive metal stool just in between both entry points. Like the ship, the man provided about as much contrast to Alderaaan - grim n' gruff with salt and pepper hair connected to a thick goatee, and he wore a concealing black coat over himself, with an armored glove on one hand. He was a little tall for his kind, but he was far thicker and stockier and had much more to give in that regard than his height. Though he was sitting, the brighter of you could probably calculate he could stand at six feet.

He greeted each and every one of you with a stony expression, as serious a man as they come, but kept you waiting where you were, not allowed to explore the rest of the ship until the last of his latest batch of new hires finally arrived. The reason? Apparently he wanted to go through orientation once and only once. As a result, all you knew about the ship was that there were two decks. There was one very large cargo hold that made up most of the lower deck, centered around a junk receptacle, but the upper deck was totally unknown, but logic served the wise that one could likely at least find a cockpit and an engine room. On this same deck was a maintenance bench against the junk receptacle, fixed in the center of the room, and surrounded by permex welding curtains. Sporadic flashes bright light from behind the curtain was enough to cause the whole deck to infrequently flicker. The whole place smelled richly of iron. Rust, maybe?

---

<LIAK'YKAM> was the first to arrive. Your visions had guided you directly to Alderaan, and perhaps its beauty was lost on you - or perhaps not, given your appreciation for most if not all things, but it was nothing like the forests of Kashyyyk. The planet was alive with the Force, practically flooding your senses, and it took you some time before you could find the ship that, for some inexplicable reason, spoke to you like familiar whispers. There was no way for you to know by this point that the captain of this ship was looking for help, but when you asked for passage, he counter-offered with a job in exchange. You haven’t lived so long to be intuitively aware that this man, who had never met you before, probably wasn’t interested in whatever skills you had… just that he wanted a wookie on board. Still, you sensed there was more to the captain than what met the eye, and that he may be who finally delivers you to where you need to be.

The captain, introduced as Varen Kray, spoke very little to you and when he did, very vaguely. You two sat in silence for some time, which you were perfectly content with.

---

<B-0> was the second to arrive. Rather, it might be more fitting to say you had never left him since your interview - why bother wandering around if you were just going to head back here anyways? Most of your questions were met with a lazy or vague answers, or a non-committal shrug. Your first moments with Varen began about as awkwardly when he assumed you were working for someone else and that you were but a messenger droid. You informed him that this was not the case. He asked if you were a droid for sale. You informed him, firmly this time, that was not the case either. As strange as it must have been for Varen to negotiate with and pay a droid with a mind of its own, you could extrapolate that he ultimately didn't really care what you were as long as he could pay you to be competent at your job. You were informed that you were expected to do very little other than help with the piloting of the ship - and that the actual piloting would be done by somebody who was already hired for the job. Speaking of whom…

---

<BAARSUTH>, as the third to arrive, perhaps there were a few things that kept you from arriving as early as the other two had (apart from, of course, you had no idea these two would be coming along for the ride in the first place). It could be food and drink, gambling, the local races - any of the novel luxuries this garden world had to offer! On the other hand as either an entirely exclusive reason or contributing factor, is that you could have been so confident of being the best pilot around that the ship would take off when you said it could! Of course, the confidence boost you had after Varen admitted he has heard of you somewhere before might have something to do with it. This had happened just a few days ago at the start of your interview in one of the seedier bars of the city. That was just one of two things you can remember from that night… the other being how he drunk you under the table. Who would have thought that a human could drink so much juma juice and still stand? Still, there was one thing that stood out in the back of your mind: years upon years of flying ships made you familiar with different models, and you were likely certain, beyond any measure of doubt, that this ship was an absolute piece of junk… and this Varen guy wanted you to pilot it.

---

<SHAI RIVELLIA> was the fourth to arrive. Your meager few months of experience picking up odd jobs hasn't yet attuned you to the art of maintaining your employment. Usually, you couldn't punch or swing your fists through an interview - usually. You made the best mistake of your week just a few days ago after entering a cheap bar while exploring Alderaan, and you didn't take so kindly to the intoxicated devaronian who grasped your Tchin, or the right brain-tail of your lekku. A swift jab and broken nose later, his unconscious body fell onto an angry table of spacers. Much to your embarrassment, your reflex was the difference between a peaceful night and bar-wide brawl! Your martial training was enough to defend yourself from every alien imaginable, but the moment you sensed an agitated spacer drawing his blaster on you, the human you noted earlier in your fighting as the calmest man in the building suddenly lept from his table with his passed out Trandoshan friend and disarmed him without much particular grace (slugging him in the jaw with an armored glove which you highly suspected had shattered it). Ever since then, you've been waiting for the day where you would finally board his ship as hired muscle. “Precautionary,” he says, but from what experience you do have, you know that nobody wanted muscle on board unless they were expecting trouble.

Looking around, you notice that same Trandoshan from the other night hovering around with two others in front of the ship. Who could have imagined we’d be living in such a small galaxy? Trailing behind you was a modestly dressed stranger, though not with the intent of stalking you. He was a yellow bith who seemed a little nervous to be here, which was apparently for the same reason as the rest of the group that has so far gathered here today. He kept his big, beady eyes averted from the captain, in some strange effort to avoid eye contact with him. Bith were renowned for their extremely sensitive hearing abilities, able to pick up frequencies that most species and even some machines are deaf to. It was very likely that he applied for a spot on the bridge for some kind of communications or radar position.

---

<ZEKHA>, finally, was the last to arrive. True to fashion, you strutted up the platform to the shitty junk freighter with that smug, detestable little smirk of yours as if to say, “Yeah, I'm late. What are you going to do about it?” Indeed, while the pilot might know his ships, few are so acutely aware of the shortcomings of the 578-R transport like you and the captains who owned them, having seen so many junk haulers pass by time and time again. The mark of an able mechanic was anticipating what could fall off before it could fall off, and proving that knowledge in your interview is what assured Varen that there would be no leaving this planet without you on that space potato of a ship of his. Your eyes and ears caught the familiar sight and sound of a welder. Your interest piqued, you spared a glance over the impatient and irritable Captain Varen’s shoulder to see a flash of light deeper from behind the welding curtains on the other side of the junk receptacle. Varen cleared his throat to grab back your attention, and gave you a stern look that could only mean he was displeased and feeling impatient.

---

Whether or not any of you decided to talk to one another during your wait is up to you,unless of course you're <ZEKHA>, in which case, you may either be defending yourself from the complaints of the others or taking it all in, feeding off their misery. Still, it was at least by the time <ZEKHA> arrived when Varen finally stood up and carried the stool with him in his free hand. He looked at all of you as though he were measuring you, his eyes cutting sternly across each of your faces. One might wager to say he looked rather unimpressed if it weren’t for the fact that he was difficult to read. Even to you, <LIAK'YKAM>, whose senses was as sharp as a tack - while there were some things that perhaps his smell or body language conveyed, it was as though his mind was either guarded or utterly blank. Given how critical he seemed, something told you the latter was… unlikely, to say the least.

“Let's get to business…” Grumbled a slightly raspy voice, like he was smoking tobacco since he were a child. He spoke simply but with seasoned authority and he made no effort to try to overplay his importance or lord it over you. “This will go faster without interruptions. I’ve only got a few rules on my ship and I will only say them once, so pay attention. Rule one, my word is law. Rule two, carry your own weight. Nobody will be holding your hand. Rule three: The crew. Comes. First. For anything and everything. If you’re contracted, you’re not a part of my crew. You do your job, you get payed, you get out. If you cannot commit to this crew, you’re the only one watching your ass.”

The captain set his hands on his hips and gave all of you another once-over with another look of appraisal. The last point he made about the difference between being on his crew and taking a contract with him was something all of you have likely already known since your interview with the captain. On one hand you could sign a contract job-by-job and jump ship between jobs whenever you felt the going was getting too hairy. On the other hand, it is during the midst of emergencies where, although you weren’t expected to lift a finger to help, that door went both ways. You’d be missing out on an entire crew, captain included, trying their damnedest to pull you out of the fire. On the other hand, you'd be pledging your allegiance to the ship. Nothing about words are inherently binding, but deciding to jump ship would be a form of mutiny. Depending on the severity of the mutiny, your fate rests in Varen's hands. Regardless of the outcome, you have no doubt that you won't be welcomed back.

The nervous yellow bith among you started backing away, now having second thoughts. Varen predaciously watched him retreat from the ship and down the ramps, but said nothing. He looked back at the rest of you once again expectantly. His smoky voice grated the air again, “Anyone else? There’s no shame in walking away. In two minutes, I will be closing the Phoenix’s boarding ramps. You have that long to decide if you want to leave.”

As briskly as the rules were set, Varen walked further into the cargo bay of the ship, leaving you with a decision: you can remain on board and assume all the risks that comes with interplanetary travel on a transport vessel, or you could leave the ship and never look back (but if your character were the type to do that, you never would have joined the roleplay). Surely, this job couldn’t have been so much different from the others you’ve taken. What’s the big deal with transporting cargo anyways?

While you were deciding (and presumably even talking to your new shipmates), Varen got the attention of the person behind the welding curtains and talked to them in low, hushed tones. You don’t know who was behind those curtains, but they cast a towering shadow against them. One not quite as tall as the wookie, but Varen was looking up and he wasn’t that short of a man.

l

---

As Baarsuth stood at attention on the deck of the Phoenix, one thought crossed his mind; holy shit this thing was a wreck. Before entering the ship he gave it a once-over from the outside, and oh boy was it a junker! Outdated thrusters, rust gathering on the hull, transparisteel windows- he might as well have been piloting a garbage truck. Then there was the matter of the model; the 578-R Transport. Baarsuth had never seen one before (not even the Jawas on Tatooine were dumb or desperate enough to use the 578) but he knew it by reputation alone. The ship had been recalled for severe manufacturing defects...three-hundred years ago. As Baarsuth boarded the ship, he took a nervous gulp. If this ship lived up to its reputation, this was going to be a very bumpy ride.

He stood at attention as Varen talked, keeping his eyes fixed ahead. Though he tried to look professional, he couldn't manage to conceal a frown. Varen's speech was nothing special; this was a one-flight job on a practical garbage truck transporting god-knows-what to a hellish desert. Of course they all had to watch their own asses. Baarsuth recalled giving a few similar speeches on his own ship some years ago. Varen's eyes scanned past Baarsuth like a laser-focused spotlight, resting on him for a moment and then moving on past. This was a motley crew, if nothing else, but Baarsuth wasn't much worried about it. So long as they did their damned jobs he'd be fine with them. After the speech concluded and the crew dispersed, Baarsuth walked right up to the captain.

"Afternoon, cap'n," Baarsuth said. "You mind if I have a word with ya? I gave this here spacecraft a yours a once-over from outside, and I've got me a fair share a safety concerns. The 578-R, ain't that thing been recalled fer hyperdrive malfunctions? Now I'll fly anything anywhere, but this thing could shoot us into a planet or star real easylike."

Ah... Alderaan - what terrible place! B-0 has found herself disliking the beautiful planet more and more as time passes. Unloaded here against her, quickly growing, will like cargo to be handed off to a new master. Given B-0s track record with Masters, she didn't expect to stay on Alderaan very long. She anticipated staying in Alderaan for a few months, maybe even a year, before her newest Master grew tired of her inability to follow orders mindlessly. What B-0 did not anticipate was spending her time in Alderaan squatting in the woods like a criminal. Oh well, plans change.

At first B-0 had tried to find a way off the planet, but most cargo or even passenger ships shooed away the strange Droid. And sneaking on ran the risk of being found. And having her memory wiped. That was simply not at option. But the little Droid always had a backup plan, and that plan was the forest. And B-0 did not emerge from the woods until the fateful day she stumbled upon some people in the woods, also squatting like criminals. They spoke in whispers, looking over their shoulders to make sure their conversation was not overheard. They spoke of a man named Varen Kray. And that this man was gathering a crew for his ship, The Phoenix.

That was all B-0 needed to know. That was her ticket off Alderaan. Her Freedom. Her Force.

B-0 strolled up to the meeting point with all the confidence of a Droid who didn't realize how strange she looked could have. Her outer, metallic, casing is thick with dirt and foliage and is contrasted with spots of orange rust. Regardless of her appearance she was able to prove herself to this strange Varen Kray. As her programmed strength was in her ability to pilot, not upkeeping her appearance. Varen Kray agreed to let her join this crew, after a strange question and answer session that left the both of them more confused, but not as the pilot. Instead she would be assisting someone else who already had the job. B-0 didn't mind this, it just meant less weight on her metallic shoulders.

Varen Kray told her it would take several days to assemble the rest of the crew, and that she would be free to roam about the city as long as she made it back before the ship departed. B-0 interpreted this command, with the last remaining remnants of her obedience protocol, to simply park herself outside the ship itself. She had no reason to spend any more time in Aldaraan, it would have just caused more trouble for the little droid. Instead she would wait for the others to arrive. Several days passed, and B-0 watched as numerous creatures of all shapes and sizes arrived for their own interviewing processes. Some people left looking pleased, others not so pleased. B-0 payed them little mind, not taking the time to really remember any of their faces. She had more important things to think about.

The Force.

Eventually the day came for the rest of the selected crew to come together, and B-0 had not moved from her spot outside the ship. She did take some time to try and pull off some of the stray leaves and clumps of mud from her time in the forest, but it was still clear how junky she looked. She matched the junky ship pretty well, maybe this job was meant for her. The crew assembled was full of creatures foreign to B-0, and some not so foreign.

The first to approach was a large creature, large enough that B-0 assumed that it would just walk right past her. So B-0 was surprised when the creature instead greeted the droid, speaking what must have been the creatures native tongue. Growls and grunts drifted through the air, but within B-0s internal translator, programmed into her, a pleasant greeting was heard. The little droid looked up at the hairy woman, dim photoreceptors looking over the creature for any stored date. Nothing. How Strange. The droid was so busy searching internal data banks for information she neglected in greeting the woman back.

The rest of the crew did not greet B-0, which she did not find surprising. Most creatures pay little attention to the Droid. Maybe they assume she can not hear them, or that she did not have the ability to respond. Regardless the rest of the crew was less strange to the Droid.

After the large, hairy, woman another large creature arrived. Just replace hairy with scaly and woman with man. B-0 immediately recognized the creature as a Trandoshan, a race B-0 had interacted with quite often as she was smuggled from one end of the galaxy to the other. She stayed, staring, at the reptilian man as he looked over the ship they were all about to board. Something about him felt familiar to the droid, but searching her memory and data banks yielded no answers. She felt as if she had seen him before, but perhaps it was her faulty wiring acting up. Or maybe all Trandoshans looked the same, B-0 had no idea. And yet she did not feel unease, little bothered the droid.

The next to arrive was a young woman with bright blue skin, a race B-0s internal data identified as a Twi'lek. Yes, B-0 had met a Twi'lek before, perhaps on Tattooine. She was certain this woman was not the same Twi'lek as before. The one on Tattooine was much older, gruffer. Also probably male. After her arrived another race B-0 recognized from her time on Tattooine, a Dug. Something about him set off B-0s internal alarms. Maybe it was the smug way he walked, or the way he looked over the small group with general disinterest. She would keep an eye out. The last thing B-0 needed was to exit a shut down to find she is missing an arm.

With the crew assembled outside the ship Varen began to address them all. B-0 quickly found herself getting bored with the mans gruff ramblings. She found herself tuning out of the conversation, not worried as her data banks would store anything important he said, as her mind began to wander. Was getting aboard this ship truly wise? What if she had missed over the Force back in the forest? Or worse. What if she became trapped on this ship, the constant threat of memory wipes keeping her compliant?

The last thing she wanted as to be treated like an accessory. She was real.

The Grimtaash, a squat-postured creature with a pair of lanky hands with Rodian-like fingers and an elongated, prehensile proboscis charged at its quarry, the pink stick-thin limbed Monnock, which turned its horned-head and staff too late to stop from being pounced upon, its neck snapped under the suction-like grip of the Grimtaash. As the kill was finally registered, the two creatures' illumination faded, and behind them was a looming face of a Dug, flashing an arrogant grin across the no-longer active Dejarik table, hand extended.

"Pay up; I've places to be." He demanded of the Gigoran sitting across from him, the grey-white furred beast of an alien with beady, hateful red eyes behind a mouth-mounted vocorder staring hateful daggers at the Dug, standing suddenly and smashing giant, furry fists into the table so hard it dented. The Gigoran stood around 2 meters in height, and it reminded the Dug of an extremely shaggy relative of Wookiees. <You cheat!> the translated voice came from the vocorder.

Nonplussed, the Dug shot a thumb back at an approaching security guard, a human who's thumb unlatched the leather holder affixed to his hip as he walked over to see what the disturbance was about. "You're just a sore loser and lacking where it counts when it comes to these sorts of things." he said, tapping a finger against his temple, his infuriating grin not fading. "Now, here's what's going to happen. You're going to hand me the 100 credits you so graciously wagered, and I'll explain to the guard that you didn't just threaten to rip my arm off. A fair trade, I'd say."

<You little->

"Last chance."

The Gigoran stomped around the table towards Zekha, who limberly jumped up on the table with his muscular arms, raising the smaller pair defensively, "Hey, hey, easy friend!" He called out loudly, now the guard was sprinting towards them. "No need for violence!"

"Step away from him, now!" The guard shouted, not quite drawing his blaster, but with a hand on the grip and a hunched at-the-ready stance demonstrated a willingness to even the odds against the massive alien, who looked back at the guard, demanding <He rigged the game, illegal move! I was champion, I know how to play!> He insisted, pointed a finger towards the table accusingly. Only instead of a smug Dug staring back defiantly, the Dug was nowhere to be seen... nor was the Gigorian's satchel he left beside the table.

The Dug, Zekha, knew he wouldn't be able to outrun either a human or Gigoran, but he didn't need to. Heading out of the classy pub he'd spent the past hour looking for a suitable and gullible mark after playing several legitimate games before the big fella took him up on a wager, in which Zekha responded enthusiastically by firing up a table he'd slipped a small spider-like droid that immediately latched onto the Dejarik table's logic controller and began to control the incoming and outgoing signals, only activating to permit Zekha's very illegal move before its purpose was served and the droid fried its own circuits when the table shut down. For a device that cost maybe 10 credits in a scrap shop three blocks away plus some junk Zekha had laying around, it made back 9 times its initial cost. Not a bad way to kill an afternoon, when all was said and done.

The Dug rounded a corner and using the ornate support pillars that held up an upper walkway, he leveraged himself up, gathering a few surprised gasps and murmurs for the highly unusual behavior as he easily scaled to the upper platform and away from the entrance of the pub. The idiots would probably figure it out before long, but by then, Zekha would be long gone. Walking along as he rummaged through the satchel, Zekha fingered a pair of metal chits that he pulled free of the satchel, eyeing his ill-gotten gains with satisfaction before shoving them into a pocket and tossing the leather satchel into a nearby trash receptacle. It was a nice bag, but way too big for someone of his frame.

Too bad. he thought, looking at a hologram clock that was perched between a couple of neon-bright advertisement screens peddling some wares that no one would find useful after using it once or twice. Seventeen minutes until the deadline; plenty of time to get to the Phoenix and get off world before a certain Gigorian and his law enforcement friends were any the wiser. It was a risk, true, but the rush just couldn't be assigned a Credit value. Tracing the route he'd taken several times in anticipation of a heady escape prior to setting up his little sting, Zekha was soon making his way to the hanger, his awkward gait oddly suited for stepping around slow-walkers without breaking momentum.

Soon, his chariot loomed like a shameful relative at a family gathering in a hanger full of sleek and beautiful spacecraft; the 578-R, aka the optimistically named Phoenix. Its haul was coloured as such that the rust born from years of protective layers being burned away at atmospheric reentry and subsequently oxidizing when the weather got to it and the alloy-impregnated pigment weren't exactly distinct anymore, its beetle-like visage only reinforcing that perception with windows that had been zealously over-reinforced, likely by some former captain who had the misfortune of having said windows begin to wiggle loose while in flight long ago. The Dug had sat down a few days ago with Captain Varen, who had been looking for an engineer who was familiar with the class of starship. Zekha had won over the grizzled human somewhere between explaining how he had rigged up a hyperdrive motivator on a previous ship he'd worked on and how the piping that went from the latrine into the water recycling plant was prone to leakage if the starboard crew quarters door slammed into the open position by infrequent power surges, jarring the often shitty cementing job loose after a few months. In all, the ship was old, obsolete even after it first was produced, and the amount of people who knew how to keep the hunk of crap space worthy were probably in the neighbourhood of the amount of Gigorians who were catching Dugs cheating them at wagers.

Zekha, for all of his winning personality, was uniquely overqualified for that position. It meant that the Captain couldn't afford to lose the Dug engineer, which meant turning a blind eye to some of his pet projects and acquisitions, or so Zekha told himself as he strolled up the cargo ramp, smirking at Varen's perpetually annoyed expression. Truth be told, the Dug was just happy to be off of his last ship, whose captain's brain never quite left its post as a drill instructor and interpreted the hapless crew as raw recruits that needed some extra motivation to do the most basic of tasks. That captain's farewell present was a box of truffles with a powerful laxatives injected into the cream center. Varen wasn't likely to share a similar fate, but Zekha was all about letting people prove themselves to be quite wrong.

The briefing went about as tediously as one could rightfully anticipate if they'd sat through similar orientations before; follow orders, serve your crew, do your job. The wording varied each and every time, but that was the gist of it. A Bith shrank and left sheepishly, probably because it forgot its purse where it left its testicles. Do Bith even have those? Zekha pondered, thinking about asking the alien to its back, but it was already out of earshot. He had to give it to the little guy, he was fast.

The Dug only loosely gazed upon his fellow recruits. A Wookiee, who was probably hired on for the same reason you hire any Wookiee; Brute strength and being able to feign not understanding what they say so you can avoid small talk. A Trandoshan, which surprised the Dug considering the Wookiee; both species were well known nemesis. He seemed kind of doughy and lacking a certain ferocity that defined his species, which made Zekha wonder exactly what he was doing here. A Twi'lek, whom the Wookiee seemed to take a fancy to. Zekha never saw the appeal of that particular Species' aesthetics, the lekku were rather off-putting.

The last one in particular caught his eye; some kind of droid. Zekha strolled over, leaping up and grabbing hold of the droid has he inspected it like he was appraising a new swoop bike, staring with a single eye inches from the photo-receptor. "You never mentioned I had a signing bonus." Zekha mused to the captain, whose glare told him enough to let go. The Dug grunted disapprovingly; apparently the droid was one of the crew. Well, no matter. It was bound to be another project for another day. Instead of apologizing, his gaze was caught on the welding curtain, wondering exactly what was being worked on back there. The Trandoshan hurried after the departing Captain, expressing concern about the ship's reliability. Zekha strolled over. He'd gleaned from the reptile's speech that he was the pilot. Oh, this should be good. the Dug thought.

"Don't you worry your thermal-eyed hide about the Phoenix, I'm the one who's going to make sure it skips over the burning up magnificently part before it becomes a thing of legend. You just worry about following the hyper lanes and avoiding smashing into space debris, I'm going to make sure this rust poodoo runs more magnificently than whatever it is they're building on Corellia these days." he said, grinning winningly at the towering alien.

Turning to the group as a whole, he spoke up, "The lot of you have the privilege of having a master engineer in your midst," he placed a large hand on his chest. "Zekha. Remember it, because I'm not repeating myself. Don't touch anything that you doubtless don't have a clue of what it is, don't touch anything to this ship without consulting me, and don't bother me when I'm working. Your lives are in all four of my hands, so respect my boundaries and I'll leave you all to... whatever it is you do. I don't really care." he said, suddenly disinterested in the group once more as the sound of welding arcs caught his attention. What other crew were on this ship, he wondered.

Shai pulled her hood up as she stepped out of the spaceport and into the bay. She had to be honest, the ship she was looking at was kind of a junker. Although she had flown in worse (the escape pod she was trapped in for two days came to mind) this ship, The Phoenix, didn't inspire confidence. The captain Shai had met with earlier, Varen Kray, did however inspire some confidence. She just hoped the journey offworld would go smoothly enough to get her to the next planet. Unfortunately, one doesn't hire protection if one doesn't expect trouble, that was one thing she had learned in her relatively short stint as a mercenary. Shai did hope someone had a blaster they would loan her because hers had been stolen recently and she really did not have the credits for a nice one. While thinking of weapons, Shai's hand went to the tunic pocket, where she felt the remains of her lightsaber through the worn cloth. Feeling the weapon that had once been an extension of herself in such a state was still unnerving to Shairi'velia.

The loading ramp to the ship was open and Shai observed three other figures (four if you counted the Captain.) One was obviously a wookiee. They towered over the other figures, and were covered in grey-streaked brown fur. Another was-- a droid? Shai couldn't help but wonder if the droid was crew or cargo. This one had obviously traveled quite the distance as it was dirty, scratched up, and wearing a scarf. Curious to say the least. The last figure was a reptilian creature, a trandoshan most likely, but it wasn't dressed like a slaver or a mercenary like most of the reptile species' Shai had dealt with in the past. The exile generally disliked the scaled creatures because of their tendency to come back from severed limbs (and no species is happy about losing a limb) but she had to respect their tenacity. Tenacity was one facet of strength after all.

The last figure of course was Captain Varen. He was an older human male, who looked grizzled, although grizzled might not cover all of it. He reminded Shai of the instructors back in the Academy on Korriban. They had the same air of boredom mixed with impatience, although in that case it was usually tempered with anger. Shai had received many beatings for lateness when she was much younger, and those painful lessons remembered made her show up a few minutes before the time the Captain had given her during their first meeting. Upon closer inspection of the wookiee, who had sat down by the time Shai had closed the distance, it appeared to be polishing a large club. Or if nothing else, something that could be used as a large club. However there was another reason why Shairi'velia was drawn towards the wookiee; when she had instinctively reached out to sense the other beings' force presence, she noticed that the Wookiee had an extremely strong connection to the force (possibly stronger than Shai's) but they didn't look like a Jedi and Shai had never heard of a wookiee Sith before. This was concerning to the Exile for a number of reasons. Not the least of which was an immediate concern for her life; if this was a Jedi and could sense Shai's connection to the dark side.. well things could get messy without a lightsaber. She would play it cool for now, no reason to 'show her whole pazaak hand' as she heard some smugglers say once.

The droid obviously didn't have an force aura, or if it did it was so miniscule Shai couldn't sense it. The trandoshan had a small aura but it wasn't negative as she might have guessed. It was, for lack of detail, fairly neutral. Captain Varen Kray was.. too complicated to sense. Perhaps it was her own troubled connection with the Force, or his own aura but she couldn't sense anything about him, really. Peering behind her, Shai noticed a skittish looking Bith lurking a few paces behind her as she took her place with the group of aliens. Another passenger or crew member? Shai couldn't say. They didn't appear to be malicious, even as she reached out with the Force and felt their aura.

Shai took a seat on a cargo crate and ran her fingers over the edges of the hilt of her lightsaber nestled in her pocket (it was an idle habit, one long deprived of meaning.) The Bith she had observed behind her had apparently had second thoughts upon sight of the ship, and to be honest, Shai couldn't blame them. It was a cowardly act to be sure, but who wouldn't run at the sight of this junker. Shai grit her teeth at that thought. Her, apparently. Was it desperation or bravery that brought her here and forced her to not turn away in disgust at the sight of the ship? Shai didn't know. Unfortunately that was an answer that was becoming more and more common in her travels. Doubt is the surest path to defeat her masters used to tell her. It seemed like doubt was the only thing Shai was sure of in recent days.

Soft clanking broke Shai Rivelia out of her thoughts.

A Dug engineer or something close to it approached the group, their toolbelt clanking the whole way. Unlike the Bith, this one seemed very self-assured. Almost too self-assured for a creature that looked like it could have all its limbs separated from its body by almost any alien here. Maybe not the Trando-- he looked a little pudgy for that. Maybe not the droid either. Regardless, this Dug must be an excellent engineer to keep this rustbucket running.

The Captain cleared his throat. Shai turned back to look at him as he began to speak.

It was a fairly basic speech. He went over rules and guidelines and that sort of thing before inviting anyone who had cold feet to leave. Cold feet on a cargo run? This was looking less and less like an average job with every word. With that thought, the Captain entered the ship and the others fell in line behind him.

Not in a particularly adventurous mood, Shai was the last to get up and follow the others into The Phoenix. The Trando and the Dug stopped to exchange words and Shai flipped down her hood as she passed by, exposing her tightly wrapped tchun-tchin or lekku. She rolled her eyes as the Exile caught the tail end of a boastful statement by the Dug. Typical. She squeezed by them and ended up in the central area of the ship, where the Captain and the Wookiee were idling. Shairi'velia took her time to memorise the entrance and exits to the room and to adjacent rooms, as well as likely areas for contraband storage. She wasn't exactly a smuggler but she had raided enough ships to be suspicious of any nook or knob. She poked and prodded at some handles and panels but nothing gave way. She also looked at likely areas for cover and ambush in the event of boarding actions. Boarding actions! Shai twitched involuntarily as the painful memory burst forth from the dark corners of her mind. She shook the thought away and hoped no one noticed.

Shai settled in to a lean against the wall, adjacent from the wookiee and made a mental note to find a weapon.

l

---

---

<BAARSUTH>, Your eagerness to talk with the captain about your concerns over the ship had you follow him quickly, but that same eagerness to talk with him did in-fact cut off whatever conversation he was having with the mysterious person or persons behind the curtain, prompting his irritated response. It was fortunate that it was <ZEKHA> who had come to your rescue, as his answers were likely far more forgiving of your doubt than your new captain would have been.

<ZEKHA's> grand introduction and gesticulating brought on a slight, amused roll of the captain's eyes as he glanced back inside the curtains. It was at the end of the dug's little spiel that the sounds of the burning jet of a welder were extinguished, followed by a heavy thud. It was after a brief pause did a feminine voice called out in basic from behind the curtain, addressing <BAARSUTH> almost condescendingly, "You're talking about the motivator? Common problem with these junker ships, but anyone worth half their weight in bantha fodder would know to replace that and the windows as soon as they get their hands on one."

A pair of gloved hands ripped open the curtains and another twi'lek woman poked her head out to see the rest of the crew with a bored and dry expression on her face, as if she wasn't entirely interested in getting to know the lot of you. Her skin was a lighter blue and she wore a cotton white shirt on matte leather pants with the slightest bit of violet make-up on her face that covered her upper lip, made a stripe down the center of her lower lips, and were around her eyes which winged off to the sides of her face. She was chewing loudly on a chewstim and made no efforts to hide it or come across as any more ladylike than the rest of you. However, what was most noticeable over all of these was that she looked and was built like an amazon. Her height was above average for most twi'leks, but that also meant she was just an inch or so shy from being seven feet tall. She continued, and by the sound of her voice, didn't seem terribly excited to be here, "...Since nobody bothered to answer your question yet."

"This is Woo'rah Sha." Varen introduced. Woo'rah leaned into Varen a little bit and briefly flashed a peace sign to the rest of the crew as she blew a pink bubble from her chewstim (and popping it near the captain's ear, much to Varen's annoyance), all while bearing that same uninterested look on her face. The captain continued, "she is here on contract as an escort, and not the fun kind. She ain't much use to us on board the ship, so you ain't got much reason to be bothering her."

Woo'rah didn't seem very bothered by Varen's comments - in fact, she seemed to ignore his words entirely and gave a little smirk while still retaining the bored look in her eyes, staring directly toward the other twi'lek on the ship, <SHAI RIVELLIA>. Woo'rah snorted out of amusement a little bit and commented, "Short."

"So, with that settled..." Varen said as he walked towards the starboard side of the cargo bay. He pulled a knife switch that was on the wall. "If any of you have anymore concerns for me, then I regret to inform you that your time is up."

As though to punctuate Varen's point, the ship shuddered and rattled as the boarding ramps began closing.

"Whenever all of you are ready for the tour of the ship, we can begin. Take your time to introduce yourselves to each other. You'll want to know who's got your back once Baarsuth and Bo flies us into a moon."

<B-0>, A curious thing, that man. You, as long as you can remember, can only recall being referred to by either your designation - B-0 - or "stupid droid". A letter and a number, but never two letters, and most certainly never two letters which formed a humanizing name - save for once a long time ago.

---

Baarsuth frowned as the engineer practically interrupted him. He looked down at the Dug who squatted on the ground. 'Ego on thisn's big as a bantha in a bikini,' Baarsuth thought. Baarsuth looked back up at the captain, who looked as displeased as he did bored. The Twi'lek woman stepped out from behind the curtain and answered his question. He didn't pay her much attention; she was hot but tall girls weren't his type and she seemed more bored than even the captain, which was really saying something.

"Alright," Baarsuth said to the woman. "Jus checking. I'd hate fer the motivator to fail and this ship go five directions at five hundred times lightspeed." He looked back down at the engineer. He said, "Nice to meet ya then, pardner. You sound like yer quite the capable type. Here's hopin' my ears ain't deceiving me." He turned and looked at the captain again as he spoke, more than a little pleased with his quip. The captain mentioned a copilot, and Baarsuth tilted his head, unaware that there would be a copilot on this junker. He turned his head towards the rest of the crew and looked them over. His eyes fell on a droid that looked really quite familiar, thought he couldn't put a finger on where he'd seen it before.

"Which a y'all is Bo?" he asked.

Shai slid down against the wall sat with her feet flat and her forearms resting on her slightly separated knees. Her mind wandered where it often did in lulls; to dark thoughts. The bridge of the ship unfolded in front of her, but it wasn't the The Phoenix's bridge. It was her old ship's command bridge. She could feel explosions rock the superstructure as a voice blared over the intercom, "Boarding craft have hit the ship! Repeat, boarding craft have hit the ship!" Shai sat meditating in her command chair, lightsaber concealed within her robes. The din of battle could be heard outside the blast doors of the bridge. Blasterfire screamed as it was redirected into the hull of the ship. Shouts and the hum of lightsabers were nearing but Shai made no moves. The blue blades of the Jedi cut through the blast door and carved a neat hole in the plating. The Jedi emerged from the smouldering doorway, robes singed from blaster bolts, blades extended--

Shai was jarred out of her memory by the Wookiee's barks and growls. She blinked and looked over at the large furred creature, who was diligently powderising something with a mortar and pestle. The silver collar around the Wookiee's neck began translating the native tongue into Basic. "What is your name, small one?" the collar dutifully repeated, "What do they call you? I am Liak'ykam."

"Shai." the Twi'lek answered, as neutrally as possible. Best not to show any weakness to anyone, even to those who appear friendly. That lesson was painfully burned into her memory. Acolytes at the Academy were not fed for several meals and then beaten if they showed any sign of hunger. When they were finally fed they had to eat slowly, or else more punishment awaited. Her train of thought interrupted again, Shai looked over at the Captain and the Trandoshan, who were currently discussing something about the ship. However, what caught her attention was the other voice, one not belonging to anyone she had heard before. The curtain to an as-of-yet unknown part of the ship flung open to reveal another Twi'lek, this one roughly the same colour but much taller than Shai. She was introduced as Woo'rah Sha, escort of some type.

She also happened to be staring directly at Shai.

"Short." Woo'rah remarked, bemused.

"Tch." Shai reciprocated with a hint of annoyance.

Apparently this ship was full of smug people. The old Shai Rivelia would have loved nothing more than to teach the Dug and this Woo'rah some humility. But unfortunately the old Shai was not the one present on this ship. She had perished along with the Jedi in high orbit above a moon. The Shai left over-- this Exile-- swallowed her pride and turned back to staring off at the wall in thought.

B-0s creators made her to be a protection droid, with the protocol additions being more of a second thought. But even with this, and her faulty obedience programming, B-0 knew it was rude to just grab someone by the face. Not only that but he looked over her as if she was a product in a store, and he was looking her over for bumps. And, admittedly, she had some bumps, it still felt wrong. Wrong, but not foreign. Yes, she had gone through similar inspection many times.

She searched through her memory banks and data storage, looking for the name of the emotion she was feeling. Anger? No, she had seen anger. Shop keepers overturning tables and destroying walls. Sadness? That didn't quite fit either. She knew sadness came from loss. A loved one gone, an illness crippling, a dropped ice cream cone. She felt a strange mix of both of these emotions, and she had never even tasted ice cream.

B-0 watched the introduction of the second twi'lek woman with little interest. Blue and feminine, still not the twi'lek she met on Tattooine. Not that it would matter if she knew the twi'lek, she had no tie to him. Perhaps it was her desire to show herself off as more than merchandise. Show people who had previously attempted to buy her that she was owned by no one. Well, technically her new caption owned her, but this fell more under employment than ownership.

Speaking of captain, he had again begun speaking. Saying that their time to abandon was over and that it was nearly time for their departure, but a tour of the ship would be in order. As well as introductions. The man then said something that settled strangely within the droid. Bo. A name she had been called once long ago, but it felt like such a small and insignificant detail in the droids life that it had been stored away. Instead of processing how this made B-0 feel the droid turned to the creature introduced as Baarsuth.

So he was the pilot and she was to be his third and fourth hands. Sounded completely fair to the little droid, as long as the guy didn't mind her not following any of his commands they would make a great team! He then began looking around and asking which of the crew was Bo. Was it not obvious? B-0 didn't mind this, and decided to introduce herself the only way she knew how.

There is a sudden and brief clicking noise from within B-0's chest. Like an old-timey jukebox switching songs. From the speaker under B-0s chin comes the sound of static crackling. After a moment of noisy silence a voice is suddenly heard. The voice of a child, slightly warped and crackling within the static.

"Buh...oh...Bow! Momma! Momma look on her side! It says Bow!"

Another voice is heard in the recording, another woman but this one much older. Her voice is kind and patient.

"Oh, dear. That is a code on her side. It would be Bee-Zero."

The child's voice returns.

"No! Momma it's her name! Her name is Bow! Like the bows I wear in my hair!"

There is the sound of laughter, which dissolves back to static. After another moment the static stops, abruptly. The Droid looks around at the small group, and raising a metallic hand with a squeak to point to herself. Out of the speaker in B-0s head comes another voice, this one much more synthetic with strange annunciations.

"Bo."

Almost as if Zekha's thoughts towards Twi'lek and their off putting head tails were ripped from his mind, fabricated behind the curtain, and sent forth as idle thought made flesh came a towering blue Twi'lek, as if Shai had a twin that absorbed all of the growth hormones and testosterone in the womb and came out from behind the curtain as a personal slight against the Dug. Zekha grunted as the captain introduced "Woo'Rah".

What an utterly stupid name. he thought irritably, deciding he wanted to watch Woosie, as Zekha decided to think of her, and the Wookiee square off in a fight. Now he doubly wanted to know exactly what Woosie was working on out of sight, but at least he didn't have to worry about her mucking up his job. She was temporary, point A to B, credits change hands and everyone goes on their merry way... or so Zekha hoped. In his experience, things seldom did what he wished them to. Were that the case, he'd be filthy rich in the Inner Core with a palace and a droid army and...

"Nice to meet ya then, pardner. You sound like yer quite the capable type. Here's hopin' my ears ain't deceiving me." Baarsuth's voice broke into Zekha's musings, bringing him to a much less enjoyable reality. "I say what I mean, and I mean what I say. If I say I can do something, then that's that. You say you can fly this ship, then I trust you didn't make an empty boast to get the job." he looked around at the Phoenix's cargo hold. "I suspect you weren't exactly fighting for the honour." He concluded.

Varen closed the ramps in anticipation for departure, confident most of his hires weren't going to back out like some kind of spineless newts, and while everyone was focused on figuring out who the hell "Bo" was, Zekha decided he was going to find out what was behind the curtain. "Hey, Woosie, if you ain't crew, then what kind of project was so important it couldn't wait until we weren't in port?" he called out, heading to where she had emerged from minutes prior. "Y'know, people who spend their shore leave tucked away in a dingy ship instead of out doing something respectable like sucking back death sticks or betting on animal fights draw a lot of questions of the uncomfortable variety." Zekha glanced back at her, reaching for the curtain.

---

Baarsuth looked at the machine as it spoke with a look of wonder and confusion. It was certainly a strange droid, speaking in a mix of voice recordings and simple speech. He near-immediately recognized it: the strange voice, the recordings. This was a droid who had gone too long for its own good without a memory wipe. He had seen it only once or twice. It happened most commonly on planets that were sights of massive battles ending in civilization collapse. Droids who couldn't find their way home would wander aimlessly, their memory banks filling up as they travelled and not going away. Oftentimes, they would develop an advanced sentience of some form, a desire to live and, thusly, a hatred of scrappers. In his line of work, Baarsuth knew them to be bad news. That said, Baarsuth wasn't sure what kind of droid this one was. She was thin and almost skeletal in design, certainly not a combat droid at all with nearly no armor.

"Custom droid!" Baarsuth said, looking at Bo. He walked over, figuring he should play it cool as possible. Pissing off a feral droid would be bad news for everyone. "Name's Baarsuth. I reckon I'm the pilot a this here mission. Look forward to workin' with ya!" He held out a hand for the droid to shake and smiled.

---

---

<SHAI RIVELLIA>, your contempt for the other twi’lek on board didn't go unnoticed by Woo’rah, but for a moment you saw the look of boredom on her face cease and be replaced with entertainment, chewing on her gum with a wide smile before she turned to talk to <ZEKHA>. It was almost as if she were looking at you like you were prey, but whether or not she actually took you seriously seems unclear. Though you do not sense you're in any danger around her, it was your lifetime of warrior training that helped you recognize the relaxed, disguised poise of a prepared and readied hunter. Perhaps she could see the same in you.

<ZEKHA>, likewise, the taller twi’lek swiveled her head around to face you upon addressing her as “Woosie”. It was a look that spoke a thousand words as if to ask you, “Did you seriously just call me that?” But her eyes didn't betray any anger or offense, it was more like she was either surprised or impressed that you were ballsy enough to say it to her face. Her expression went dry as soon as you got to your point.

“Tell me, little man; as a master engineer,” Woo’rah mocked, “do ya take care of the tools of your trade?”

She didn't wait very long for <ZEKHA's> answer before stepping back towards the welding curtains, and sliding them wide open to reveal maintenance bench with what looked like nothing but a pile of broken junk on it.

<ZEKHA>, Upon closer inspection, you recognized some of the metal plating being part of a chassis and a brand that revealed Aratech origin. They were a company renowned mostly for repulsorlift tech. You realized that this piece of junk were the burnt remains of what used to be a jetpack.

“She's an Aratech Screamer.” Woo’rah explained. “Some nerf-herding spacer got a lucky shot and blew part of the shell off, damaged the fuel cell. The cell exploded a couple seconds after I ripped the straps off.”

She paused for moment, looking thoughtful. With a wink she added, “Never a dull moment with Varen around.”

She walked over to the furthest side of the bench, biting her lip with a smug look on her face. It was obvious that she was trying to shake the engineer’s nerves at least a little bit. At the other side of the bench, there were empty metal shells and capsules and a containment unit on the floor beside the bench made of flexiglass, allowing one to look inside and see the cache of detonite inside. Ingredients for explosives. The woman sat down on the sturdy box, nearly bringing her down to <ZEKHA's> height, and continued.

“I take care of the tools of my trade. I don't really care about people's questions.”

The taller twi'lek only seemed to take Shai's disinterest in petty insults as a sign of her agreement to play some childish game. Though her body language said "trained warrior," her outward appearance said "teenage girl." The Exile closed her eyes and tried to concentrate; to focus. It had been some time since she had tried to meditate and clear her mind. Quieting a troubled mind was something of a challenge, even to someone who was gifted in the Force, such as Shai. She tried to focus on repetitive actions like the noise of the Wookiee grinding away with the mortar and pestle. Unfortunately she kept getting distracted by the chatter from the Dug and the other twi'lek. They were busy talking away about fancy gadgets.

Shai pulled up her hood to try and give her some shelter from the activities around her. She shut her eyes again and tried to concentrate. Was she trying to meditate or brood? She never thought that she'd become like those Sith Lords who spent seemingly endless amounts of time brooding by themselves. Yet here she was, sitting in a corner with her hood up like a petulant child. There it was again. Self-doubt.

Deep breaths, Shai. Not brooding, meditating.

For a few moments it worked. She could feel the Force within and without and she felt at peace. Nothing lasts forever though and she soon lost her concentration. Shai felt like an acolyte again, struggling to lift a training droid with the Force. Damn this! Shai wondered if Jedi ever struggled like she was. She knew some Sith could channel their anger into pure Force power, but that would never work for her. Her power came from her strength, her drive, her will. But without that, she had nothing. She reached a hand into her pocket and pulled out the bottom half of her lightsaber hilt. It was cut clean in two, the black metal melted around where the blade had bifurcated it. Why did she hold on to it? She didn't think anyone would be able to fix it and it certainly didn't serve any practical use, so why hang on to it? Nostalgia? A reminder? Shai didn't know. She did know she couldn't bring herself to get rid of it, even if someone might pay a few credits for it.

Maybe she'd find a use for it.

l

“Little man,” Zekha repeated in a mocking higher pitched tone. “Thank you for your cutting wit and razor keen insight, for I had surely not heard that before. Thanks in advance for providing the shade if we ever depart on Tattooine or Jakku. My frail, tiny body doesn’t do the sun so well. See what I did there? I mocked your height, because that’s something that you’ve obviously never had pointed out to you, Woosie.” The Dug replied dryly, clambering up onto the table to inspect the components that were laid out with care. It was a hot mess.

“Looks like I take better care of my tools than you do. You’re not seriously planning on reassembling this and trying it out, are you?” He asked skeptically, looking over at the Twi’lek skeptically from across the table. “If your fuel cell exploded, it almost certainly damaged the combustion chamber and it is not worth the risk of tempting fate if there’s micro fractures in the pack’s casing. All a jump pack is is a device that contains a hell of a violent explosion and farts it out as propulsion, enough to lift someone of your mass. What do you think happens when the carefully engineered components that ensures that the propulsion goes out where it needs to has a deformity or non-uniform stress points?” He asked, putting his two forward hands together and expanding them away from one another, “The same damn thing that happens to a damaged hyper drive that suddenly offers a way to ventilate all that pressure. Best case scenario, it all gets released out of one end that’s not your back and you fly around like an uncontrollable idiot until your fuel is consumed, worst case scenario, well… let’s just say I ain’t picking up the mess.”

Noticing the container behind Woo’Rah, Zekha moved over to where she was seated, ignoring the towering blue bitch to confirm what he thought he spied from his perch on the table, detonation caps. “Well, this explains a lot.” He said, not asking permission to pick up a few odds and ends to look them over, more of a very pointed form of disrespect of touching another tinkerer’s gear without permission than any real proficiencies with explosives. Even he knew that most explosives were designed to be stable until the detonator created the exact environment for them to fulfill their glorious purpose, and unless Woosie was a total idiot, she wouldn’t leave a bunch of volatile bomb casings laying around with about as much security as a library’s non-fiction section.

“I’ll tell you what; you stick to demolitions and I’ll stick to fixing things properly so you don’t die ironically by turning your jump pack into another bomb. Compensate me for my time and effort and I will work up a parts list of the things that absolutely cannot be repaired and need to be replaced with new components to ensure that doesn’t happen. For a bit extra, I’ll even pick up the parts and slap the thing together for you.” He offered, carefully placing the explosive components back in their containment.

---

---

<SHAI RIVELLIA>, <LIAK'YKAM's> meditation had something of a calming effect on you. You know from your Force training what this technique was, you've seen it done many times in the battlefield, where a powerful Force user could bolster the spirits of their allies or make their enemies tremble with fear. There was something about this power that caused your fear and insecurities to subside for the time being, allowing you to think with much greater clarity and act with more confidence. As a result, you receive a +2 bonus to attack and damage rolls for 1 hour. Continuing on, all of the different conversations happening right now, such as the one between Woo'rah and <ZEKHA>, and <BAARSUTH> and <B-0>, and with <LIAK'YKAM> meditating, no one was really left to notice you pull out the remains of your weapon... no one except the captain, that is. He didn't seem necessarily bothered by the presence of the broken device, but he looked at you with a stern gaze that suggested it might not be such a wise idea to so carelessly show it off in the open. He glanced between you and the pocket it came from and that was that, and he looked back at the rest of the crew.

<ZEKHA>, Your jabs at Woo'rah's height and originality didn't look as though they unsettled her very much. In fact she looked rather satisfied, as if she had somehow won in a battle of temperament of some kind, probably taking your comeback as a defensive reprisal to her teasing. Regardless, her smug attitude reverted back to the bored expression you first saw her with as you explained the risks of a bad seal in the combustion chamber, almost to the point where it's hard to tell if she's still paying attention.

Woo'rah idly chewed on the chewstim, leaning her back against the workbench as she sat on the flexiglass container as she "listened" to <ZEKHA's> lecture on engineering. Though she didn't look very impressed, she did at least give him a shrug, as if that was a sufficient enough gesture of acknowledgement. In a brief lapse in her chewing and blowing pink bubbles, she did say, "Well, you know what you're talking about. I'll give you that."

The twi'lek sat up in her seat and grabbed one of the empty mini-missile shells lying on the workbench, and held it in front of <ZEKHA's> face. She continued, "These babies don't work if I don't have the proper seal on them. Jump packs are basically two missiles strapped to somebody crazy enough to try it. Grenades and mines, they work the same way - sort of. You can't just half-ass the seal if you want a good pop! If I couldn't fix the damn thing myself, I'd already be dead."

She leaned back again and returned the shell to its spot on the bench. "I appreciate the concern sweetie, but stay in your lane."

<ZEKHA>, There was a moment of realness there that one might not have expected to see in her when you first met a couple minutes ago. No snappy comebacks, smart-ass remarks, or dismissive comments - she talked to you on an equal level of sorts, likely out of respect for your profession. Still, there was a sense of pique that betrayed her otherwise polite answer. She certainly comes across as a woman who is prideful in what she's good at, and considering how many twi'lek girls were sold into slavery or became indentured, it takes a little imagination to figure how she got to this point.

"Alright, I think we've been gabbing long enough. Let's get to showing you lot the ship." Varen declared, gathering all of the crew's attention. He was quick and snappy with his address, and while he didn't appear particularly impatient, he was at least eager to get orientation over and done with for everyone's sake if not his own. He stretched his arms out, gesturing to the cargo hold everyone was in.

"Right now we're in the cargo hold. This hold can carry up to forty tons of cargo, is approximately twelve by ten meters, and comes equipped with a junk receptacle and a workshop." The captain pointed at <ZEKHA> and explained, "If something that's not the ship needs to be worked on, you come here. You will have to share with Woo'rah, however. Learn how to coordinate and prioritize your time management."

The twi'lek woman casually strolled from one side of the party to the other, making a bee-line towards a hammock that was stretched between two large cargo crates which were secured and tightly fastened to the starboard wall of the hull. It was high up enough that Woo'rah had to pull herself up before she could let her back fall into the hammock, but when she did, she cradled her head with her arms as she rocked side to side with it with one of her legs carelessly hanging down from the side of the hammock.

Varen continued, "You already know where the two boarding ramps are at the aft of the Phoenix - one on the port side and one on the starboard side. Facing the fore, these 578-R models come with two forward crawl spaces on the port and starboard sides with the stairwell to the upper deck in-between. It leads directly to the bridge. This ship has been refurbished to that both of these crawlspaces serve as crew cabins. The starboard side is the captain's cabin - my cabin. You can find me there or on the bridge most of the time if I'm not making my rounds. The port side..."

The captain pointed at <BAARSUTH>.

"That cabin goes to the ship's pilot. I'm warning you lot right now that the cabins upstairs will not be as comfortable. They are right next door to the engine room and the walls are not soundproof, but I must have my pilot be well-rested and as close as possible to the bridge so that he can respond in a moment's notice."

"I'm a special case." Woo'rah sarcastically inserted, staring at the ceiling from her place in the hammock. Varen ignored her and looked at the rest of the crew.

"Bo is a droid, and they don't have much use for bunks. So Bo, when Baarsuth turns in, you stay on the bridge. I don't want the cockpits unmanned for any reason. The rest of you can sort out your cabins upstairs however you like. They fit two people each," he said looking at <ZEKHA>, <LIAK’YKAM>, and <SHAI RIVELLIA>, “but I would prefer if Zekha stayed in the port side cabin, since the the blast door to the engine room is through there. Are there any questions before we head upstairs?”

B-0 watched with slight disinterest as Baarsuth gave her a look over. He seemed surprised that she had developed a way of speaking, most people she came in contact with were surprised that she did. But even with this confusion he did not appear hostile, there was no outcry for her to be wiped and silenced. B-0 knew little about facial expressions, especially on a reptilian race, but he seemed to be at least a little amazed by her. B-0 didn't mind the presumed praise. It took a lot of work to get herself to this stage.

He called her a custom droid, which she supposed she could agree with. Designed to be mass produced, the next great droid for battle and diplomacy, but production was stopped immediately. Too many flaws and bugs. The single B-0 unit in the entire galaxy. Custom Droid indeed.

B-0 was removed from her thoughts when Baarsuth extended one of his hands and introduced himself. He mentioned that he was excited to be working with the droid, a sentiment B-0 found interesting. Baarsuth specifically mentioned working with B-0. The little droid often found herself in the subservient side of most business relationships. Working with someone sounded pleasant.

The sound of grinding gears and slightly squeaky metal broke up the silence between the two as B-0 raised one of her hands. Her metallic, mitten-like, hands gripping Baarsuth's in a manner that could be described as 'pinchy' but not painful.

"Bo" The Droid repeated, as if also trying to remind herself of her name, her tone still jittery and robotic. "It is...pleasure..."

The crew was then gathered together to begin the tour of the ship. B-0 found herself tuning out again, not exactly interested in the logistics of the ship. Being a droid has it's downsides, but one of the perks was being able to record what the captain was saying for later listening. That was, if B-0 ever got around to listening. B-0 started caring even less when the captain began talking about bunk and cabins, something B-0 had little need for. Varen quickly drove this point home, instructing B-0 to remain in the cockpit at night.

The droid nodded in understanding, without really understanding why she was being instructed to do this. From what she could gather the cockpit was her cabin now, and that she was free to redecorate however she wanted. If the others were allowed to personalize their sleeping spaces she could too. Maybe she could convince the larger of the two twi'lek to get her one of those awesome hammocks.

The captain than asked if anyone had any questions, B-0 had none so she remained silent.

---

The robot was cute, Baarsuth thought, but perhaps a little flighty. As a matter of fact, Baarsuth felt that most of the crew was rather flighty and distracted. Nerves, perhaps, he thought. He hoped that wouldn't be a problem later. As a matter of fact, Baarsuth felt a little nervous himself. Something about this ship, this crew, and that captain gave Baarsuth a very off feel. As the captain began talking, Baarsuth came to the realization that this mission was going to be very different from others he had been on. There was something going on here beyond his grasp.

The talk of comfortable beds made Baarsuth forget this thought. A better bunk, eh? On his old vessel, a rogue droid destroyed Baarsuth's quarters, so he had to sleep in a hammock hanging from the ceiling of the cockpit. It was actually kinda nice, but boy did it hurt his back. Baarsuth nodded when the captain finished. He looked over at Bo, who seemed lost in thought. It was weird for Baarsuth to anthropomorphize a droid, but this, after all, was no normal droid. Baarsuth looked down at the dirty floor and twisted his face up. He wondered what song he would play when he first put the ship into hyperspace. Star Trucking? Spaceline Star? Highway to Devaron? Once he was in his room, he figured he'd look through his MP3 player and figure it out.