Zane Corvus

'Floating' (Star Wars 2 BBY)

Zane felt that cold, gnawing sensation in the pit of his stomach returning as Junktown became smaller and smaller beneath him. In the moment, he had agreed with Fel that they needed to leave; there was certainly a point to be made that the Empire wasn’t known to “gently coerce” their enemies into surrendering. Especially when it was a point of pride to them that no one dared to make a move against them. Still, the boy felt as though he was abandoning his brother to this planet. If the Empire didn’t come looking for him first, then the Dorbeks might actually end up on Parlo’s doorstep before long.

As the ship continued skyward, Zane reached out toward the ground, shouting with all his might into the swirling winds as if anyone could actually hear him, ”Marcuuuuuus! I’m sorry! I’m so–...I’ll be back, I swear!”

The cables pulled them and their heisted cargo into the hold, dangling them from the ceiling until the bay doors closed beneath them. As the winch mechanism lowered them onto the floor, Zane quickly unhooked himself and staggered off toward the wall of the storage area, bracing himself against a bulkhead beam as he felt his knees threatening to give out. Slowly, he knelt, ripping off the scrubber mask he’d been wearing and tossing it across the room. It clattered to a stop over next to some shelves, not far from where Fel stood. Zane struggled to breathe, feeling the tears start to well in his eyes as he clenched his fists, slamming them weakly into his thighs.

”I can’t believe I just left him there!” His voice was straining and cracking under the emotional stress threatening to overtake him, ”He depended on me to keep him safe, to keep him whole – and I left him!” His tear-filled eyes turned toward Fel as his expression twisted into one of sadness and shame, ”What if…what if the Imps nab him?! What happens when the Dorbeks show up and think that ‘one Corvus is just as good as another’, huh?! You’ve got all these ‘plans’ and ‘schemes’, right? Whaddya got for that?!”

The youth was lashing out, that much was certain. Zane knew that Fel wasn’t responsible for anything having to deal with him. He knew that there was nothing the man needed to answer for, nor would any answer be likely to balm his wounded heart. But still, he was clawing at anything, hoping that there might be something that could be done to help the only family he had.

Fel was likewise extricating himself from the harness, unclipping the several buckles that held the web of nylon and leather in place, the cables dangling from their retractors in the ceiling of the hold. It was several seconds before he realized he was holding his breath, as Zane let it all out. When the scrubber landed near him, he picked it up, turning it over in his hands. He was listening, but he was also light-years away from here, the kid’s anguish in keen, angular contrast to the apathy he had felt for his own shithole upbringing, and the chance to escape it. When Fel thought back about Taris, what he recalled was the hollow ache of an empty stomach, and the feeling of utter loneliness and helpless insignificance of a listless, meaningless life spent perpetually on the run. Nobody to turn to, nowhere to go.

The smuggler looked at Zane, one crystal-clear blue eye and the other a sickly yellow, peering at him with an inscrutable look on his gaunt features. Zee looked for all the world like he might lash out, or keel over, or curl up and hug his own knees, or cannonball back to Lotho. He looked shell shocked, like a stow-away caught by the scruff of his neck. Silence was deafening for what seemed like a long time, until Wrench’s binary scratchy tooting bleeps came through their earpieces, asking their situation. They weren’t out of the woods yet (though the Spacer felt more at ease, airborne, rather than planetside.) He held Zane’s gaze as he replied, quietly. “Two safely aboard, with cargo. I’m on my way to the bridge.”

He stepped carefully, closer to Zane, placing his hands on Zane’s shoulders. Fact was, there wasn’t much Fel could do or say to make the hurt go away, besides stay true to his word. And comfort wasn’t exactly his strong suit. Hell, communication in general was painful. He thought of something to say, discarded it. Thought again. Zee was right, of course. His brother would likely suffer. But if he’d stayed, Zane would be dead now. That much was for sure. What eventually came out was surely not what the youth wanted, or needed to hear. But Galdaart wasn’t prone to bullshitting. Even so, he tried to sound as warm, as earnest as he could, given the situation. ​​”Welcome aboard, Zane. This is my home. Maybe for a spell, it can be yours, too.”

'Floating' (Star Wars 2 BBY)

The initial jolt as the shuttle blasted out of the bay was what brought Zane out of his shocked stupor as his weight shifted, causing him to nearly topple over. He quickly braced himself and began looking around with wild eyes as he heard Fel’s voice come through the shuttle’s internal comm system. Realizing the blaster rifle was still in his hands, he placed it over to his side on the seat, regretting that he couldn’t just toss it out of the shuttle’s doors. So many thoughts were racing through his mind, the primary among them being whether or not this was all just some nightmare that he couldn’t seem to wake up from. With so much happening in so little an amount of time, one could easily confuse the events for some sort of fever dream. When his mind finally caught onto the fact that they were heading to some location other than Junktown (initially), his blood nearly froze. It was becoming all too real. Zane hadn’t even thought about what was going to take place after the whole “caper” had been pulled off. From the time he’d been “escorted” onto the shuttle the first go-around, he felt as though he could only focus on what was directly in front of him.

But now, things were about to start moving very, very fast. Possibly too fast for him to keep track of. ”Wait, so…what’s the ’Unfair Advantage’?” He said, looking over at Aellyn, ”Is that some kinda ship? Your ship?!”

Aellyn shook her head, her finger pointing toward the cockpit. “Nah, not mine. His. I’m just hitching a ride to the next destination.” She shrugged, pulling out her data pad. Her thumbs moved quickly over the keys as she turned, plugging into the ship's console. “Hey Wrench…you copy?” She paused. Then a series of beeps and boops came through, she grinned. “Awesome, we are coming in hot, prep the ship for immediate departure.” Pause another series of droid talk. “Really? Fel is slightly busy right now…” She turned her head toward the cockpit. “Fel! Tell your stupid droid to prep the ship!”

Zane’s skin began to crawl, and he started rubbing his hands up and down his legs nervously. His mind had suddenly flashed to his brother, and Parlo, their caretaker. How was he even supposed to face them again, knowing that he’d actually killed someone? Would he even get the chance? It was obvious to him that his chances of avoiding the Empire here on Lotho Minor after this incident were practically nonexistent. He was going to have to run. But it wasn’t as if he could just take Marcus with him. And would these people even bother taking him to begin with? They could just as easily discard him, leave him to face the Imps - “holding the bag”, as it were. He felt his hand absentmindedly reach over to grab the blaster rifle again. If worse came to worst, he realized, his best play might be to have the weapon on hand. He hated that his life had taught him to be so distrustful of others, but that was life on Lotho. His gaze lowered from Aellyn for a moment as he pulled the weapon closer to him on the seat, not really knowing what else to do. All he knew was that he had to look out for himself and his brother, and anyone who would get in the way of that goal was the enemy…

Jet stood by the rear hatch of the shuttle, his eyes locked onto the two crates Abilene had sent them for, the ones that were top priority to transport to the UA. The Shuttle’s descent proved rough, but he knew the terrain planetside would prove worse, and, after seeing it first hand, he knew that the repulsor lift was going to be a bigger hassle than it was a boon. Ever busy, his mind was already working on the most efficient way to get the crates to their destination.

Frustration boiled over as he yanked off his helmet and hurled it to the ground, it clattering across the floor, echoing his own irritation. The armour had served its purpose during the mission, but now it was simply a hindrance. He started unfastening the clasps and buckles of the armour, the pieces clattering to the floor of the shuttle. Each piece falling made him feel a little more agile, more unburdened. From beneath his armour, he tensed, ready for what’s to come. Knowing how Fel flew, he also knew he wouldn’t have time to remove the lower half of the armour. It would take more time than he could afford.

He rolled his shoulders, alleviating his range of motion. He moved to the first crate, throwing his rifle to hang over his back, before he wrapped a single hand around the handle, he lifted it slightly off of the ground, testing its weight. Satisfied, he did the same with the second. Assured he would be able to carry both, each with a single arm, he was ready. The weight of them was formidable but his determination was stronger. He crouched between the crates, one on either side of him, using them to steady himself. His hands rested on each one, ready for the right moment.

Fel flipped switches, and guided the Xi-class in a long arc away from the Basilisk, flying low enough that anyone entering the flight deck was liable to evacuate their bladders. He was rusty in a shuttle such as this, and it showed, the flight path shuddering and rough as he fought the controls, finding the ship’s rhythms. He homed in on the UA’s hidden locale, first making sure they weren’t followed, and secondly making damn sure they’d be on the ground again before the Imperial at-ease flight response time of three minutes, thirty seconds. (in-flight, a Star Destroyer always had armed escort and a flight of TIE’s ready to launch at a moment’s notice. On the ground, not so much. They’d have been dead already if the Basilisk was in orbital dock.) He really needed a third arm to properly perform all the tasks he needed to do at the moment, and when Aellyn called out through the open hatch that Wrench was being, well… Wrench, he cursed the little Astro droid, flipping on the comms system and dialing in their secure band. ”Goddamn it Tin Can, fire up the converters like the lady said, or I’m tossing you out with the rest of the scrap-iron! We’re coming in hot, and leaving like your ass after the branding iron in Jabba’s fire-blasted slave pit!” He threw the comm earpiece against the bulkhead, not even waiting for Wrench’s retort.

Flying in these canyons of waste and scrap was suicide, and if he wasn’t trying to overcome the Basilisk’s substantial sensor suite, which was no doubt looking for them right that moment, he’d have eased off the throttle, and gained a hundred feet altitude. As it was, he was toppling leaning towers of scrap with the wake of their drive motors, and boiling the toxic lakes they were mere feet above as they torched the terrain, covering ground like a scalded Teek. Warnings flared up on Fel’s screens as he pushed the little craft to the breaking point, threatening to burn out the drive-jets. But he didn’t care. It would hold. This only needed to get them another thousand yards. ”Hold onta somethin’!” he called out, as the horizon loomed. Cutting thrust in a narrow canyon of trash, he dropped the Xi onto its landing skis, letting it slide and bury itself nose-first into a mountain of scrap at 60 knots, neatly burying it halfway into the mound, coming to a shuddering, violent halt. Fel killed all power, activating the landing ramp, which dropped about half of its prescribed descent before getting wedged against a wad of scrap. It was enough to slide out, underneath.

He moved back into the cargo and crew compartment, glancing from face to face. ”Sorry for the bumpy ride. This thing’s a piece of dank farrik… C’mon. We’re a hundred yards from home. And the Basilisk is still two minutes from being able to launch TIE’s – if they even know where we’ve gone. I’d be surprised if they’ve got us on anything other than possible visual.” Grabbing up as much gear as he could carry, he moved for the landing ramp, nodding at Jet and Aellyn, and catching Zane’s eye for the briefest of moments, noting the blaster tucked close by his side. There was a question in his glance, but the spacer said nothing..

With the shuttle suddenly coming to a screeching halt, Zane barely had the time to steady himself before Fel had come into the passenger compartment. He continued to clutch the weapon he’d been holding at his side, even as Fel’s eyes looked upon him. When Fel made eye contact with him for a brief moment, he held his gaze before standing to his feet, slinging the former soldier’s blaster over his shoulder by the strap and tucking it behind him. ”Uh, yeah…you’re prolly right. Lemme see what I can scav off this heap of junk and I’ll be right behind you.” The boy spent the next few minutes moving through the shuttle, grabbing up medkits, repair parts - whatever he could get his hands on that was of use or value - and tucking them up underneath his arms as he moved around the passenger cabin. Calling back over his shoulder as the seasoned spacer walked by him, he tried to put a sense of urgency in his voice, ”Oh…we’re gonna head back into town to get the kolto, right? If so…I might need to talk to you before we head back in. There’s…a few things you should prolly know…”

'Floating' (Star Wars 2 BBY)

Zane barely understood what was going on at this point. Fel had handed him a scanner, something he had rarely laid eyes on for the majority of his time here on Lotho Minor, and told him to “look the part”. So, that’s what he did. From the time that the Stormtrooper at the checkpoint had very nearly made him evacuate his bowels once his ID tag didn’t work until Fel had quite skillfully laid the bantha-scat on so thick it made his nose wrinkle, Zane had attempted to act like he was there in that vault with a purpose.

Scanner on? Check. Lights blinking? Check. Making funny noises when he passed it over the nearest crate? Also check.

He was just about to turn to Fel and state that ‘this one was clear’ when Fel seemed to act with a sense of urgency and ushered him down the aisle, turning a corner around this particular stack of crates so that they were no longer in view or earshot of the troopers there at the checkpoint. Fel mentioned something about them only needing to be in there for five minutes, and Zane nodded, trying his best to be compliant. Still, he was a bit confused as to where they were actually supposed to be heading, so he turned and looked back over his shoulder as he walked in front of them, his steps unsure while he whispered just low enough for them to hear him.

“Uhm, yeah…that’s all well and good, chief, but…where the kriff am I actually going? You got anything in that little doodad of yours that’s gonna point us in the right direction?”

Fel spoke under his breath, as much as the Imp vocoder would allow. “Fireblast, kid… hell if I know. I’ve seen as much as you. But Imps being Imps, this sithspit is all numbered, and the numbers I gave at the Sec point were on the level, for what it’s worth. So, me? I was gonna go in Alpha-numeric order, quick-like.” He pointed at Aurebesh, stenciled on the crates at the ends of aisles. YC… YN… ZA… ZF… “here. ZY. Down this way.”

The boy nodded and did his best to act like he knew what he was doing, even though he most certainly did not. Moving down the “ZY” aisle, he tried to follow along with the numbering of the crates - numbers were never really his thing - until he came across the two that Fel had mentioned to the checkpoint guard. Amongst all of the other treasures, these two crates were all they were here for? Gold from over a dozen worlds, gems, priceless art, and this was what cut muster as their “invaluable cargo”...

Zane waved his two “Stormie” escorts over casually, trying not to draw too much attention to himself. When they drew close, he stood there with the scanner held out in front of him toward the crates, acting like he knew exactly how to use the well-aged device in any way whatsoever.

”Okay, so…these are your boxes…and I’ve got little blinky lights going on with the scanner, I’m looking important…feel free to jump in anytime here. Really, I don’t mind.”

Zane truly had no clue if he could even fake a “contaminant warning” in the scanner. He only hoped that the two seasoned grifters would have some sort of input or would start making their moves soon, otherwise, they really risked tipping their hand. And from everything Zane knew of Sabacc, that wasn’t a wise thing to do.

Jet spotted a repulsor sled as they made their way down the aisle. He paused to grab it while the others continued ahead. Just as he turned it around, Zane called out. Jet quickened his pace and caught up with them.

“Nice work, kid,” he said, dropping the sled nearby. He moved to the two crates, checking their numbers against the ones they needed. Smiling at Zane, he patted him on the shoulder before hefting the first crate and placing it on the sled. The crates weren’t particularly heavy, but carrying them by hand was awkward, especially in the restrictive trooper armor. Jet knew the sled was essential, but he also knew they needed a plan to get the crates off the ship.

Fel echoed Jet’s sentiment. Zane had done well finding Abilene’s property. Meanwhile, the spacer had filled a third, smaller container with Aurodium. Surely, Kara wouldn’t miss such a tiny amount – still worth a fortune. “Ok. We’ve got what we came for.” He searched carefully for what he was looking for, took a deep breath when he found it. Fel dropped an igniter under the particulate sensor cluster, and gestured to Jet and Zane that NOW was the time to make for the exit. They got about a dozen paces before all hell broke loose.

The igniter set off the heat and particulate sensors (which emitted the same piercing, warning klaxon as a biological agent would have) and the Sec units at the checkpoint had communicators and internal comm systems flashing, trying to answer and quiet the many inquiries about the alarm as Fel, Zane and Jet approached. The sec units only took partial notice of them as they approached in a hurry, much the same as every other tech was likewise hurrying – running back and forth across the compartment, carrying various bits and trinkets. Weapons were drawn, and shouts and chaos came from every aisle and doorway, it seemed.

”These are the two cases, Sir. ZY5-232 and ZY5-233. Seems we’ve got a hot one.” He waved at Zane, who held the scanner aloft. ”Set off the bio-threat alarm as soon as I opened it. We’re taking it to containment on level 85!” The sec agent held up a hand to stop them, but Fel was already moving through the checkpoint…

Zane was already hot on the heels of Fel, noting his choice of additional “cargo” and grinning at the idea of hauling out the priceless metals right under Vinoor Kara’s nose. When he saw the trooper trying to halt them at the checkpoint, he called out to Fel. “N-No, containment won’t work.” He thought about earlier, when the Chiss had told them about the temporary shut-down for most of the systems on the ship while they were performing critical repairs. “The shut-down, remember? We’re going to need to get these off-site as soon as possible.”

“Now, hold on right there!” The officer had seemingly had enough of being ignored, “We have to clear all of this!”

Zane figured now was the time to step up and show what he was actually capable of bringing to this little “operation”. He stopped at the checkpoint for a brief moment, standing toe-to-toe with the soldier, and started to speak as authoritatively as possible. “Look, I understand - you’ve got a job to do. But so do we. You do realize that this contaminant is probably from this planet, right? Have you seen what this place can do? Because I have!” He unzipped his jumper a bit, pulling the collar of his shirt aside to show one of the exposed sores on his skin for the briefest of moments. “Caustic rains, biological contaminants from a hundred different worlds, karked, damn-near poison air quality - you get the picture?! And these crates must have been exposed to something out there that’s been sitting on those shelves for over a month, and it’s still setting off the bio-scanners! We have to do this - just let us go!”

The officer started to step toward Zane, and his expressionless helmet didn’t really give Zane a lot of context with which to assume what his reaction would be. Zane placed his hands on his hips, just above his belt where he knew he had the blaster secured in case this became an “Oh, kark! Someone needs a new hole to breathe out of!” situation. After a few tense moments, the security leader stepped to one side, and spoke through the vocoder in an even tone, “What do you need?”

Zane breathed a sigh of relief for a moment, starting to step past him to catch up with Fel as he turned around to call over his shoulder, “Get on the comms and contact the flight deck on floor 85! Tell them we need to have a shuttle prepped ASAP for emergency transport off-site. We already have a med-tech and the last member of our detail waiting for us there.” He started to jog off, and turned back one last time, “And thank you, sir! We’ll make sure this is taken care of, pronto!”

He caught up with Fel and Jet, promptly falling into step with them as he spoke just so they could hear, “There. Now we won’t have them breathing down our necks, hopefully…”

The group of them moved through the ship, and Fel took a quick moment to relay the meeting point for the group to Aellyn on the comm frequency that they’d set up beforehand. The trip up to the docking bay on Floor 85 took them several minutes, and there were more than a few looks from some of the other crew of the Basilisk as they hastily made their way down the corridor. Still, once the three of them arrived, they found a shuttle waiting and a few troopers waving them over. Aellyn and Viszt hadn't quite shown up yet, but Zane was sure they would be there soon.

'Floating' (Star Wars 2 BBY)

From the time the binders had been slapped on his wrists until this moment, Zane felt like he was walking around in a fever dream. How did he get himself into an even worse situation than dealing with the kriffing Duros?! So much of his life was a mess already. Adding onto it with this whole debacle wasn't likely to create an upward trend anytime soon. He'd had a little time to process his thoughts, although most of it ended up revolving around saying several expletives and inwardly cursing the shorter Stormie for not giving him ten seconds to process his thoughts or offer up a protest. But once the binders were clapped and the barrel of a blaster was pointed back in his face, he tended to grow a little tight-lipped. But now that the cuffs had come off, Zane found the zipper that had kept it all shut in.

"'Sorry', he says..." he mutters to himself as he rubs his wrists, walking down the aisle of lockers to look for the stuff Fel had mentioned, "Sticks a gun in my face from the word 'go' and just now gots the stones to say 'sorry'?"

He finds a rack with several maintenance jumpsuits of various sizes hanging on it, and starts going through them, checking the tags to see if he can find one that would fit him.

"What the kriff am I even doing here, anyway?" He continues to whisper to himself as he pulls one of the suits down that he thinks will work, pressing it against his body to see if the length is similar enough to cover him. "I'm pretty sure I laid it all out there when I said 'I ain't gonna be much use on a kriffin' spaceship', but by some mysterious sort of frack-my-life magic, here I am!"

Frustrated, Zane slung the jumpsuit he chose over his arm as he quickly strode down a few lockers and opened up a random one to see if he could find some boots that would fit him. No dice, those looked like they would fit on a toddler. After a few more tries, he seemed to locate some that looked around his size, if not a little bigger. He sat down, placing the boot sole-to-sole to confirm as he finally addressed the two men, keeping his voice low, as he noticed the sound tended to carry through this flying metal triangle.

"So...any chance I can maybe get the 'skinny' on what the kark is actually going on here? Also...a little help? What's a 'ID tag'?"

There were likely a billion other questions that he wouldn't have minded the answer to at that moment, but, the situation called for discretion, whether Zane knew what that really was or not. He was already in the thick of things, and there really was nothing else he could do now except try to make the best of a bad situation. Which required him to be immensely less-ignorant than he was right now. He started untying his boots as he sat on the bench in front of the lockers, looking up at the two armored men questioningly.

'Floating' (Star Wars 2 BBY)

From the time that he hit the ground, the world around him was a spinning, blurry top. His lungs could barely fill with air once it had been knocked out of him. He couldn't maintain his focus for more than a second. Even when the Stormtrooper had nabbed him up and tossed him inside the storage building, he felt like he was outside of his own body for most of what was going on. The small bits that he was able to piece together were barely registering, right up until he saw the blaster pistol being shoved squarely in his face. It brought him back to the present in spectacular fashion. His adrenaline surged through his system, and he clearly heard the trooper ask him which one of the group chasing him wasn't presently in the room after his little romp through Junktown.

"U-Uh...S-Snivvian! There was a Snivvian. Not sure where he'd be heading, prolly in one of the alleys nearby-"

There was some sort of exchange between two of them after that. His eyes lost their focus again. Just how hard did he hit the ground?

And that was when he saw the trooper remove his helmet. He blinked his eyes a few times to make sure he was seeing what he thought he saw. This wasn't a Stormtrooper. The words he was harping at his fellow "soldiers" was evidence of that much. Zane tried hard to focus on what was being said after that, although only a few of the words were registering. Something about a plan, and then he mentioned the Basilisk...wait. Were they planning on making some sort of move against the Empire? What did he just manage to land himself in the middle of, literally?

Just then, the larger trooper walked back in carrying the Snivvian under one arm. It was then that Zane realized just how tall the white-clad warrior was. Far bigger than many of the troops he had seen around in the past few months. Wait...why was Zane still thinking of them as Stormtroopers? It was quickly becoming obvious that the lot of them weren't Imperials, at least not now. It was then that the blue-skinned one spoke up, and Zane was able to pick up a few things from his short speech. He was smart enough to know how to make the best of a bad situation. The mention of whatever this "kolto" stuff was might be enough of a bargaining chip for him to make it out of this debacle, if he was keen on not ending up in a ditch here in Junktown. Oh, kriff... Zane thought, I'd better figure out how I'm gonna be useful, if I expect to walk out of this shack alive.

That was when Zane heard the female voice speak up. His eyes got a little wide as she removed her helmet, realizing that she looked incredibly Imperial. While she was speaking her thoughts aloud, Zane's eyes narrowed. Why were they going on about this "plan" they had with such little regard for who was in the room? That didn't bode well in Zane's mind. Still, Zane had to focus on what was being said if he hoped to get a glimpse of some way to get out of all this with his eyes still in their sockets. The woman mentioned a "smuggle job" - stang. That wasn't good. Now he knew of some kind of thieving plot along with seeing their faces.

Then the large "trooper" was suddenly back among them, and the feeling in the pit of Zane's stomach was suddenly cold and gripping his insides. Kriff me runnin'...I did not see this coming. This has been a truly kark-tastic day. When the big guy removed his helmet, Zane got a good enough look at him to realize that he was the military type, for certain. And when the man's eyes fell on him, Zane recognized the look that he regarded him with. It was one that he had become increasingly familiar with, ever since his parents died. He'd seen it in Parlo's eyes, too. Pity. It was almost enough to make him retch.

Then the man spoke some more, and Zane realized his words were regarding him...

“And the kid’s coming with us,” he said, his tone firm but not unkind. “He’s a local; he knows things this guy doesn’t.” He nodded towards the Chiss, who sat silently, observing the exchange. “He’ll either prove his worth or I’ll personally toss him from a height much higher than that damn balcony.”

@Archazen

And there it was. The threat was hardly veiled. Zane believed that the hulking male would definitely carry out his statement. He felt the adrenaline rush through his system again as his mind struggled to figure out something, some way that he might be able to wriggle his way out of this. His "fight or flight" response was in overdrive, wrestling against the sheer amount of fear that froze his legs in place as he sat curled up on the filthy warehouse floor. Those thoughts were intermingled with something that Zane couldn't quite get a grasp on. He almost felt envious of the group. Here they were, seemingly just the three of them, talking about attempting something that Zane had only scarcely imagined in all of his years; the sheer excitement of it all grabbed his attention like nothing else.

As all of these different notions swept through his mind, he started to formulate a few thoughts that prevailed against the others. He spoke in a low mutter, barely registering against the rattle of the warehouse walls being shaken by the wind outside.

"...This just ain't my kriffin' day..."

When he looked up to see that a couple of them had looked in his direction, he finally piped up.

"Look, I barely understand half of what you guys are wrapped up in, but, it seems like it's gonna get a lot more complicated here in the next few minutes. Tossing me in the mix prolly won't do you any favors, honestly. And thank you, y'know, for dealing with those guys. Sorry for, uh, 'dropping in' on you like that." Zane swallowed hard, the dryness in his throat becoming more and more apparent following his chase through the valley. "I dunno what I'm gonna be able to do to be 'useful' to you - I might be able to get you through town without much incident, but beyond that, the Imp over there is probably gonna be your best bet on the Basilisk."

Zane couldn't really understand why he wasn't trying to upsell his worth to the group, but, he figured that trying to do so might just end up putting him in a worse spot than he was already in with the Dorbeks. Which reminded him...

"Oh, by the way...those crates in the back have an internal release lever. It's one of the first things we learned about as kids. You may wanna just stun the whole lot of 'em before you walk outta here." He realized he was likely saying way too much at the moment. "--Sorry. I'll shut up."

'Floating' (Star Wars 2 BBY)

The gravelly voice of Wibb brought Zane out of his mind's fog. His head raised up from his hands, and his eyes locked onto the approaching form of the burly Duros. The human male's jaw dropped open, and he started to croak out something, but Wibb promptly interrupted him.

"Y'see...I was pretty sure you were gonna bail - but then I remembered you had that gimpy brother of yours," He gave a lopsided grin, looking around at the others as they all chuckled at his "joke"...Zane wasn't laughing, though, "and I figured even a skid-stain like you wasn't heartless enough to leave him behind."

Zane's mouth was clenched now. Few things irked him more than someone mentioning his brother's deformity, especially in this derogatory manner. They could say what they wanted about him, curse him lower than a strill and it still wouldn't bother him. But the moment they mentioned Marcus, they had lost what little grace that Zane was willing to afford them due to his part in what happened to Loz. Zane's dark brown eyes were very intently locked onto Wibb's as his peripheral vision caught sight of the small entourage that followed him up the hill. They were spreading out to the sides, and Zane realized that they were attempting to surround him. There were six - no, wait, seven - of them, all toting some sort of improvised weapon. Zane's tired voice echoed along the walls of the junk-filled ridge behind him.

"...Wibb, I realize that we have some things that need to be discussed between us, but, I'm gonna need you to keep my baby brother's name outta your flat kriffin' mouth, we clear?"

The response got more than a few taunting noises from the small gathering, and Wibb's own smirk dissipated as his voice dripped with venom.

"You've got some stones on you, Skid, I'll give ya that."

There was that name again. They called him "Skid" because they figured it wouldn't be too long before he ended up a bloody skid-mark on the side of some junk heap. Zane knew that he wasn't well-liked around the settlement. His parents barely garnered a small amount of respect among the other Junkers. That notoriety did not pass to Zane, though.

"...I mean, even in the face of getting the beat-down of your life, you still have the gumption to fly off at the gob like that. Stellar, really."

Zane's eyebrows raised slightly at the pointed threat. He slowly rose to his feet, his hands out to his sides in a non-threatening manner, noting the others at his flanks all gesturing toward him with their planks and pulling their chains taut, the rattling links ringing out around him.

"Wibb, you and I both know that what happened to Loz could have just as easily happened to anybody. I'm sorry it went down that way-"

"-'Sorry' ain't gonna cut it, sleemo. Your little 'stunt' cost Loz his shoulder. That's gonna put him out of work for months!"

Zane tried his best to keep his voice calm, but he did raise it a little higher to cut through the echo of Wibb's voice along the hillside.

"Look, they've already canned me and put me on sanctions again - I prolly won't even be able to get work with any salvaging crews for a while..."

"Oh, we're gonna make sure of that, Skid...right here and now..."

Wibb looked to the others and gestured towards Zane with a jerk of his domed head. A couple of them acted on this cue, taking a few steps in Zane's direction. Zane started to back up, nearly stumbling over some of the junk gathered behind him as he frantically placed his hands out in front of him, pleading for them to halt their advances.

"Wibb - guys - this is entirely unnecessary!"

A few of them cackled, and Wibb grumbled a bit before replying. "Oh, no, Skid...this is very necessary. This whole place would likely be better off without you wasting what little precious air we've got left to breathe. Stang, even your brother would, and that's saying something..."

He really was keen on pushing that button, Zane mused, sighing as he looked around at the mob that Wibb had gathered. There was hardly anyone among them that wasn't more capable-looking than he was. The two of them that were any shorter than Zane were still more muscular by far. And with them encroaching closer to him by the second, his window to escape this unscathed was dwindling rapidly. Of the lot of them, Zane figured the Noghri toting a chain was likely to be the "weak link".

"C'mon, Wibb! I know I kriffed up, okay?" His eyes darted back and forth looking through the gaps between them that were closing with every step. Just over the shoulder of the Devaronian of the group, near the forward ridge that preceded the sloping drop-off toward the valley floor, Zane spied a possible means of escaping this situation. "The last thing I wanted was for anyone to get hurt! But, I mean, let's face it..." He gave Wibb a mischievous grin as he spoke the words that he knew would push him over the edge. "Loz had it coming."

The sneer that formed over Wibb's face preceded the deafening howl that issued forth from him as he rushed at Zane with arms outstretched, attempting to grapple him. Zane was expecting as much from the enraged Duros, and ducked beneath his swinging limbs, using the cover of Wibb's much-larger frame to disguise him reaching inside his coat to grip the handle of his modified electro-stunner. It was a sort of short, dark fiberglass club affixed with wiring that had been jury-rigged to a small-but-mighty power source with a diode on the business end of it. Zane had only managed to test it twice, and the one time that he was dumb enough to try it on himself, it worked much like it was about to on Wibb's Noghri goon. Darting out from the side of the Duros, he bolted toward the grey-skinned alien, whose eyes widened as it tried to lift the chain it wielded above its head.

That...was a mistake.

Zane jabbed the stun-stick into the side of the Noghri, and used his forward motion to activate the pressure-switch. An arc of electrical energy surged through its body, causing it to flail about with the chain in its hand. Zane had to duck the sweeping links, and felt the hairs on his neck stand on end as the chain flung past him carrying the powerful electric current. As luck would have it, the chain slapped into the chest of the Klatooinian next to him, and both of them were suddenly at the mercy of the electro-stunner's payload. After a few moments of flailing about, Zane watched their bodies collapse into a heap on the ground in front of him. He didn't waste the opportunity to dart through the break in their "formation", scrambling toward the ridge and his small saving grace - a long, open cask that must have been an old durasteel cooling unit at some point that had the lid torn off it. Zane didn't have the time to check if it had anything inside it as he ran up, and no sooner had he cleared the edge of the cooler than he realized someone must have been trying to use the cooler as a makeshift tub or sled to house parts that they would have likely pushed down the side of the hill; much like Zane was doing now. He planted his weight on the far end of the tub as he used his forward momentum to send the unit careening over the edge, causing it to act much like the sled its erstwhile owner intended it to be. The durasteel cask slid down the side of the hill; a much bumpier ride than Zane might have wanted, but still better than remaining up there where his pursuers intended to do him harm.

Wibb and the others approached the ridge, looking down and following Zane's impromptu escape vessel with their gaze as it sped down the hillside. The enraged Duros grabbed one of his goons by the shirt collar, shouting something that Zane couldn't hear before tossing them down the trail that had been semi smoothed out by the passing sled. Their body rag-dolled and tumbled down the hill some distance before crashing unceremoniously atop a heap of trash. The remainder of the group took off down the ridge trail to their right, intent on following the safer path to the base of the hill. Zane, however, was quickly speeding to the bottom. Which would have been considered a boon, but, there was one thing the gangly youth didn't seem to account for - the apparent lack of anything to slow his descent.

The base of the hill was approaching rapidly, and Zane braced himself into a crouch. When it came time for the "sled" to meet the ground before him, he bailed off to one side, jumping up and back as hard as he could to counteract the rate of speed that he was traveling. The chaos that ensued once the crate plowed into the base of the hill was astounding. A cloud of dust kicked up into the air as the tub flipped through the air end over end, sending its contents in each and every direction. Zane was pelted by more than one of the pieces of junk within as he hit the ground rolling, coming to a stop several feet away from the crashed container. The air in his lungs was searing-hot, and he struggled to catch his breath. Pain racked his body as he tried to stand up, and he soon caught the movement of Wibb's group out of the corner of his eye traveling quickly down the trail. He was still out ahead of them by a sizable distance, but, that advantage was dwindling fast.

"Oh, come on!" he yelled as he started plodding down the trail, the muscles in his legs already burning with lactic acid. He wasn't used to this much running, especially on an empty stomach. How long had it even been since he had eaten? He recalled giving his ration this morning to his brother so he didn't have to go hungry. That may have been a mistake, especially after having worked all day in the treacherous conditions of this squalid little planet. The settlement wasn't very far away, but, it might as well have been a parsec. Zane looked over his shoulder to see the group gaining on him by the second. He had just darted through what passed for the "gates" when he heard Wibb's infuriated voice quite clearly from behind him.

"I'm gonna enjoy thrashing you, Corvus! Just you wait!"

Every muscle in Zane's body screamed in protest as he continued running for his life down the streets of Junktown. Darting from alley to alley, ducking beneath fallen beams and jumping over some others, pushing over anything he could get his hands on to try and block the path of his assailants as much as possible. He soon rounded another corner, and saw a ramp that led upward on one of the residential buildings. He ascended the ramp, looking back to see Wibb clearing the corner of the nearby alley as he reached the top. It was a quick moment before the Duros caught sight of Zane again, and began to give chase to him once more. Zane was quickly running out of road.

Once he reached the end of the walkway, all that was left was a guard-rail made of scrap metal that opened over an alleyway. The human was forced to stagger to a stop at the rail, and turned back just in time to see Wibb's screaming, hulking form shoving into him hard, crashing him into the railing behind him and sending him flying through it. The contact with the scrap metal plating knocked the wind out of him, and he felt gravity taking hold of him as his body fell toward the ground, plummeting into the ground from that second story, right in front of and amongst a group of Stormtroopers in the company of a Chiss lab worker. Pieces of metal crashed all around them in a tumultuous fashion from the balcony above. Zane laid there in the midst of them in a daze, his vision blurring from the fall as he groaned loudly, trying hard to catch his breath as his body's pain receptors were on fire. Wibb looked down at the whole scene from the second story, his grimace soon replaced with a look of pure terror once he saw the group of Imperials standing down below.

'Floating' (Star Wars 2 BBY)

Swing and a miss.

That always seemed to be the theme of Zane's life story. He'd gather up his courage, settle into position to bear down on his target, take a crack at it...and swing wide, somehow. It never failed. The most recent example of his supreme luck happened less than six hours ago. Parlo - his late mother and father's oldest friend in this swirling hellhole - got him added onto the salvage crew for the old Lucrechulk wreck at the last minute. It was supposed to be a total cakewalk gig, and it would have netted him and his brother their rations for the next month solid; if only he'd never seen the sign. The one that read "CAUTION: RADIOACTIVE" with about ten different symbols denoting which types of death rays the old wreck was likely to be spewing out at the time. It didn't matter that their rad-sensors were reading negligible - once the scrap of metal plate was removed to give them access to the area and the sign came into view, Zane was startled. And that was not the reaction that was needed when you were the one holding the counterbalance cable for the pry-beam.

The long and short of it was: he kriffed up. Cable was let go, beam slapped against the hard deck, and one of his crew had their shoulder caved in as it fell. An ornery Duros named Loz Dorbek. And, as it just so happened, Loz had four brothers who were just as disagreeable as he was. Which was why Zane - after being fired from yet another salvaging job - was hiding near the outskirts of Junktown, waiting for things to cool down. Well, either that, or for sunset, so he could make his way back into town under the cover of night and hopefully avoid the retribution of the entire Dorbek clan.

Junktown - or "Derrivan's Point", if you cared to call it by its original founding name - was like many of the other scrapper settlements scattered over the surface of Lotho Minor. A smattering of ramshackle dwellings nestled in between the massive hills made of both naturally-occurring geological hill formations and enormous piles of refuse, junk, and even shipwrecks. The whole place was made of one and two-story "buildings" - anything taller would risk what little structural integrity they could afford, as well as invite disaster when any number of calamities that the planet was known for occurred. The town itself had very few facilities; mainly storehouses for whatever equipment the residents held among the community, a clearing which served as a small starport, what passed for a cantina, and a "clinic" that an old sawbones doctor worked out of, which was little more than a place someone could lay up while they recovered from whatever ailed them. Loz was there now, which was why Zane was not in town.

Rather, the gangly youth was up on the eastern ridge, somewhere with a half-decent view of the valley in case someone came looking for him. He sat on a pile of stacked-up junk that served as a makeshift chair with his head in his gloved hands. His hair was oily and matted, his skin caked with grease and dirt which made him itch all over. He wore a dark, hooded jacket and pants which served as part of his protective gear that shielded him from some of the harsher elements that Lotho Minor was known to produce. His environment-scrubber mask hung around his neck, draping over the top of his chest. A satchel was slung over his shoulder which held the remainder of his gear. He was just staring into the acrid air with sunken eyes, an indicator of just how poorly-nourished he was. He couldn't really say what he was looking for - some sort of sign, he supposed. He doubted he would find it amongst the wreckage of Junktown, or even the temporary Imperial barracks that were just north of there, not far from the dry-docked ImpStar that now sat in the northern valley. The ship itself was beginning to look more and more like the rest of Lotho Minor. Being marooned here for a few months would do that, though.

Zane kicked a rut into the ground near his feet, trying to figure out in his head how things could have gone so terribly wrong, again. He was so terribly fixated on his predicament, not knowing what he was going to do with regards to taking care of his own little brother, that he never heard the soft steps of several individuals coming up the hill.

"There you are, Skid! I thought for sure you would have tried to skip town already..."

It was Wibb, Loz's older brother. And he'd brought friends.

Yup...just like always...swing and a miss.

'Floating' (Star Wars 2 BBY)

---

Zane Corvus

Name: Zane Corvus

Alias: "Skid" (A negative moniker); usually just goes by "Zane" to the people he calls friends.

Faction: Junkers (Estranged)

Rank: Scab

Species: Human

Age: 18

Sex: Male

Eyes: Dark Brown

Hair: Black

Height: 188cm (~6')

Physique: Wiry/Malnourished

Skin: Pale

Force Sensitive: Negative

---

Strengths and Weaknesses

Observant. Zane has spent a good portion of his life having to always keep his eyes open, keenly-aware of whatever was going on. Life on Lotho Minor only exacerbated this characteristic, since ignorance could literally cost someone their life on that hell of a junk planet. Between the torrential winds and acid rain of the planet itself, along with the unsavory inhabitants like rabid Junkers and massive fire-breathing droids that consumed heaps and mountains of refuse (often confusing anything and everything for its prey, including living beings), this place had Zane in a near-constant state of anxiety. And yet, through that anxiety rose a state of awareness and an attention for detail that allowed him to keep his edge.

Scavenger. For most of his childhood, Zane has had to live in an environment that even the most seasoned survivalists wouldn't dare to encroach upon. This meant that every day was a race to see what -if anything - he could find that would help he and his family live to see the next cycle. His ability to scavenge materials and tools from the junk heaps has often worked in his favor, if only barely.

Survivor. Zane has had to give away a lot of his humanity in the pursuit of survival, for both himself and his brother. He has had to make a lot of incredibly terrible choices that a boy of his age should not have had to make, steeping his hands in filth and - in the worst cases - blood just to keep his sibling's hands clean. He is - at his heart - a good-natured person, but he isn't above using less-savory methods to achieve his goals if the situation calls for it.

Uneducated. This isn't necessarily saying that Zane has a low IQ; rather, that he hasn't been able to prioritize learning over other previously-stated concerns. He has a very basic knowledge of the galaxy around him; he can read Galactic Basic and can comprehend several languages, knows how to write (although spelling is a bit of an issue), and can carry his weight with basic mathematics and such. However, without access to the proper knowledge, he remains ignorant of some of the larger concepts in the galaxy as a whole. Etiquette and things of that nature will often elude him. You shouldn't expect him to be the one carrying out high-profile negotiations, at least not for the time being.

Brow-beaten. To say that Zane has "had it rough" would barely scratch the surface; and surely, there are others out there who have been through the wringer as much as he has, if not more. But the losses in his life have certainly taken their toll on him. Although he's only 18, he has the look of a man several years his senior. His luck and his circumstances have all been rather poor, and none of that has been uplifting. This has lead to him second-guessing a lot of his choices, and that says nothing of the effect it has had on his self-esteem and determination. It may take him some time to overcome such a disadvantage.

Unskilled. Zane hasn't had a lot of opportunities to take on or practice a range of skills like others around him. His default mode has been set to "survival" for the better part of his life. The few things he has managed to pick up over the years are limited to things like scrapping and ingenuity (building useful tools with the junk he has had on hand, etc.). For the most part, he's a dry sponge - primed to soak up as much as possible, yet currently devoid of "water".

---

Appearance: Stands just barely over six feet tall, with a wiry frame and pale skin due to being malnourished and generally unable to maintain a proper, healthy body due to his circumstances and lack of access to proper housing and sanitation. His lack of resources has led to poor hygiene as well, and he is often covered in the grime and soot of Lotho Minor's harsh environment. He is most often found wearing the same clothes from day to day, and owns some protective gear that helps him survive the planet's many hazards. That, itself, is worth its weight in aurodium.

The few possessions that he does have are some basic tools for salvaging and tinkering, and some improvised weapons that he has both made and found that he uses for defense: a makeshift short club, a vibro-knife, a miniature plasma torch, and a electro-stunner that he has pieced together from various scraps of salvage.

Biography: Zane was born on a tramp freighter somewhere in the Mid-Rim to parents of low means. As much as they tried to do right by him, the galaxy was a poor provider in terms of opportunity and circumstances. The small Corvus family drifted from planet to planet for most of Zane's childhood, his father and mother both working odd jobs to keep their family fed. Once Zane's younger brother, Marcus, was born, the family had reached Lotho Minor (as well as the "bottom of their barrel"). His parents tried desperately to eke out a living for them all, and it ended up costing them their lives. A salvaging accident claimed both mother and father in one fell swoop, leaving Zane to care for his younger brother at the staggering age of fifteen. He had a small sliver of grace in the form of a family friend that helped Zane take care of Marcus - who was just barely six years old when their parents died. For the past three years, Zane has done whatever he could to help provide for himself and his brother. But, time and again, Zane's inexperience and youth had shone through. He continually failed in just about every job he attempted. He either wasn't skilled enough, or wasn't strong enough to truly make a difference. Over time, the small amount of latitude that his parents' death had afforded him had all but evaporated, like ice in the midday sun.

Add to that the accident that befell his younger brother, and it made his life prospects start to look terribly-bleak.

The harsh and unforgiving climate of Lotho Minor was never something to sneer at. You didn't have time to sneer - if you did, then you'd soon regret it. Torrential winds, acidic rain, acrid air, toxic chemical pools and tainted water were only some of the hazards that the planet provided. Zane's younger brother was out playing with a few of the other children. The group had gone out a little far from the settlement, and Marcus had forgotten to wear some of his protective gear that he would have normally worn. A sudden northern wind carried down an acrid storm of acid rain on that fateful day, and Marcus was forced to run home in the downpour. He covered himself as best he could, but it wasn't nearly enough to keep him from suffering several severe burns to his body. His face was also scarred from the accident, but he was able to keep his eyes shielded, and most of his head covered. Zane spent several days by his brother's bedside, taking care of him, changing his bandages and helping him apply what little medicine he and the community could scrape together. It was barely enough to make a difference, but Marcus survived, and that was all that mattered.

Fast-forwarding a couple of years (to the present), Zane has managed to lose yet another salvaging job. Accidents have continued to occur (as only they can on Lotho Minor) with Zane at the center of them. If the galaxy could just stop spiraling out of control for one simple moment, if only something could finally give...maybe then, he could gain some sort of foothold to start climbing back up from rock-bottom.

'Floating' (Star Wars 2 BBY)

Hello and good day to you all! I go by "Zane", and I am interested in writing with you guys.

To give a little background, I used to write with DeeGee over on the website JediVsSith. I've had many years of experience on and off writing with a multitude of incredibly-talented people (of which, DeeGee is very much included). I've seen what you guys have written so far, and I'd like to throw my lot in, if at all possible. So, without further ado, I'll get into the "meat and potatoes" of what sort of character I'm keen on writing.

Since you guys are traveling to Lotho Minor in order to pull off this job and are likely to be touching down on the planet proper, I was hoping I could write a character who was an orphaned individual with a younger brother that he had been forced to care for after his parents died in a salvaging accident here. This character has been on his own, caring for his brother as best as he could by trying to take over his mother and father's workload as a Junker for the better part of three years. The Junker society had pity on him starting out, and that gave him a bit of grace with them for a while, but with him being so young and inexperienced (he began working for them when he was just barely fifteen), he often failed and could never quite grasp the subtle intricacies of junking and salvaging. This has led to him being more of a nuisance in the eyes of a lot of the Junker society, and slowly but surely over these past three years, he has lost yet another job in the line of many. At the point that you all would see him, he will be very nearly destitute, panicking over how exactly he's supposed to take care of himself and his younger brother now that he's without a job yet again.

What I would like to do is have him observe your crew coming into Lotho Minor's spaceport (or rather, whatever passes for a "spaceport" on this junkyard of a planet) - that, or, wherever you guys are going to be looking to touch down. Despite his poor luck at being a Junker, this kid is still somewhat resourceful and observant, and for the most part he'd be invisible as a street urchin there in Junktown (or whatever y'all would want to call this particular settlement). As such, he could possibly see you guys getting off the ship in your Stormtrooper getups, or overhear you still talking about trying to pull off the job, or possibly seeing Aellyn being the only one without a Stormtrooper getup. This would lead to him starting to put the small pieces of what's being said and done together, and eventually he'd have enough to go on that he might be able to put you guys in a bit of a vice should things not go his way. His hair-brained scheme is going to be to blackmail some creds out of you. This can start to play out however you would like. But, if it slips out that you guys still don't have an officer's uniform for Aellyn, I could make it his shoddy play that he could get such a uniform for you from the local Imperial barracks without a lot of attention.

Any which way, the character type I'm going for is a kid that's green as far as the lifestyle of being a smuggler. If he's able to convince you guys that he can be useful, you'd take him on and show him the ropes. I had this notion of him looking kind of tall and gangly, like Jay Baruchel, and being otherwise un-noteworthy. His skillset is definitely going to be limited, but that also leaves him wide open to being molded into the type of character that would be useful on a smuggling crew.

If this seems like something that you guys might be interested in allowing, I can start to write up his character sheet as soon as @DeeGee gives the word. Thanks for taking the time to read my post, and I look forward to hearing your input!