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And you call yourself an engineer?
The boy nodded at the man. A smile came across his lips. Finally, he was going to get a job, a real job. Something that he could use to fix up his ship, get parts, and free money, essentially. He could hardly contain his excitement, and his voice seemed to shout it to the world. "I'll be there, mister."

Turning back to his ship, he walked up the ramp. No, not walked, it was more like a half skip. Giddy with excitement, the boy walked around the entrance room of his ship, the right side strewn with parts and wires from his attempted repairs. Setting his hydrospanner down on a stack of casings, the boy went deeper into the ship. The next room held an assortment of necessities. To the far right side, a small room that held a bunk, dresser and footlocker for storing items. To the near right was a small kitchen area, mostly consisting of an food replicator. The near left housed a table to eat at and to the far left was a small bathroom complete with a shower.

The boy headed left. Past the table, he headed into the bathroom. If he was going to leave his ship, he at least wanted to be somewhat clean. Besides, a shower would take, what--three minutes? Five at the most. He'd be out of there and to the docking bay the man had mentioned in a flash. Although hormones had begun reminding him that his appearance was important, he wasn't as much of a slave to it as the female gender.

Starting the shower, he let it run for a few minutes while he stripped off his clothes. Stepping into the warm water felt refreshing, and he stood basking in the heat for a moment. His mind snapped to and reminded him what he was doing. Quickly, he washed his body and hair and stepped out of the shower a few minutes later. Drying himself off and running a comb through his hair, the boy ran across the corridor to his room to get on his clothes.

After selecting a tan polo shirt and some pants, he took out his leather jacket, taking a moment to feel the smooth, broken in material it was made of. Shaking his head, he flung it on, urgency again on his mind. He gathered some of his clothes and personal belongings, thinking that he wouldn't be coming back to his ship, and put them in a duffel bag. Rushing to the entrance room, he gathered his tools and put them in the bag as well. Slinging the strap over his shoulder, he carried the bag out of his ship. Turning around, he entered the passkey to lock his ship's entrance ramp, and seeing it retract into the ship and give a resounding clink as it locked, the boy turned and took off for the B-D6 hanger.

Entering the hanger, he saw a huge freighter right in the middle of the bay. No other ships were docked there, so the boy assumed the freighter was the one he was supposed to board. Near the entrance ramp, he spotted the man he had seen earlier, looking around casually. He made his way over to the man, and was about to speak to him when another voice was heard.

The voice's owner was a woman. She was dressed in a suit that seemed to blend into the background, making the boy squint to see her against the blandly colored walls of the hanger. Only the absence of a head covering, and the slight shift in its camouflage as she walked, made her visible. She carried a ring in one hand and seemed more interested in it than in speaking to the man, whom she had addressed as 'Captain Celtrian.'

Turning towards the sound of the voice as the woman spoke, the boy was startled, having been unaware of her approach. Looking over the suit, he understood why in an instant, but was unfamiliar with her himself. Not the most social of people was he, but if he was going to join this crew, a little outreach couldn't help, at least at the start. Then again, taking another look, maybe he'd best remain quiet.

His lips seemed to have gotten the better of his mind as before he knew it, they had opened and uttered the terrible, monosyllable word that started every conversation. "Hi."

Re: And you call yourself an engineer?
Reply #1
Rashane Calanyn - May 5, 2007 03:39 AM (GMT)
Bespin was too windy for his taste. Even with a jacket and in the somewhat sheltered enclosure of the starport, the cool air found a way to blow against his skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake. His work usually kept him slightly warmer anyways, but the sensation was still irritating. Try as he might, he simply could not seem to ignore the it, and his concentration faltered.

"Blast it!" A voice drifted down the open ramp of his ship, a small one-to-two-man ship. The voice was discernibly male, young, perhaps late childhood to adolescent as it still rang moderately high in pitch. The voice had a certain sound to it, almost a hoarse whisper, though spoken at a full level.

Down the ramp came a young boy dressed in a Corellian-style jacket and pants. His skin was a tanned brown that matched his wavy hair and clothes. To the uneducated onlooker, he appeared to be barely in his teenage years as to have outgrown the childish look but not yet adopted the more mature features of adulthood. His face and clothes were spotted in places with dark blotches, the same color that seemed to cover most of his hands. In his hands he held a hydrospanner with several attachments on it, a common tool in starship repairs.

Turning to the right, the boy approached a nearby landing strut and gave it a firm kick. A dull clang resounded through the small area of the spaceport, enough to draw the attention of a few passersby. As if to give explanation for his act of aggression, the boy cried, "Stupid machine! Nothing but a bunch of bantha fodder."

Captain Celtrian Antrus - May 5, 2007 03:59 AM (GMT)
Celtrian happened to be one of those few passerbys. Seeing the kid kicking the ship, he was forced to frown. With nothing better to do, he walked up to the kid to see what the hell was up. Looking at the kid as he seemingly brooded over something wrong with his ship. "You know kid, kicking it is not going to do much." He said as he got within earshot of the kid.

Rashane Calanyn - May 6, 2007 12:26 AM (GMT)
The boy hadn't expected anyone to actually say anything to him, although he noticed the onlookers' stares. He had been too busy to care, however; too busy trying to fix his starship. If he couldn't do that, he'd be stuck here until the Force knows when.

If only he hadn't tried that new fuel injector. True, the one his ship possessed was decades old, but at least it had been stable. This new one that he had picked up from a scavenger's shop on Bogden, literally "picked up" and took off with it, had seemed to work much better, but it started showing signs of stress near Naboo. The boy had barely made it to Bespin in one piece, a few minutes earlier and he could have been stuck in deep space on the hyperspace lanes, stranded lightyears from any system.

It was strange that the injector showed any kinds of stress at all, being that it was made for a light freighter, a much larger ship than the boy's simple scout vessel. Unfortunately, unless he could find a replacement part, he wasn't going anywhere for the moment.

The moment, it seemed, that now included a complete stranger pointing out the obvious to him. Turning around, the boy glanced over the the man that had approached him. Glance up was more like it, the man was nearly a foot taller than the boy, and he was dressed in a long trench coat that the boy could have easily been lost in.

"Yeah, well, nothing I do is doing much either. It's just this new part that I got," started the boy. He was about to explain what he was doing, but stopped himself. He couldn't say he had stolen the part, the man would turn him in! "Err, bought, I mean, and it doesn't work anymore. It worked fine for a while, and then it just blew out. I've gotta fix it or I can't leave here." He went on some more, mostly to himself, his voice dropping to nothing more than a mumble except for a few distinct phrases like "fuel injector," "energy capacitor," and "transference of power." Blinking, he looked up again, realizing his head had fallen and his sight dropped to the ground. "Sorry, just talking to myself. But yeah, I can't leave here unless I fix this darned ship. You wouldn't be able to help, would ya?"

He wasn't really expecting it, it was just a plain question. But maybe the man could do something, give him a job to earn money for real parts, or maybe he had happened upon a millionaire with his own ship with a hanger that could transport other ships. Just maybe.

Captain Celtrian Antrus - May 6, 2007 10:29 PM (GMT)
Celtrian glanced down at the kid as he explained his predicament. Lighting a cigar, he chomped down on the cigar puffing on it as he thought. The kid was a skilled engineer, and with the right parts Celtrian could see that the kid could probably be useful. An idea popped into his head and he took the cigar out of his mouth, "Kid, you fix ships, that much is obvious. Well what would you joining the Iron Dragon Organization's Navy? It pays well, and you can get cheap if not free parts for your ship here. The only thing you would have to do is repair, and modify ships when I needed it. Otherwise it's just free money."

Rashane Calanyn - May 6, 2007 11:38 PM (GMT)
Free money? What could be better than that? It even came without stealing it, free honest money. He could get parts for his ship, and gee, it seemed, maybe even a whole new ship. The Iron Dragon Organization's Navy sounded like it had lots of ships just sitting around, waiting for someone to fly it. Something better, perhaps, than a decades-old rusted scout ship with barely enough weapons to fend off asteroids.

The boy's expression grew brighter. His face seemed to light up, despite the dark blotches of grease that spotted his visage. A smile warmed his face and matched his cheery eyes. "That sounds great, Mister," the boy said,. A small phrase of antiquity snuck into his speech. Something he'd heard on an old holovid, perhaps. Shrugging it off, he looked up at the man and said, "So, where's your ship?"

NPC - May 12, 2007 05:44 PM (GMT)
Celtrian shot out a cloud of a dusty smoke, and with that he dropped the cigar and smashed it. He seemed to have gained a new engineer, and just in time. He could use a extra hand he thought as he turned to focus his gaze on the boy. He twisted his foot to finish the kill upon his own cigar which was worth thousands of credits but he had thousands of them thanks to his respectful business. He took a breath of smoky air,"In hanger B-D6. Be there within twenty minutes or i'll be leaving you boy on this gas-bag of a planet,"

Angela - May 15, 2007 03:01 AM (GMT)
"Ah, Captain Celtrian," Angela stood in hangar B-D6. She was a drifter of sorts, and since she had little to be in on the woman was keeping an eye on the captain and his crew. Xenos hadn't asked or ordered her to do such a thing but being an insomniac Angela had far too much time on her hands. She couldn't afford to left herself get bored.

Dressed in her mimetic suit she appeared as little more than a floating head that held a ring in one hand. Something to keep her fingers busy. A rather sad attempt to slow the effects that boredum often had on her.

Re: And you call yourself an engineer?
Reply #2
"Toys?" The boy asked absentmindedly His gaze fell on the ship, where hidden inside was a wealth of opportunities for him. Fixing, tweaking, tinkering and modifying, that ship was his oyster, or so it seemed. He smiled just thinking about the fun he would have. Turning his head, he fixed his attention back on the woman.

"Toys?" He asked again, this time with conviction. "They're hardly toys. That ship," he motioned with his head, "Is what gets you off this gasball. If its not working, you don't leave. If that's not important, though, I've heard thelocals are happy enough to fix someone up with a cloud home if you like."

It wasn't really wit. Ok, it was, more wit than actual irritation. Maybe if he matched wit for wit, the woman would drop hers around him and let him bask in logic and intellect. The boy was highly doubtful, but one could always have hope. Hope, too, that this conversation would soon be over so he could get to doing whatever it was they needed him to do, which hopefully included messing with that ship's innards.