In the dimly lit cargo hold of the interstellar freighter, a somber atmosphere hung heavy in the air. The ship's worn metal walls and flickering lights were enough to cast an eerie glow upon the masses huddled in the otherwise cramp conditions. Alien life forms of all shapes and sizes were sardined together, each bearing the weight of their struggles and hardships. Their expressions were a mix of weariness and determination, as they embarked on a journey from one desolate corner of deep space to another. Hardly a luxurious ship, freighters like these were a lifeline for those who found themselves stuck in the Outer Rim. Journeys were often slow and laborious, but the cheap fare was manageable for most.
Among the travelers, a group of insect-like Verpine sat in a insular circle, their iridescent exoskeletons catching the faint flickering of the light. They passed around a holographic board, their multi-jointed limbs moving the pieces with precision as they engaged in a strategy game of some sorts; whatever it was, it required intense concentration. Despite the uncomfortable circumstances, the Verpine remained focused, finding solace in the intricate patterns of the game. Nearby, a quartet of Parwan lingered in a corner, their bioluminescent tendrils gently pulsating with soft hues. With graceful motions, they plucked ethereal melodies from a set of (poorly maintained instruments). Their harmonies, though somewhat haunting, filled the air with a soft, melancholic tune. The music seemed to provide a momentary escape from the ship's cramped confines, transporting both the voyagers and listeners to a place far removed from their current reality. At the heart of the cargo hold, a trio of Fosh traders from the lush forests of their home planet engaged in a spirited barter, their colorful feathered crests ruffled with excitement. They displayed a collection of intricate trinkets, vibrant textiles, and rare flora, each item telling a story of their world's beauty and bounty. Through their animated exchanges, they managed to kindle a sense of community among the diverse beings aboard the freighter. Off to the side, in a makeshift workshop, a group of hardy Sluissi engineers tinkered with salvaged technology. Their serpentine forms were clad in heavy work gear. Sparks flew as they welded, soldered, and reconfigured broken parts, their determination to keep the freighter operational shining through. In order to remain on the ship, passengers were given two options; either you paid the fare and ride out the journey until your credits ran dry, or you offered a trade or service in exchange.
The freighter’s captain, a Devaronian, would never turn away free utility and maintenance. That’s how, on this particular leg of the journey, they ended up with a Wookie as the ships designated cook. Needless to say, the food dished up was often questionable; the most recent concoction was an odd, paste looking substance. It smelt awful and tasted twice as bad but few were willing to critique the gruel given the fact that Wookies had a notorious reputation for ripping off limbs. The ship’s first mate, a Besalisk by the name of Lux, doubled as its main enforcer. He often walked the length of the hull, checking for trouble. Many found him to be nothing more than brute; a real brow beater who liked to throw his weight around from time to time.
Spotting a bowl of abandoned gruel, he kicked it aside and spilt the contents all over the floor. No one said anything; their knew it was better to just keep their heads down and leave the bruiser to it. The food apparently belonged to an adolescent humanoid, a girl who seemed to be travelling unaccompanied. She had been on the transport since the start of its journey and, for the most part, had been earning her keep through some minor maintenance jobs. Her current assignment revolved around parts of navigation circuit board system; the thing looked ancient. In her opinion, the captain (Coketh) would be better off scrapping it for something better…
But no. The horn-head expected Melania to somehow fix the damn thing.
Aware she was being stared at, the dark eyed girl slowly looked up, finding the enforcer Lux standing over her. A pair of his arms were crossed, whilst the other pair were bent, the hands firmly planted on his waist. He didn’t look very impressed.
“Still not fixed, I see. Ya sure you know what you’re doing there, whelp?”
“Tsk. It’ll get fixed, when it gets fixed. You eyeballing me won’t change that…”
With spit off to side, the Besalisk crouched down in over to level himself with the dark, little passenger. It didn’t accomplish much however and she was still forced to crane her neck upwards in order to meet his beady eyed gaze. “Ya better get a move on, otherwise I’m tossing ya ass off at the next refuel. Keep giving me lip and you’ll earn yourself a one-way ticket out the airlock instead.” He gave her forehead a harsh prod before standing once more and marching off.
Melania, with a glower, reared her arm right back back, as if about to toss something. She wanted to throw her tool right at the back of Lux’s big, fat head. Common sense, however, told her not to. The guy was a karking jerk. He’d done nothing but give her grief since the moment she boarded. Putting the circuit board aside, Melania took out one of her few remaining cigarra; the tabac wasn’t the best of quality but at least it was cheap. Igniting the with a small, hand-held blow torch, the girl took a deep long drag and held in the smoke. One might think she was savouring the flavour, but there wasn’t much to this particular brand. It was stale, at best, but the stimulants that followed were enough to temper her mood. With a smokey exhale, she let her dark eyes wander for what must have been for the umpteenth time; she scanned those she travelled with, out of habit more than anything else.
None were of particular interest to her…well, except maybe for one.
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