- Joined
- Dec 10, 2011
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Crescent City, Corellia______________________________
________________________Galdevar Inc. Distribution Center
The sun was just setting behind the smoggy skyline of Crescent City. The Patron's Oasis and its crowd were near enough that the drunken rambunctiousness was audible, even from the elevation at which Joffoc sat. As entertaining as the drunks were, however, Joffoc was not here for practical jokes and ridicule; he was here for something much more important and, dare say, even more fun. He was here for official business, very important-like, and strict adherance to the letter of the orders he was given was necessary-- nothing less. No sir, no silly games or unnecessary fights this time-- it was the straight and narrow Joffoc was here for.
The lighting of the Galdevar building beamed overhead, but little of it reached Joffoc beneath the urban canopy of another building's landing pad. It was only a short climb from the walkway below, elevated some ways above the ground level, but was out of sight enough that he could remain inconspicuous while still overlooking the skyways. As he waited, he glanced back to see an oncoming vehicle-- a large freight speeder. Closing his eyes for a moment, he let go of his corporeal sight and opened his eyes through the Force...
Yes, that was what he was here for.
Seconds ticked by, and the freight speeder passed underneath. Joffoc leaned forth from his perch, and like a brick from the wall of a crumbling building, he dropped into the open winds.
_ _ _ _ _ _ _
The foreman furrowed his brow, checking the time as the bay doors opened. The machines were backed up on the ninth floor, and the extruder was still down in the tank room-- and his assistant was out on injury from last week's accident. It was one of those days. But he had a shipment to make, and it was a contract he wasn't about to lose. He checked the time once more, just as the freight speeder came in. It hovered into the bay, lowering to the ground on the dock just beside a large stack of large plasteel crates. The driver opened his door and stepped out as the dockhands came approaching with levi-jacks.
"What the hell, Romm?" the driver said, exasperated.
"I know, I know," placated the foreman, hands open and forward. "Look, I hate to call you for an emergency run like this. I wouldn't for any other customer."
The driver scoffed. "How much you got?"
"Thirty-nine crates," he replied.
With a grunt, the driver thrust his cargo manifest into the foreman's chest. "I'm full up," he said. "Should'a called ahead. I could take on maybe ten, but you know how they are about partial deliveries."
Quickly surveying the manifest, the foreman's stomach sank. "Kriff!" He looked over at the dock hands and waved his arms, shouting, "Stop! Stop loading! Leave it be!"
"Sorry, pal," said the driver as he turned. But the foreman was deaf to him, already on his holotransciever lining up another courier. With his corporate drivers exhausted, he would have to call a private courier for the delivery. It would cost him creds, but not the contract, and so it was the lesser of two evils.
After he made the call, he waited impatiently in the open cargo bay for the new courier to arrive.
@EmilyHuene