Rajo Sobek
Don't Sweat the Technique
Cloud City... The name hadn't meant much to Raj when he was growing up, but now it had become one of his regular stops. Besides being home to some lucrative businessmen and their families, there wasn't much to the floating metropolis. Spacers had chatted for hours on end about their last stop at Bespin and the red-tape they had to go through every time they made a Tibanna run, but he'd not heard much about it since he was still kicking around Bonadan.
Perhaps that was all it was to him now, too. A glorified landing pad set among some of the most beautiful scenery in the galaxy with all of the regulations you could imagine.
Good place to drop spice though.
He swore that was the only reason he ever even made it out this far. So long as you could get yourself on to a pad, the buyers on-world were all too happy to take it off your hands. Turns out having a bunch of executives stuck together in one place was a good atmosphere to deal, who knew? Had to be premium though, and that was why he'd come. He'd begrudgingly agreed to come along to help some of the new pushers find clients for their more premium product. The meetings had gone well enough, but he couldn't quite leave yet. A message posted across the holonet was advertising something that he had some interest in.
A Good Pilot
Funny thing about running with street gangs and swoop bikers was that many of them didn't make for great pilots. It was only by some miracle that they'd been flying around as well as they had for the Black Suns, but that was when they'd had some guys who'd flown before. He was hurtin' bad after his "Best" pilots had gotten slaughtered in some bar mix-up... He needed new blood. The ad certainly didn't tell a lot, but he figured he might as well check it out on his way back.
That's how he came to stand in front of the Airhead cantina. It wasn't an amazing club but it was certainly better than anything he had on his level. Came with the territory, he only hoped this wasn't some hopped up butler lookin' to rake in a hundred creds a minute. He'd figure it out for himself though.
He brushed past two younger boys, who were obviously wrecked, and looked around at the booths as the sliding door hissed behind him and he was absorbed in the subtle tunes being played over the bar's sound system. Nothing too overbearing, just some jazzy druk that kept everyone mellow. Though the lights were low and he had no real idea what this flyer looked like, he made for the spot indicated in the post, shouldn't be too hard to find. Before too long, he'd guessed he'd spotted her. She was sat there, seeming miserable about her situation with a tuft of red fire set on her head. Had to be...
With little more to do than stand around like a some schutta, he laid an arm across the other seat of her booth and flicked it so that he might draw her eyes away from the worn wood of the table.
"You the pilot, then?"
[member="Tela Uolmi"]
Perhaps that was all it was to him now, too. A glorified landing pad set among some of the most beautiful scenery in the galaxy with all of the regulations you could imagine.
Good place to drop spice though.
He swore that was the only reason he ever even made it out this far. So long as you could get yourself on to a pad, the buyers on-world were all too happy to take it off your hands. Turns out having a bunch of executives stuck together in one place was a good atmosphere to deal, who knew? Had to be premium though, and that was why he'd come. He'd begrudgingly agreed to come along to help some of the new pushers find clients for their more premium product. The meetings had gone well enough, but he couldn't quite leave yet. A message posted across the holonet was advertising something that he had some interest in.
A Good Pilot
Funny thing about running with street gangs and swoop bikers was that many of them didn't make for great pilots. It was only by some miracle that they'd been flying around as well as they had for the Black Suns, but that was when they'd had some guys who'd flown before. He was hurtin' bad after his "Best" pilots had gotten slaughtered in some bar mix-up... He needed new blood. The ad certainly didn't tell a lot, but he figured he might as well check it out on his way back.
That's how he came to stand in front of the Airhead cantina. It wasn't an amazing club but it was certainly better than anything he had on his level. Came with the territory, he only hoped this wasn't some hopped up butler lookin' to rake in a hundred creds a minute. He'd figure it out for himself though.
He brushed past two younger boys, who were obviously wrecked, and looked around at the booths as the sliding door hissed behind him and he was absorbed in the subtle tunes being played over the bar's sound system. Nothing too overbearing, just some jazzy druk that kept everyone mellow. Though the lights were low and he had no real idea what this flyer looked like, he made for the spot indicated in the post, shouldn't be too hard to find. Before too long, he'd guessed he'd spotted her. She was sat there, seeming miserable about her situation with a tuft of red fire set on her head. Had to be...
With little more to do than stand around like a some schutta, he laid an arm across the other seat of her booth and flicked it so that he might draw her eyes away from the worn wood of the table.
"You the pilot, then?"
[member="Tela Uolmi"]