Dax Harrac
Against the Ropes
CORUSCANT, LEVEL 1294
Consolidated Energy Solutions, Incorporated
Manager's Office, 0934 Local Time
"Jesus Dax, that's the third time this month."
Consolidated Energy Solutions, Incorporated
Manager's Office, 0934 Local Time
"Jesus Dax, that's the third time this month."
Dax looked across the table at his boss- halfway, at least. One of his eyes was too swollen shut to see. Training and sparring took it's toll physically, but pay dividends in fights. Dax was in hot water, yet again. His boss was an understanding man, after all, he was one of the many with two, three jobs trying to scrape by in the heart of the Alliance. But the further down on Coruscant you went, the more it stayed the same. Buildings and Empires came and went, the slums always stayed.
Children still played with Imperial Stormtrooper helmets they'd find in warehouses down here- from the days of Vader.
And that's how it went. You lived and died in the slums, scraping by enough to get your shitty recycled water and shitty processed-more-than-minerals foods. Unless you got out. Unless you climbed up. But that took money. Time. Friends. Connections. Money, friends, time, and connections that Dax- did not have. And would not have.
Unless he could put it all on black, get the shot at a bigger purse. But here on Coruscant, shockboxers weren't made in legitimate circles.
No, that all came from the scummy Hutts and their scummy friends.
But the bills still had to get paid. Dax couldn't fight for the first 9 hours of his day. The first 9 belonged to the company. And he was now, due to his weariness and lack of setting an alarm, owing them two. Which brought us back to his boss, staring him across the table. His hands rubbed together, looking out the window at the speeders flashing by, while a sea of neon and holograms danced across, hues of purple, yellow and blue cycling across the dimly-lit office.
"Dax, I can't keep having a guy showing up to work all fucked up, I mean for fuck's sake Dax how you gonna work the line with one eye-" He said, pointing out to the window, where the other linemen of the day prepared to make their movements to maintain the electrical grid of the mega-city, or at least, a small fraction of the level. And for the hundreds of thousands of people on this level alone, the few hundred men keeping the lights on was serious business. Each linemen had their tools, bags, and gear all neatly folded in front of them in a tight formation, inspected by their line boss. The Manager's Office was overlooking it, and he would give the final signal to have them board the speeders to begin work for their shift. It was grueling work, but it paid decent, and it wasn't bad in the union department. But Dax had pushed his buttons too much lately, despite his work ethic on the job. The workers called him "missing the boat". Missing the boat was a simple rule. You missed the speeder, you missed work, you missed pay, and you made everyone work harder to pick up your slack.
And Dax had caused enough slack for the week.
"Clean your locker out." Dax's eye widened, leaning forward and putting a single hand on his Manager's desk.
"Come on, please you know how much I need this-" He was cut off by the gruff, gray-haired man slamming a hand on the desk. "And I need a lineman who won't miss the boat, Dax. Get your shit out by the end of the week." He said, standing up, grabbing his own helmet and vest, and walking out to the catwalk that overlooked the men. He waved his hand sharply in a circle, and the linemen boarded their ride, prepared to keep the lights on and the gears turning for at least another few hours. He left Dax alone in the office, staring blankly at the wall.
The Caf wasn't bad, but it wasn't great either. The location was what he came for. The bar was notorious, a place to forget, or to remember. Not to socialize. He already had a rent check paid, and his lights would be on for another three weeks at the least. He got his last paystub, so he had a couple hundred credits to burn- and then, maybe, nothing, maybe anything.
He had a feeling, his hands stuffed in his black jacket, as he approached the bar. He was sat by a hostess at the bar- and quickly got his first, then his second drink going. On his third, he found the need for air. He walked out to the balcony, which overlooked a fair bit of the city. He was mostly out here for the air. Swirling his pink-and-blue drink in his hand, Dax took a deep breath, and downed half of the drink.
He had to figure out a way to get into the bigger fights, or scrape enough cash to get the hell out of Coruscant. He wasn't going to end up like everyone else he knew, crushed under a turbolaser boot from some unseen enemy waving an unseen flag. His hand instinctively touched his right arm, before his swollen and cut-up hand returned to the glass. He was alone on the balcony, while most of the clientele, save for a few other couples, went inside to watch a live show of some kind.
Despite his initial intention to have fun and blow his money in a good way, Dax felt more alone in a sea of people than he ever did. He took a deep breath, and was ready to pound another three, four, maybe five drinks before succumbing to the demon drink and stumbling home. He let out the first words he said in a few hours.
"Fuck."
