Who's Scruffy Looking? [Complete]

Who's Scruffy Looking?

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200 Dead in Kwenn Space Station Attack

SPACE STATION, KWEEN SYSTEM -- An insurgent’s explosive attacks and three-hour fire in the Kweet Space Station processing station and civilization sector has left 200 dead and 60 wounded.

The explosions began at 0810 this morning with malfunctions between the processing station and living quarters, where there have been many previous terrorist attempts, were compounded by being a direct blast within the station’s husk across the design. According to witnesses, the malfunction began without warning, before turning into spark burst and fires.

"People could be heard complaining loudly, even from outside, about dealing with the bad tech" said Gurijtu Bantek, a flight attendant who was witness to the first blast. "Suddenly there was a lot of shouting and then there was this giant boom between the two sections them. Everyone started running, and it all went to hell."

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Though no shots were fired by the assailant, since blasters are prohibited within the processing concourse, there are suspicions amongst security that some weaponry was used in the attack. Many innocent passersby were injured as the explosions spread from the processing station to the nearby landing bay. Also, several civilians attempted to escape the raging combatants, only provoking the problem more.

Kweet Space Station Security first attempted to handle the malfunctions on ground level before going into code red response, but the eruptions had already killed many travelers and citizens. When it was decreed safe to do so, security personnel entered the detonation grounds, though little evidence still has yet to be disclosed as to the cause.

"Since this was an attack from within, we are going to have to revamp our design and investigate all leads to a potential attacker," described Officer Spizt, head of security staff. Security has since concentrated its branches on cameras, docking schedules, and processing documents during the day of the attack. They still have not ascertain any information beside a snap-shot from the holo-feed around the source of the attack. The man is described as young, white and black haired, tall and of base-line human traits. Images have been processed and fed through network programs for further information.

"It was terrible, there was so much blood and damage. Bodies were everywhere. I kept looking, sure to find a Rebel, but the scum had likely already ran off like a rat," said Bantek, who suffered a broken arm in the blast.

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[Closed: PM if interested.]

The Next Day...

It was a smile.

The quietly thick lips perked at the end. Secret thrills hid under behind his bold mouth that had yet to say a world. Eyes like Tatoo I and II stared out into the desert of dullness. A millisecond of silence, but she would have swore it longer, much longer. There was something pleasant about him. With skin soft and like honey melon, he was soft. The features parted gently. Small packed black brows hung of his two Tatooine suns, and made the transition easy. It was the pattern of black to sudden white that could seem awkward, but it was so natural. The flock of messy hair toppled from his head in every which way, but made his face profound. Such a slight slimness in the quite regular curve to his chin matched all too well with his slender frame.

In that millisecond she studied his face, but it his body that reassured him. He was tall, stocked without the worry of time. Young his languid, but far from lethargic stance, his volume remained moderate to loud. The near feline shape of his proud stand and thin neck said he was athletic. He had a grace in his motionlessness that her eyes didn’t want to ignore. Although his eyes burned, his body seemed at peace and ready. Certainly, she heard his shape right when it whispered he was athletic.

Then, he spoke.

It was voice curved with a rough smoothness that a Bantha horns tried to capture; a thing all too silky, but still on gravel. She almost felt drooped over the cadence. He seemed so unhurried with his tongue, while still managing to leave sounds out for his own unique care.

“Well I was jus’ try’n ta see…I mean, can I?”

She was interested. A smiley nod confirmed it. The boyish man had kid like charm and she was the shy type. So, yes, he would get what he wanted:

The window seat.

Four minutes, a wobble, and he slunk over. A pillow lay fluffed behind his head. Covers drooped over his lap, and his former smile returned. He was warm, unconcerned. The seats were a gray color, comfortable. Beside him was this Fallen woman. Real exotic. Very beautiful. Her skin was green like it should be. Her face sharp and tenderly strong like it should be. She was what a Fallen woman should be, decked in a bronze vest, small long-sleeved brown shirt (showed her navel), with gloves to match and tight pants. At first, he didn’t look. He didn’t have to. He had a whole flight to enjoy her. More importantly, he had to keep a good rapport with that pilot.

“Captain Oke hopes you enjoy your flight,” chirped the attendant droid. “And she wants you to take this.”

The cold had reached over the brown and green, placing a chip in the tan hand. Likely was filled with some contact information. He allowed himself a light smile and even lighter nod. When courtesy called, he answered, but he always thought in neurotic terms. He hated being polite, he’d rather be sincere.

“Have a nice flight, Mr. Ajoi”

Mr. Ajoi didn’t like being called that. He rather informalities and his name I’nu, and plus, the droid had repeated itself. Next to a pretty gal and a window, how wouldn’t he enjoy his flight? This was one of the few reasons he was never thrilled about going to Dearic School of Arts. There was too many droids in the faculty, and that droidspeak. All those beeps and bops – high pitch, low pitch – it was annoying. Generally, he didn’t have any problem with droids, but he sure didn’t prefer them.

What he preferred were girls.

“Why d’dose lil’ contrapshuns always sound like a trooper with a multipede crawled up their butts.’

She laughed. This was going to be a fun flight. If only was as fun back on the ground. I’nu grin weakened at the thought, and his eyes went with it. Leaning back in his seat, he peaked over at the window.

The station was still being repaired. In the background the Holo-feed was airing. Good thing he choose to throw on his old junk yard hat on. The description was just a bit to vivid for comfort.

2 Days Before...

He scowled.

He groaned.

He frowned.

He smiled.

He pouted.

He smirked.

“Get the flupp out of there, meatbag!”

The mirror was getting a full-on show, but backstage (outside the refresher) the director was calling for a bow. So, he bowed. A knowing smile perched itself on his lips as he calmly backed away. The day was upon him, and business awaited. With one last glance at the mirror, he remembered who he was once more (I’nu) and smirked.

Sometimes that was such a cool person to be. The operative word was sometimes.

When the door opened, he fell back in. It wasn’t by choice, it was by force. The cold, slimy push of a Dug’s foot greeted him before he was given the chance to think. Honestly, it was the first time he had been at eye-level with one of their kind. The first thought was he hoped all Dug’s breathe didn’t smell like Bantha fodder, and the second was why the frell was he on the floor. Both thoughts slammed together in a wall of confusion, allowing him to try on one of his favored looks.

He pouted.

“Huh?” I’nu tried, but was shut down.

The cold of the man’s foot pressed against his chest, and hard. The hold was tight, making him and the bathroom floor far too familiar. It was obvious this memory wasn’t going to be one he’d tell his grand kids. Nothing was worthy of his smile, or his smirk. A lot of time had been wasted in the refresher, but he was certain not enough if it meant avoiding this guy.

“Were you dropp’n krayt jewels, fly boy?”

His answer was a shocked blink. I’nu knew how to get out of this. He wouldn’t try, though. Any swing could leave one of those clawed toes even closer to his neck, and junk yard dealing didn’t coming with any insurance. Plus, his foot was starting to lighten up. All the slime-ball wanted was some reassurance. The sort of reassurance that he could still bully someone around, and I’nu was trained well in bending to such needs. Shame was for the fools. And he always played his cards right.

As the Dug slunk over to the toilet satisfied, with a nice grunt, I’nu picked himself up. The boy didn’t want to stick around and watch the hand-walker let anything out. After a quick brush down, he shook his head and closed the door behind him. Despite the joy he woke up with, the day wasn’t looking too good at this point.

Stuffing his hands in his pockets, he trailed off through the star port. He was off to Docking Bay 94. The freight ship was waiting for him and his shipment to be made. There wasn’t much else left to do. He had already checked in, got the overview on his shipments, and passed security. I’nu even checked off his bathroom break for all it was.

The time had come for travel. He didn’t particularly like flying, but Telos IV wasn’t a bad destination to have. Especially when word had blown in on how festive the planet had become at this time of the standard year with the Empress’ announcement. It was quite unusual news, though. Only a few years back Telos had fought the Empire’s grip, and now were celebrating.

Oh, how times changed.

I’nu looked along the wall as he drooped down the hallway. A few of the advertisement were funny. One had a Wookie model selling hair products. Another donned some fresh-face Zeltron girl in lingere. Well, that wasn’t exactly funny, but it was…interesting. The most interesting though was a poster of Miranda Tarkin.

She stood there, the New Order insigna black, and big behind her on a yellow background. She was formidable, strong. I’nu stopped and stood for a while. The hall was big, and dim, but she was clear. His hands rested in his pockets as his feet turned about to scrutinize. His head popped forward, and his eyes scrunched up for focus. Slowly a smile crept a long his lips, in an almost snide way. In all the nonchalance a man could have, he turned about and closed his eyes with a flippant hand raised. The smile had not faded.

To him, the whole thing seemed like a joked.

“An Empress…”

He lightly grunted, with a careful shake of his head. Ahead him the door widen to his ship. A droid greeted him with a nod, and an invisible smile. Protocol droids didn’t have the mouth to smile, but I’nu always imagined they never stopped grinning. They were weird like that.

Blind natural lights of the sun burned him into a silhouette as he disappeared.

It was time for space.

Loose papers, fried crispics, old dapacks, older display disk, and ancient swoop parts litter the cabin. It was an MC18. Good space, but I’nu was a junk dealer – he was messy. Anything off the Mon Calamari Shipyard cost a bundle, and he was lucky. Mom had connections, and Uncle Y’relt foot the bill. Why wouldn’t he though? Retirement on Spira made a ship purchase meaningless. The man was enjoying the rest of his life while his nephew was stuck making shipments.

I’nu moped at the very thought.

Somewhere on Ataria Island Uncle Y’relt was stocked with women and kisses as he checked the list. The glower showed. In the puddle of his distraught, his eyes skid across the datapad and up at the items. A heap of contained junk sat in front of him, and all was affirmative – at least on the official list.

It was what next that mattered most.

He stepped over, taking a gander up at his stash. A clump of bottles, jars, and pots stacked in his confined compartments without a single label. The mystery made him smile. There was no list to confirm the order, but he knew exactly what was inside. His account was pleased.

In an effortless twirl, he graced his steps with a delighted saunter, drifting back to his quarters. Beyond his steps leaked the muse that’d comfort him throughout his trip. The songs were a mix of new and old jizz, glitz, gliz, core drive, and even some leap-jump, well enough to keep him in a decent mood.

He hoped for more, and expected less. Music was always a key to a good experience. Just sometimes it didn’t hit the right spot for himself, especially when there wasn’t anyone to share it with.

Yet, he avoided the thought. In a switch, as the music grew near, he danced his way down the dim corridor. Everything was set, and the waypoint had been entered in. As he came bopping into the cockpit he listened as the HUD came alive and the music’s sounds were nearly drowned in the messages. His eyes closed tight as he escaped into a boogie, jolting about in glee as the serious, robotic tone tried desperately to contrast his glee.

It nearly worked, but he remained soundless and let his body talk.

While he flung about, jamming to the notes, he let his hands chaotically push at the buttons. In a random succession, the information was deleted, and saved, before finally managing to push all into ready mode. Lights sparked to life around the panel as the music returned to its regular level. The volume boomed, and he moved. The music swung in his bones, and he let it explore his heart.

Even as the ship beckoned his hands to be rid of Ord Mantell, he danced. Even as he sat down, buckled himself in, he danced. Each step of the way, he danced. Whether it was a simple bob of his head, tap of his feet, he let the music speak to him.

Kwenn wasn’t that entirely close, and the only company he had was music. It was good company, though. Good company.

Nothing last forever, a smile gets weak. Frowns become smirks. Poor find their way to the top. Yesterday dies in the hands of chrono. Things that made you laugh represent the past. Even beauty fades into ugliness or something worse: apathy.

I’nu was apathetic. The galaxy use to be beautiful, grand, and astounding. Now, it was just…space. A place to be, go through. When he was a kid, it was different. The stars were new. They meant so much more. In these days they were just spots on the chart map to trace a trail. Nothing more, and nothing less – just marks to point at.

Time was envious, and always hated delight.

I’nu hated time.

Slumped over in his seat, he watched as time bid him a long trip. Kwenn was still far off, and Telos even further. All he had to ignore time’s dry humor was his datapad. Years of junk, and a heap of interest might help, but not for long. One thing about time was that it had patience. It would wait, and wait until finally it was crowned and bowed to. For a period or two, time would even bend, but in the end it would always win. Time always won.

So when time finally on its winning stretch, he was there. Motionless in his seat, eyes off into the caste of star systems afar, he wondered. Mind in a jumble, wrestling with time, he tried desperately to evade the silence. The quiet of space was chilling. He had a hot, or maybe warm soul, and he couldn’t handle it. I’nu hated being a lone too. It hurt.

Anytime he was alone he comforted himself. As a kid it was his thumb, his food, his mother. Now, he used memories. Each grain in the hour glass picked up, and used to sprinkle him. Although nothing last forever, it didn’t mean that it didn’t last long enough.

I’nu delighted in the moments gone. He held tight to them. They provided reassurance, clarity. Sometimes the present didn’t have such qualities, and it could get hard. Yet, in the face of the past, it all became putty. Or more like a wave, wrinkling the fabrics of the world around like tidal pull across a once calmed ocean. At least that’s how the holovids made flashbacks seem like…

----

3 Weeks Earlier

Ithor, it is a place of beauty, wonder and nature. Clicks, pings, buzzes, bleeps and blips eased the planet on the screen. Green, white, brown and blue swarmed the ball. This rock was definitely Ithor. Three years had passed too, and this was the day. Large plots of life hovered above. Each was enveloped in a web, intricate and dainty. The vessels danced, exchanged, and twisted about in a mimic of the clouds. Some parted for the larger basins to droop in like the sun. All was going according to plan…for everybody.

It was meeting time.

I’nu had landed an hour early. All the herdships were in a cluster, he didn’t want to wait or be a part of it. There was no room on his schedule, which was unusual. Most of the time he was fretting about how bored he was, but now he was too busy. See, nothing last forever, not even boredom.

After a bit of hustling, bustling, networking, and talking, he had set up a talk.

In the days of a Civil War, Rebels were hard to get in contact with. They were secretive. He wasn’t. People knew his objectives - he wanted more business. And not just any business; he wanted good, frequent business. The Empire had too many resources. The gangs had already been in touch, but the Rebels were untouched.

All he had was a friend of a friend…of a friend. Still, he managed to find somebody. While the beauty of meetings sat beyond and over head, I’nu stood motionless outside the Jungle Towers. It was the best hotel he could afford.

He had a few complaints, though. They’d have to wait for later, his holopod was buzzing. With a yank, pull, and click, it came alive.

A woman…he smiled.

“Ay…”

Ithor was a beautiful planet, full of greenery and the chirp of avians. The Ithorians were a stately species, their height spanning anywhere from 1.8 to 2.3 meters. Surrounded by the 'Hammerheads,' Jane Starborn felt small, their glossy brown skin catching the afternoon sun. With their enviromental sensitivity, the Ithorians were crucial to the efforts to restore planets that had been devastated by the Mandalorian conflict, and the Jedi Civil War, so many years ago.

It was the Time of Meeting, when the Ithorian herdships would cluster together from their travels among the stars, and the great floating herd-cities that always remained on Ithor would link together for a great celebration. A loud bellow rattled her, and Jane looked over her shoulder at a pair of Ithorian males, their single humped heads pressing together in what appeared to be some kind of hug of greeting.

With two mouths and four throats, the Ithorian people could speak in stereo. Thankfully they could speak Basic, as their beautiful language was extremely difficult for non-natives to pronounce.

Jane sat down on a bench, flipped on a book, paging through the screens to the last page she'd read, and sat in silence until it was time. Turning on her commlink she paged the number she'd been given.

"Ay..."

"Meet me at the Manullian Tea House in fifteen minutes," she said, and then cut the connection. Jane looked across the wide walkway to the tea house, knowing that her contact would not be far away either. After a moment she got up, tucked the datapad under her arm, and walked over to the Manullian Tea House.

Restless hands cluttered his pockets. He had been on the move. From the moment her words found his ears, his feet were in a hustle. Each step was definite, sure, and concrete. Through the cluster of hammer-headed natives, and wayfarers he reached a street and a point of direction. I'nu was born to Corulag, raised to Corellia, and worked on Ord Mantell, but wasn't at all familiar with Ithor. All the plant life was...awkward to him. Astounding, and as beautiful as it was, it was still awkward.

The unusual smell of life in contrast to the refined, artificial copy of it was new. At first he embraced it, but then he analyzed. He often analyzed. Things became suspicious, irregular, and untrue under focused eyes. It was like the magnifier on any matter, where things became separate, categorized, and different.

The smell seemed strange.

Then, finally, he tracked why.

He was at the tea shop. It wasn't the tree, or the plants near the door, but the tea. He hated tea. Slumped over in a chair, he waited. Arms stretched out, and lacking most the tact his father taught him, he sat with a nonchalance most non-humans found quite pecuilar. Truth be told, it was pretty normal for I'nu to catch a few eyes.

The kid had checkered hair for goodness sakes - he was far stranger than any Ithorian tea.

"Wata' please..."

The waiter understood, others didn't. He wanted water. His accent was thick. Yet, she understood. She was human, and from the looks of things not a natural born citizen of either Coruscant, or Ithor. She seemed exotic. Real dark skin, but not too dark to escape cookie brown. I'nu looked a bit longer than he should, but she was cute.

"A wata coming up, boy." She would've came off rude if it wasn't for her smile.

I'nu liked that. At the end of all this, he probably would get her number. Well, at least that how it normally went.

The Tea House was sized proportionately for the tall Ithorians, but it wasn't much of a stretch for humans and other, smaller beings to use their tables and benches. Jane spied her contact, the furriest being in the place, and walked over as soon as his waiter (another human) left his table.

She slid into the seat across from him, unable to immediately categorize his species. "You wanted to talk?"

Protocal, impolite - I'nu didn't know what to call it. She was straight to business. Before I'nu could smile, be charming, and cute, she was there infront of him and going to work. For a split second I'nu could finally identify with a tool. Just for that split second, he could identify.

Then, the second was over. He smiled, almost grinned, and closed his eyes. His water was coming. He had decided he would hide behind the glass and the drink when it came. For now, though, he would have to dodge.

"Yea...but y'dont wanna drink?"

His cat eyes, like the sand of lost dunes, wet their appetite on her. I'nu stared, glared even. Even though his voice was sweet, he didn't want to be. From the lean back in his seat, and avoidance, he had turned passive-aggressive. So, he studied her, waiting for her response...

...and the water.

Jane looked at him and then at the back of the server who'd retrieved a glass and was pouring cold water into it on the other side of the room. His posture and the fact that he was now glaring at her seemed to indicate that he was unhappy.

Perhaps he'd been expecting a male. Some species thought strongly about dealing with females. Agent Starborn quirked an eyebrow. "You contacted us, Mr. I'nu. If you no longer wish to talk, then I am wasting my time." She scanned the room for a trap, but found nothing immediate.

She could hear her mother's voice in her head telling her to be patient, but Jane could feel a headache growing between her temples as the Ithorians around them spoke in their odd, musical and stereophonic language.

A sigh slipped free. He didn't know how to put it, but he was disturbed. The immeditate drop in, straight to business wasn't his style. Even if the objective was clear cut, and dry, he always wet it with his beak of humor. He wasn't used to these military type. Times had been hard though, and he had to adapt. It wasn't like he didn't understand, he just didn't like it.

In the back of his mind he could hear his grandmother's voice. She always told him there was a lot of things he wouldn't like in this life, and he'd have to just deal with it.

So, he dealt with it.

"Eeh--Well to get to d'point I got this business, right?" He began. He wanted to engage her. Make her interested, have her ask questions, lift an eyebrow - something at all make sure that he wasn't talking to girl instead of a program. "I got ship parts, droid parts, droids, speeders, all sortsa crap.

All fo' you and ya lil..."

I'nu stopped to lean in, his eyes cautiously cutting away to the waiteress on her way back and Ithorians on the other side. No one was paying attention. They were all busy - it was meeting time for all of them.

"Red symbol crew. I even got sum o' weapons for ya," he whispered. Confidence wrinkled his lips up in a curve, and eyes to a close. He was proud of himself...sure of himself. I'nu just knew he had it. He didn't even need to hear her response, but he would.

She raised an eyebrow, leaning forward a little as he did to hear his whispers. "And for these items what would you want in return?"

Jane leaned back, adding, "Please don't be offended, but I have to make sure you are what you say you are and have what you say you have. Before anything gets passed to my superiors."

A smile kept up his lips, and he slumped back. Confidence slither from his face down his spine like a snake. The back of the chair kept him at ease, while his feet lifted and he drifted. Thoughts toppled behind his eyes, but they gazed over at the woman. He was sure of himself, now.

"I gotchu--All I want is fo' d'credits ta come m'way. Dat work for ya?"

"Depends on how many credits you're thinking of. And what these weapons are actually worth." Jane sipped her water. "I will have to inspect them before making any kind of deal."

He expected that.

Even as she pulled the drink from her mouth, and the sip went down her throat, I'nu was at it. His hand blasted into his pocket, pulled it out smoothly, smiled, and laid the datapad on the table. With a practiced flick, the datapad was pushed across the table infront of her.

Falling back into a straight stand from his lean, he hunched over, leaned in, and pushed a single button on the screen. The holo-feed bursted from the pad, a smirk rolling up a long the owner's face. He was proud. He should have been. The blue image bore one of the weapons, and it was grade A.

One of the older models of the E-II shipments, but elsewhere there were more. This was only a teaser. If she was only to scroll she'd find upgrades of a few other weapons he had in stock back at his heap. Although a lot of what he sold had been lower grade, it was because he had been keeping most for real business. The shop wasn't looking good, and if he was to suddenly push out some stock like that his hopes of getting out of that horrible, routine, crappy excuse for a life known as a Junk Dealer would be ruined.

He had to move behind the scenes.

He had to make deals over and under the table.

He had to deal with the Rebels. It was for his own good.

3 Weeks Later

Success.

It didn't make the trip any easier. Deep, slumped in his seat, he thought. Eyes staring out the cockpit. He kept looking through the stars. Bright specks off in the distance. Places he had never gone, and now he never wanted to. There wasn't a lot of worth it seemed. Drowning in junk made a person feel that way. Waste had a purpose, of course, but it was still waste.

I'nu made his living off waste.

It wasn't the only way he made a living though. There was other memories that came to mind. Other ways of getting the credits in the bank; and he was a bit more proud of it. Leaned back in the comfort of his seat, he stared at the blank screen as he reminisce. Snapshots of the past wrestled his mind to submission.

He was going back on highway I'nu.

His ego was tripping.

It was flashback time...again!

4 Years ago...

Marble streets and big trees surrounded the crowd. Children and their impatient parents watched…something. Workers trailed pass, rubbernecking. The cluster was too big to see over. Giggling kids sneaked between the watcher’s legs. Smiles were randomly placed throughout the mass; somewhere between the faces having blinking fits, and those too studious to show emotion.

People clapped. Folks stared out their houses. Big buildings, small huts, all circled the market square where the ladies & gentlemen watched. Traders behind their bunk scowled. The sun was right up above, noon – the perfect time for sales and this guy was ruining it with his spectacle.

“Hey. You don’t suck! Wow,” One of the heads out the window screamed in a raspy voice. There was no sarcasm in that voice, just a touch of humor and laughter. A few folks laughed with him, but most were trained on the guy. Well, he was more like a boy.

A bit of fuzz was growing on the kid’s chin, however that wasn’t any sign he was old enough to be a man. He was a youngster. It was obvious by his thin shape. Athletic as he was, there was no way he’d be striking fear anytime soon. He wasn’t burly, or big. He was long.

And he made that quite obvious.

The young man bent, twisted, and turned. From the onlookers eye, ignorant to the artfulness, they could see magical twist and turns. It was something exotic and foreign about his maneuvers. As the crowd circled about him, he showcased what he had learn as a boy. The man was none other than I’nu, the son of a Cathar warrior.

Certainly, his father had taught him some tricks of the trade – however what they didn’t know was that it was Teras Kasai. With a hat, filled with credits, he kept on performing. Soon, he’d have enough to buy his own market bunk and not fear the troopers coming in and busting him. He always had his ears pricked, eyes wide as he moved carefully about his circle. There was no telling when someone might stop clapping, and start signaling for the authorities.