Under Pressure

[Gantuhar]

Pressure pushing down on me
Pressing down on you no man ask for
Under pressure... that burns a building down
Splits a family in two
Puts people on streets
It's the terror of knowing
What this world is about

The lower levels were a hodgepodge of creatures who had seen much better days. Beings that had fallen on hard times, whether they lost their jobs and could no longer afford lodging on the upper habitation rings, or they'd gambled away everything they owned to only end up living in a nook of one of the bypass corridors, with nothing but a shipping crate to serve as their home. For some they were only here temporarily until they could scrounge up enough credits to book passage off Jovan, and others had chosen to exist in the mostly-lawless under levels because that was where they were comfortable. And, well, there was a strange sort of safety in living without assurances. It made one alert, and cautious. It was a way to hone the senses.

Watching some good friends
Screaming `let me out'
Pray tomorrow... gets me higher
Pressure on people... people on streets

The normal security patrols on Jovan almost never came down here. It was a bother for them. After all, why not just let the riff-raff sort themselves out? There was no point in trying to police a group of folks when it was easier to let the exist in their squalor. It wasn't like they were making too much trouble anyway, other than the occasional stabbings - and even those were suspected to be highly unreported.

Chippin' around... kick my brains around the floor
These are the days
It never rains but it pours
People on streets... people on streets

The 'homes' down here consisted of pilfered cargo crates, sections of perma-tent, canvas overhangs, discarded durasteel... anything really. It was a crushed-together miasma of claimed territories, with some of the abandoned offices housing a small community of drifters. There were even hot-coal firespits that held the cooking carcasses of mynocks and womprats that had inevitably been brought aboard. Anything that made its' way down was subject to the very important test of whether it was edible or not. Usually, it was.

It's the terror of knowing
What this world is about
Watching some good friends
Screaming `let me out'
Pray tomorrow... gets me higher

For his own self, Gantuhar had secured his own small slice of not-quite-heaven. It was a small corner of one of the many offices dotting the lower rings, and he was even lucky enough to have a portion of the window, so that he had a view of the stars. He suspected that his size had helped him to lay his claim. Over months he had stolen and bartered for sections of durasteel, cargo crates, and even a dirt-encrusted floor rug that was his 'front door'. It wasn't perfect, but it had become home.

Turned away from it all like a blind man
Sat on a fence but it don't work
Keep coming up with love but it's so slashed and torn
Why... why... why
LOVE

Inside was a small assortment of collected trinkets and noise-makers that were hung from crudely fashioned hooks; he'd made them out of fizzy-cola pull tabs and screwed them into the low roof so that his chimes could be suspended. Some were brightly colored, some were faded, but all were still functional in some way. Some metal, some carved from Ithorian shoot-trees. There were even a few that he'd crafted for himself from spent powerpack casings, spanner sockets, and roller bearings.

Insanity laughs under pressure we're cracking
Can't we give ourselves one more chance
Why can't we give love that one more chance
Why can't we give love, give love, give love, give love, give love

Blankets covered the hard decking, each one having at least one hole somewhere. It was why he had made it his mission to gather as many discarded scraps as he could, to make sure that it was comfortable. Even his pillow have been fashioned from a hand-stitched bag and stuffed with every scrap of fluff and cloth that he could find. It was not perfect, but it had become comfortable in its' own way. He always added to it, to increase the softness of it.

'Cause love's such an old fashioned word
And love dares you to care for
The people on the edge of the night
And love dares you to change our way of
Caring about ourselves
This is our last dance
This is our last dance
This is ourselves
Under pressure

He was home now, in those under levels. Quietly sitting out on the bit of flex-board that he used as a welcome mat. Others milled about, staying to their own selves, and that suited him well enough. He was busy anyway, crafting yet another hanging chime. This one was to be made from frayed twine that he'd found in a compacter, and small metal tubing that he suspected had come from a droid. The disembodied metal hand that was in his lap was a very good indicator. Methodically he pulled and unscrewed each smudged finger that had once been a glistening gold color. They would make such beautiful sounds when hung aloft.

Under pressure
Pressure

[Fredal Rabeak]

Upon his first visit to Jovan station, Fredal "Freddie" Rabeak had learned many important lessons. Lessons which came with truths which were difficult to accept, or did little to improve his lot in life. No one would hire you just because you wanted them to. It didn't matter how skilled you were if you weren't eighteen. Bargain tech didn't bring much at a pawn shop when you needed food more than a music player or a personal comm. You couldn't qualify for refugee benefits just because you were down on your luck. He had also learned that no matter how good he thought his hiding space was, station security would find him as he slept. And he had learned what shameful, degrading things he would do just to keep from starving.

Jovan had been a learning experience in many ways, but it had also provided him with an opportunity beyond his wildest dreams: the chance to be a real, professional engine tech on a top-tier race team! A chance meeting with Captain Maron, of the Quasar Fantastic, had snowballed into a series of interviews, and finally a probationary employment period on the racing ship itself. Everything happened so quickly, his head still spun, but as fast as it had come, it also ended, with a mandatory one-week cool-down period while the team would evaluate his performance to see if he was worth bringing on full-time. Such a week meant he had to vacate his little bunkroom, and find his own way back on Jovan as the captain and crew chief sorted things out. So he found himself where it had started, on a station perched upon the border between Alliance and Imperial space, with little more than his toolbag, a change of clothes, and his meager minimum wage earnings from his served time.

A week. He could handle a week, Freddie told himself. With experience on a real race team, he had more of a resume to sell his professional services for day work, and that should get him enough for a room for the night, while his wages would cover food. It was a good plan, he decided. And just as before, his good plan fell apart.

No one wanted to hire a short, scrawny kid, just as before. Quasar Fantastic or not, it didn't seem to matter, and so his first day ended with his tool bag locked in a secure, monitored locker on the main level, and then a cheap dinner before finding some obscure corner or seldom-used hallway to bed down in for the night. But even after such a short stint aboard the Quasar Fantastic, he'd grown used to his thinly-padded bed, and he found sleep elusive upon the thin, hard, commercial carpet of the doorway floor he'd curled up in.

When at last sleep found him, so did station security. No time was wasted before he was prodded in the leg with a stunstick, burning a hole in his pants and singing the fur of his thigh as he screamed awake. Rough hands hauled him up and pressed him against the wall, the teenage Nehantite startled and confused, eyes only half-focused as his heart pounded within his narrow chest.

"ID!" demanded the lead officer.

Freddie fumbled for his wallet, producing his driving license with trembling fingers, as his pink eyes worriedly looked to that stunstick again. It seemed ages as the officer checked him against the system, then handed him back his ID card, and the other officers let him go from against the wall. It was only pride which kept him from reaching down to rub his aching thigh.

"Fredal Rabeak," the officer butchered the pronunciation of his name, "You've been warned about sleeping in public more than once, and you've been arrested for loitering. I should book you for this offense, but, you're a juvenile, so I'm going to give you one last warning: You cannot sleep in public spaces. I don't care how remote they are. You either book a room, or you find someone to let you sleep on their private property, got it?"

Freddie nodded vigorously, his ears down, and tail partly curled between his legs. "Y-yes, sir!" he managed. "I just... I can't afford anywhere, and... I don't have anywhere to go." The words came with a whimper of defeat, laced with a heavy undertone of fear.

The lead officer looked him up and down, then shrugged. "Not my problem," he replied. "You just can't sleep here." With that, he turned, motioning his fellow officers to follow.

One did, but the second hesitated, whispering, "Hit the lower levels. Patrols rarely go down there." And with that, he was gone, leaving a trebling Freddie to consider his options.

He'd heard the lower levels spoke of among refugees on his first visit to Jovan. A sort of lawless shantytown that was too much effort for security to clear; a sort of hub of vagrants, homeless, and criminals, all concentrated in one area. It was pride which had kept Freddie from descending to those levels before, well, pride and fear, but faced with an aching leg, and no other options, he picked up his flimsiplast bag containing his change of clothes, and limped toward the turbolift.

Tiredness began to catch up to him as his adrenaline surge wore off, the sharp alertness in his senses rapidly dulled by the need for sleep, but Freddie could not allow himself to grow careless or unobservant in his surroundings as he descended into the lower levels. Immediately the smell hit him burning his sensitive nose as the clean, purified air of the commerce ring was replaced by stale, stagnant fumes, kept only clean enough to breathe by the circulatory systems running through what had been an industrial sector. Gone as well were the bright, clear lighting, replaced by caged work lamps, and the carpeted floors turned to worn durasteel plate beneath his bare footpaws. Holding his bag tight, Freddie made his way through crowds, eyes darting here and there for danger, as well as an unknown corner in which he could hide. There were none, so he kept going, deeper and deeper, toward the looming wall ahead.

Garfife was thanked that he'd been able to secure his tools on the upper level, as down here they were worth well more than he was, though as he approached what appeared to be a dead end, some were clearly making their own valuation of his body, or what they could do with it. Carelessly he had not been watching behind himself, and before he knew it, he found himself surrounded by a rough looking bunch, all closing in on him.

"Well well," said their apparent ringleader, a Trandoshan. "Looks like someone's new in town. Feels only right we should welcome him, if he's planning to live here."

Freddie cringed at the mocking tone in the Trandoshan's voice, and he looked for some narrow opening he could dart through to escape. An Alliance holding cell felt safer than his current position. "N-not planning to live here," he stammered. "Just need somewhere to sleep for the night."

From behind came a cruel laugh, followed by, "Well now, beds ain't free down here. You gotta pay for 'em."

"I... I don't have money!" Freddie quickly blurted. A lie, but one wouldn't know it to look at him.

Immediately he felt a pair of hands grab hold of his shoulders from behind, while the Trandoshan stepped up before him, towering over the youth. "Oh, that's fine," the Trandoshan said, smiling softly as he reached out to let his fingers trace up Freddie's jawline, then rub a thumb over his lips. "I think there's another way you can pay us. I've heard what the males of your race tend to get up to."

The gray-furred Nehantite's pink eyes went wide with fear as his heart hammered so hard within his chest he was certain it was going to break his ribs. Ice-cold rivers of terror ran through his veins as he realized what the gang had planned for him, and as he felt a hand moving to the waistband of his trousers, he screamed. Screamed, the bit down on that thumb at his mouth, before kicking wildly. It was enough to break free momentarily, but more hands were upon him instantly, dragging him to the floor and pinning him there, a rag stuffed into his jaws as he attempted to scream again. Struggling did him no good, and he could feel the hot tears rolling down his cheeks as his fly was worked free, and he could feel someone trying to pull his trousers off, right there in the alleyway. Sobbing, there was little else he could do than accept it, trying to imagine he was anywhere else in the galaxy than right there at that moment.

[Gantuhar]

There was a commotion outside the thin doorway of the office, and Gantuhar lifted his head from his work to stare at the other occupants who - like him - had made this space their own. Old Castarn, an aged Rodian with a speederlane map of scars across one side of his face... Mister Merikane, a grizzled human that looked more like a tree than a man... The Arkanian twins Ashivar and Aine, who some considered modern-day witches. Even the towering form of Horokwrrr looked up from his vigil of the crisping mynock that was suspended over the rockspit in the middle of the office. The aged Wookkiee hurffed once, then cast dull eyes to him, to Gantuhar.

The was a rumble of acquiescence in the Trianii's throat as he set the partially disassembled droid hand to the side.

"Very well," he lumbered upward, all eyes upon him.

"This One will see."

He shuffled past Castarn, past the twins, and to the closed door. A low growl, then a meaty finger pushed the 'open' button, and the door swooshed to the side.

What met his eyes in the alley was an admittedly normal sight. The Trandoshan, Kenttressh, was doing what he always did to those who were new to the lower levels. Unfortunately for him, he was doing it... here.

A pair of work trousers was crumpled in a heap against the floor beside the door, and Gantuhar could barely make out a splayed hand trying to grasp at the air from beneath a writhing pile of bodies.

He hoped he was not too late.

"This One does not like disturbances," he rumbled dangerously.

From behind, Horokwrrr let out a dangerous growl.

The Trandoshan's head popped up then, eyes going wide at the sight of the Mad Trianii. Everyone knew some story or another of the old Felinoid, and none of them were particularly... good. At least when it came to crossing the bizarre set of ethics that he lived by. And right now, the gang that had found themselves a bit of fun knew they'd run afoul of those ethics.

Gantuhar lifted a finger, pointing to the poor creature below the mass of hungry bodies.

"Leave the greyfur. But the great Arkanian Witches will Curse you if you do not go back to your dens of sin."

As if to punctuate his words, the two raven-haired Arkanian women appeared as snakes, practically oozing from his sides and creeping past the office's threshold.

[Fredal Rabeak]

The small gang which surrounded him, pinning him to the floor, fully blocked Freddie's sight of the station beyond, or at least they would have had his eyes not been squeezed tight. In such a scumhole of lawlessness, none would come to his aid, and so he simply cried as he felt his lower clothing come off, then screamed around that rag as he felt it happen. Memories, horrible, scarring memories flooded back, only to be brushed aside as one of the gang kicked him in the side, apparently just for fun, as Kenttressh initiated him to the lower levels.

But then it stopped, and he could feel a change in the posture of those holding him. One by one they eased back, and he opened his eyes to see their tear-blurry forms stand and back away, even his violator climbing back to his feet, before all turned and fled, leaving Freddie alone on the cold, durasteel floor. Immediately he pulled the rag from his mouth, gasping for air, then scrambled to pull his underwear back on. Trembling, he nearly hyperventilated as he rolled to one side, attempting to locate his trousers in order to hide his shame, wiping his eyes for a cleared view. He couldn't see what had forced the gang to leave, but that much hadn't even registered in his brain as it still reeled from what had been done to him, appearing in a daze.

[Gantuhar]

Still standing in the doorway, with the twins on either side of him, Gantuhar looked down on the boy as he wiped tears from his eyes while trying to find his trousers.

"Little Greyfur, you are safe now," whispered Aine as she slithered past the threshold to help the young one retrieve his clothing.

Ashivar let her white eyes shift from the fleeing forms of Kenttressh and his gang to the sobbing little one.

"Kenttressh will sully you no more."

Gantuhar was quiet in all of this, letting the twins give their assurances, until finally he let out a cough to clear his throat. His hulking form shifted to allow a bit of room for the poor thing to duck in through.

"This One thinks you should come inside, Greyfur."

[Fredal Rabeak]

Absently, Freddie took his pants as they were passed to him, sliding his legs in before standing to button them up. His bag still lay where he dropped it, and Ashivar was kind enough to retrieve it for him as he took in the scene with disbelief. Terror remained fixed behind his pink eyes, glancing from figure to figure while his heart raced, tail firmly tucked between his legs to guard himself from more of what had just been wrought upon him.

His mouth opened to speak, but no words came out, so he closed it and swallowed. "Thh-th-thank you," he forced the words at last. A glance over his shoulder proved that the Trandoshan and his gang were truly gone, and so Freddie nodded, escaping the known dangers of the alleyway, praying that what lay inside that structure was not worse. His step still carried a limp from the stunstick, but also a new, more recent discomfort which he hoped to wash from his mind.

As he approached Gantuhar, Freddie found himself looking up farther than he'd originally anticipated, dwarfed by the massive Triani. Nodding in thanks again, all he could manage was, "My name's Freddie. Not Greyfur. Sir." Again he glanced over his shoulder, just to be sure that Kenttressh wasn't planning a sudden sneak attack.

[Gantuhar]

The door closed once the twins had slinked their bone-thin selves inside, and the group was once more sequestered within the confines of their small 'community'. The Office was their safe place, and they had all become as family, in a way.

Mister Merikane only glanced at the newcomer, and Old Castarn gave a tinny drawl of grumblings at this stray that Ganuthar had brought to them.

"This One would think that kindness should be given to all no matter what," the towering Trianii answered simply while leading Geryf- Freddie - further in.

Ashivar held out the boy's bag so that he could take it before rejoining her sister at the open doorway of their cobbled-together corner hut.

Two hands fell upon Freddie's shoulders, and Gantuhar guided him to the rockspit. At least the lower levels had a decent enough air-scrubber so that home-built cooking methods like this could be done. One almost had to wonder if those scrubbers had been installed on purpose, as if the builders knew that this sort of existence was inevitable - even on a space station.

He gently pushed down, and command for Freddie to sit.

"This One and his friends do not have much, but we can give you safety for now."

Mister Merikane gave a sideways glance, and extended a hand that held a small metal caf mug that had certainly seen better days. Even from the short distance, the literal fumes coming from inside the mug were enough to make any sane being give pause.

"Drink, Boy."

Horokwrrr only gave a huffed laugh as he continued to turn the sizzling mynock on the spit.

[Fredal Rabeak]

Shock guided Freddie's actions, walking mechanically inside, and taking his bag as it was offered him. Sounds came to him as if through a wall, muffled and dim, while his eyes looked straight ahead. His body typically would have recoiled at any touch, and yet it allowed Gantuhar to hold his shoulders and guide him to a seat before a warm cooking pit. Only then did he truly look at his surroundings, and those he found himself in the company of. Such a strange collection, he thought to himself, studying each one of them.

It was only when he looked at the mug being offered to him, eyes locked on it for some time without comprehension until it was waggled, that he realized he was staring at them. Snapping out of it, his paws reached out to take the mug, and he lifted it to his lips, only to have his muzzle curl up in disgust at the appalling smell and acrid fumes. Help or not, he debated refusing the drink, but a glance at the big Trianii suggested that might not be the wisest course of action. Steeling himself with what remained of his frayed nerves, Freddie tipped back the mug and forced himself to swallow its contents.

Immediately he regretted it. Whatever the caustic liquid was, it triggered every sense of danger and disgust that his tastebuds could muster, while his throat felt as if it had been coated with liquid coaxium, then set alight, only to chain reaction down into his stomach where he felt as if it would eat its way out of him like some sort of acid. But as soon as the sensation had come on, it vanished, leaving a pleasing warm sensation, followed by a distinct wooziness up his spinal cord and to his brain. Even after that one shot, Freddie felt drunk. Drunk, followed by an intense coughing spell before he could manage to hand the mug back to its owner.

Another glance was spared to each member of the ramshackle collective, and he could feel all eyes upon him, At least half of them had seen what was done to him, while he felt as if the other half instinctively just knew. Shoulders slumping, he pulled his knees up to his chest, looping his arms around them, and he stared into the fire.

But he did not cry. He did not dwell in fear, loathing, or self-pity, as it had not been the first time. Instead he began to feel numb - likely an effect of the noxious drink he'd been offered. For some time he simply stared into the flames, not saying a word, until at last he found the words slipping from his mouth, as he could still taste the Trandoshan's blood upon his teeth.

"Would they have killed me?" he asked. "When they were done, that is."

[Gantuhar]

With a slight whurffle at the reaction to Mister Merikane's drink, Ganuthar once more took a seat on his front mat. His hands took up the partially dismantled droid hand and the scrounged ball of twine.

"This One knows not what they would have done... Fred-die."

It rolled from his tongue with a halting, jerky sound, and the Trianii grimaced.

"Fred-die is uncomforting to speak. This One shall still call you Greyfur."

"Da shoota, kawo na sheekee tay tu tamaay," Old Castarn seemed less than impressed, and the tone of his reedy voice was unmistakable.

"You are always too old for new people," Aine answered, from her spot in front of her shared hovel. She turned her seemingly sightless eyes to Freddie.

Ashivar finished, following her sister's gaze to the boy, "Do not listen to that old Scarface; he is just grumpy because he lost another credit chit at the jakrab races."

[Fredal Rabeak]

The temptation to simply rest his head on his knees, stare into the fire, and block out everything else was strong. He'd done it before, in a trailer in some dusty, nowhere town on Nehantish; collapsing into his own little private world where nothing could hurt him, after the real world had hurt him so very much. It was an easy place to lose himself to, where the pain and abuse could simply be ignored as if they had never happened, but it was a place with no future, no way out, and the deeper he fell into it, the stronger the abuse could become. No, he told himself. No more. He had run from, that place, from that trailer park, and from that abuse, and even if he found it again across the stars, it would not capture him. This was his life, his choice, and he had to move ahead.

Things had to get better. Didn't they?

Pink eyes, rimmed with red from tears, looked up at the motley gathering of housemates, and even from appearance alone he only imagine the stories each had to tell about their lives, and how those lives ended up in such a place. But it wasn't an end, was it, Jovan? No, a space station was merely a stopping point on the way to somewhere else. A holding pattern on life, if anything, so he refused to see the hovel around him as their home. And yet he could also not escape its flaws. While some time and effort had gone into making the place somewhat homey, every bit of scrap and accessory appeared to have been scavenged from the lower levels themselves. There were no proper chairs, no true beds. No storage lockers, or other items which could make a place truly feel like a home. Like Jovan, the office felt like a holding pattern, but one its occupants were stuck in, wearing everything down as they circled, unsure of where to go.

"Thank you," he addressed the room. "All of you. I hope I haven't caused you trouble with that gang, but... I left home to get away from that." It was a painful admission, but one he felt he owed them. His tail curled around his ankles, making the boy a pitiful ball as he hugged his knees, and his eyes returned to the fire. As the adrenaline wore off, and that noxious drink ran through him, he could feel his body properly registering pain again, and he winced as he reached to his side where he'd been kicked, rubbing it gingerly. The sharp hiss of pain was impossible to miss, and he clenched his jaws as he probed further. At least one rib was broken, maybe two, and he cursed inside, knowing how long it would take for them to heal.

[Gantuhar]

Aine slinked forward then, sliding the short distance to Freddie as he sat on the periphery of Horokwrrr's rockspit. She sidled up close, a hand sliding through the fur of his shoulder so that she could wrap an arm around him.

"No one here will be angry with you," she soothed, "... that filthy Trandoshan will never bother you again."

Her other hand moved to rest over his, and helped him to keep a constant pressure on his side.

"Breathe."

For his own part, Ganuthar was quiet as he worked to string together a liberated finger with a few loose washers and nuts. He stared from over the tops of his eyes, but only once the twin was finished speaking did he venture his own words of encouragement.

"You are lucky that you stumbled to this alley; This One and his friends take a dim view of those who would take advantage of others. We much would rather concern ourselves with bright colors and joy."

He remembered his trips to the teahouse, and the wondrous sensations that such trips always brought. He'd once tried to take Horokwrrr, but the Wookkiee had flatly refused. His loss.

"Rest for now, Greyfur. You are with friends. This One and the others would not survive if we did not protect one another."

As if to punctuate his words, the Trianni gave a playful - if not strange-looking - wink. In the same motion he buried his hand in a small wooden bowl that held a small amount of silver-colored glitter mixed with air-herbs and trace bits of j'eeta that the Madame had gifted him with on his last trip to the teahouse. Taking up a pinch, he tossed it in Freddie's direction so that the strange concoction dazzled its' way between the space between them to settle over Freddie and Aine.

[Fredal Rabeak]

It was impossible to miss Freddie leaning away from Aine as she slid up to him, and his body stiffened at the touch of her slender hand, only to then stiffen more as he inhaled sharply, biting down a curse as she assisted with pressure on his ribs. Part of him - a very large part - wanted to speak up and ask her to back off, to not touch him, but he knew she meant well, and so he bit back his typical, damaged ways, and accepted her assistance.

At least until he flinched while a shower of glitter, pungent herbs, and... something he couldn't identify was tossed over him. Head ducked, eyes closed as to protect them, he waited until the offending shower had likely settled before looking up again. As he feared, he was sparkly, and he just knew the silver glitter had gotten into his headfur, where it would probably stay for all time, matched with the tone of his fur itself. His nose wriggled, attempting to identify the pleasant floral scents, but there was something else under it all, a scent he'd never smelled before, and it drove into his sinuses like wildfire before dissipating. J'eeta, he would later learn it was called, but he began to feel its effects on his race's physiology right away. Glad his knees were already pulled up, Freddie bit his lip as he could feel his trousers growing tight in one particular area, and he looked around to see if there was anything which could take his mind off of his sudden... interest.

"Bright colors and joy?" he echoed. "I can see you've made an effort, but, with the right materials, you could really make this place a home. With, like, actually seats and stuff, too." Immediately he regretted how he'd said it, insulting their home, so he speedily added. "I mean, I might be able to help with that sort of stuff. Getting it here, like, on the station, that is. If you want."

[Aine Akari]

The heady scent of the Wookiee's roasting mynock mixed with the aerial injection of Gantuhar's glitter-powder from the upper levels. He'd said he had gotten some of it from the Madame of the Cizerack Teashop, and Aine had no reason to argue with him. There was a pleasant aroma to it, and she felt it as mostly harmless. Her white eyes went from the crafting Trianii back to Freddie.

"Bright colors and joy," she soothed as she allowed her touch to lessen somewhat.

"We have each other, and we keep one another safe."

But, this strange offer was enough to fix her gaze to their newest addition. After all, it would be silly to refuse an offer in any form. She chose to put aside any notions of immediate gratification however, and her posture shifted slightly away.

"So quick to offer us help when you are still so raw," there was understanding born of experience in her tone now, "... we think that you should rest first, Greyfur. Freddie. Greyfur. Freddie."

She looked to Horokwrrr, giving a nod to the crisping mynock that had was in the final stages of its' roast. Two small bowls sat on the periphery of the rockspit; one with an orange looking spice, and the other with a small amount of rendered fat and shaak butter. Scooting close, the Arkanian scooped her hand first into the bowl of spice; it was a cobbled-together blend of salt, pepper, ranuric, and ground Tatooine desert chili. She scooped a cupped palmful into the bowl of butter and fat, making sure to stir the two together before taking a good amount into her hand and reaching out to smear the concoction over the surface of the mynock. The heat did not bother her - one of the strange tactile resistances that she had had since childhood. At least it lent a bit of mystic to her and her sister's reputation.

She smothered the carcass, then pulled away as the Wookiee slid a large bowl of water her way. She rinsed her hand, eyes still on the mynock.

"We will share our dinner with you, and after that you will sleep."

[Gantuhar]

In the midst of his task, Gantuhar only let his lips peel back to expose his teeth. One of them had begun to yellow, and a thin line of dark brown showed between the gum and the tooth. The scents of his airy perfume was now overtaken by the wondrous olfactory dance of Aine and her spices that now coated the mynock.

Sticking one end of twine through a roughshod hole in a droid finger, he gave only a nod and a grunt.

A roller bearing was strung, then an old spring.

"Eat and rest... This One agrees with the Arkanian caruja. She is wise."

It was as he was tying a knot that he finally looked back up, making sure to fix Freddie with his gaze.

"Once that is finished, we can all come together and speak of your offer."

[Fredal Rabeak]

Freddie's nose twitched at the scenet of the roasting mynock, while his stomach trembled at the thought of actually eating it. "I've, um, already eaten," he admitted. Sure, it had been cheap fast-food fare, but a teenager could run on virtually any source of fuel, so it had been good enough. The warmth of the fire reminded him that before his harrowing experience outside, his goal had been to find somewhere to sleep.

Glancing around, the young Nehantite looked for some quiet, unoccupied corner of the converted office, where he could curl up and get some shut-eye. As it housed so many in so small a place, though, finding such a spot proved difficult, and he missed his tiny bunkroom on the Quasar Fantastic even more. Closing his eyes, he attempted to picture himself aboard that hyperspeed beauty again, working on engines worth more than he'd ever make in twenty lifetimes, or sitting in the co-pilot's seat while the galaxy streaked by outside. It felt like home, it felt right, and a smile crept slowly up the boy's face as he rested his chin on his knees, and dozed off where he sat, arms wrapped around his shins.

[Aine Akari]

Before he could fully succumb to slumber,, Aine let her hand shift down his arm, to his hand.

Her lips were a whisper away from his ear as she purred her next words.

"You are safe here, Freddie Greyfur. You are welcome to share bedspace with us, without worry of violation."

And a bare moment later her presence seemed to vanish, to shrink away. Whether he acknowledged her or not, it truly did not matter. So long as he heard her. Even if he stayed where he sat, at least he would know that he was welcome here. They all had come together to live the best life they were able, and safety and protection was something that they all cherished. Especially on a station such as this. Even Old Castarn knew the value of the arrangement that the inhabitants of the ramshackle 'office neighborhood' had.

Home for Aine and Ashivar was a small, one-room affair that was barely large enough for the mass of comfort-giving blankets and sheets and pillows of all sizes that they slept within. But, it was in close proximity to the others int heir shared space, and that was all that mattered.

[Fredal Rabeak]

Aine's words barely registered in Freddie's mind as he succumbed to exhaustion, and they were lost as his thoughts entered the realm of dreams.

The world around him faded away, replaced by visions and memories twisted and darkened by experiences both past and present. All at once, he found himself in his old school, his old single-wide trailer, in cramped freighters, dark alleys, and his little room on the Quasar Fantastic. And, all at once, he felt the fear and terror of not being good enough, of being unwanted, unloved, and enduring abuse he felt he somehow must have deserved. Then came the wreck. The pain, the disorientation, the wreathe of flames he found himself wrapped in, before that too was gone. Over and over, the cycle repeated, delivering fitful, shallow sleep, until at last he woke.

Consciousness came with a jolt which found Freddie on his side, in a different place than he'd drifted off in. Jerking upright, the boy glanced around the room, pink eyes wide, until things slowly came back to him. He was on Jovan, the gravity was artificial. Next, he began to recall wandering down into the lower levels, then... that happened. Shifting where he sat, he was still sore, and he grimaced momentarily before remembering the hospitality he'd been shown by his new friends.

Were they friends? Or had they just pitied him, and intended to use him for their own purposes later? It was an element of distrust which constantly lived in the back of Freddie's mind, tugging upon his thoughts, poisoning so many of his hopes. A quick search of his pockets revealed nothing was missing, so he looked around again.

Bodies lay here and there, wrapped up in bedding, or curled up upon it, and aside from some snoring, there was silence. There were also fewer inhabitants than there had been the night before, though upon further reflection, Freddie wasn't even sure if it was night at all. Instinctively his paw went to his pocket for his personal comm, in order to check the time, only to remember he'd sold it some time ago in order to buy food. Instead he fished out a simple, cheap pocket chrono. Yes, it was morning. Technically. Time in space was mostly dependent on whatever the biggest station in the general area said it was, but by Jovan standards, it was morning.

And Freddie needed to pee. Another glance around, he hoped to find someone else awake who could point him to the nearest bathroom.

[Aine Akari]

She was hunched over the compact spit, picking at the last vestiges of meat that had been left behind from the night before. Her energies depended on it, and Aine eagerly pulled the thin leavings of protein from the bones still attached to the carcass by tendons and cartilage. It wasn't long before she was pulling at the cartilage as well, and without ceremony pushed a fingerful of joint linkages into her mouth.

The sounds of a small body stirring made her turn her head, and she fixed her white eyes on the little Greyfur.

He looked bedraggled, his slumber marked by groggy eyes.

A last crunch, and she swallowed.

"Greyfur... welcome to the world of the living once more," she whispered.

There was an air of partial urgency to him, which was easy to divine.

"You are wishing for the 'fresher, yes?"

[Fredal Rabeak]

Freddie turned, his headfur mussed in a nearly comical fashion, and an attempted smoothing from his paw did little to fix it. Blushing just a touch, he nodded.

"Y-yeah," he replied, quietly. How she knew, he had no idea, but he was at least glad he didn't have to bring up the subject himself. "Where's the nearest one?"

Thoughts of heading out on his own, no clue what was waiting for him out there, filled him with dread. A piece of pipe near the doorway would make a good enough weapon to take with him, if he needed. Not that he'd be terribly effective at wielding it against a hulking Trandoshan, but hope was still hope.

[Gantuhar]

Rolling from the draped 'doorway' of his own tent, Gantuhar lay half-in and half-out of his small, colorful abode. On his back, he stretched his arms out, mouth gaping wide as he let out a cavernous yawn, exposing sharp teeth in the process.

"Aaahhhhhhh yessssssss," he droned lowly, eyes still blissfully closed. His dream had been most wondrous, and full of visions of a grand life within the great walls of a strange Verpine merchant's bank, fingering through piles of credit chits and fried nuna wings. There had been a lovely Ithorian with him, making sure that his claws were painted a vibrant blue, and who also made sure that his fur held the proper amount of ceremonial braids and bone-beads. It was all so perfect, and he lingered a bit longer in the memory. One hand shifted then, to scratch at an unseen itch on his chest.

A minute passed before he rolled over, pulling himself the rest of the way out of his tent. Rising to his feet, the Trianii gave his jaws a few test snaps, hearing as his teeth clacked together.

"This one must make the water," he mumbled, lumbering his way into the more common area of the office.

"If Greyfur wishes to join This One, then he is welcome to."