[member="Jairus Starvald"]
It was perhaps indicative of the local economy that the even the warehouses of a relatively small company such as Stellarwind Reclamation & Logistics managed to dominate the landscape. Offering the prospect of steady employment, a rare commodity on a world such as Kol Atorn, to the otherwise downtrodden and disenfranchised masses. Willing to turn a blind eye to the blemishes, black listing and death marks that seemed to litter the jackets of even the most 'average' of spacers that walked through those doors.
It wasn't out of charity, however.
Runi Verin may have been a product of this galactic pile of sentient refuse of a world, a street rat from the dirtiest and forgotten corners of the scrap heap, but she held no lofty aspirations for making it a better place. For every single, solitary credit offered, she expected something far more valuable in return.
Loyalty. If not to her, then to the company that was willing to employ their sorry
shebs. Give them a chance that no other right minded
di'kut in this galaxy ever would. Not again, anyway.
The fact that they were some of the most talented spacers, scoundrels and smugglers in the galaxy... Well, that was just a bonus.
"
Gavas." She called without looking up from the schematic in her hand, reviewing the latest design of the bulk freighter that was set to start construction within the next week at the SR&L docks in the Belt of Arah. Provided, of course, they could solve the issue around the SLAM drive consuming far too much fuel to make it viable. A problem she would have loved to spend the rest of the day trying to fix, but unfortunately the ironic cost of owning a company meant you rarely managed to do the things you actually got into the business for in the first place. "
Where's that client? Starvalla? Starvel?"
"
Starvald." A beleaguered, disembodied voice of her warehouse manager called up from below. Emanating somewhere in the endless stacks that filled the warehouse. "
Jairus Starvald. Fella be on his way up now. Try making the office look presentable up there, ya?"
"
Well, tell him to get his karkin' shebs in gear, then." She snapped, choosing to ignore that last comment. In truth, her office hardly deserved that distinction. It was more of an elevated platform really. An open balcony that sat on the upper corner of the warehouse floor, offering a wide view of the bustling activity that surged and ebbed below. A salvaged workbench served as her desk, seemingly buried beneath as many tools as it was datapads, with the only chairs being a battered pair of flight couches that were taken from the wreck of a frigate following one Dagobah conflict or the other. Hardly the most professional place to do business, but then she wasn't exactly the most professional CEOs. "
I got better things to do today than sit around, coolin' my heels an' waitin' on some prissy coreworlder."
Case in point.