Hubert's Helping Hand

[Hubert Starhopper]

Hubert has been captured by headhunters for the Hutts.
He needs help getting off of their ship, and out of their sight before they bring him back to Jabba, and collect the bounty on his head.



A while back, Hubert was working odd-jobs for the Hutt Cartel. Whether it be repairing shadily-procured ships on the side, or smuggling goods from one place to another didn't matter. What mattered was Hubert was getting paid, and above all else, it was something he was good at.

What he isn't good at, is single-handedly taking on a small fleet of Imperial spacecraft. His ship, "Star-Scraper," held out, and managed to slip Imperial fire, but only after it lightened its cargo load... Thousands of Credits worth of spice, illegal equipment, and other various types of contraband were shot out into the void of space.

It was returning to Tatooine that broke the Star-Scraper...

Upon arriving outside the planet's orbit, a headhunter for Jabba hailed Hubert via his holo-receiver to inform Hubert that he, in fact, is a dead man. Also, that any attempt of escaping will be met with brute force.

Hubert has always fared on the lucky side, but even his luck has its limits. As he whipped his ship around in attempt to jump into hyperspeed, risking it all and attempting to jump through his previous navigational coordinates back the way he came, but the Star-Scraper began to shake violently with a harsh blast. The engines cut out, the life support died, the thrusters gave, and the core to his ship destabilized, allowing gravity to have its way with the Junker's axis as it began to spin out of control, plummeting to the sands below.

Alarms began to blare with the little power that still coursed through the ship, all screens were black, and all controls were malfunctioning as the Star-Scrapper entered atmosphere, beginning to roast Hubert alive in a fiery rotisserie, only growing hotter by the second. Through the inertial pull of gravity's weight, Hubert struggled and brought his hands to the junkheap of wires and loose paneling in front of him. Frantically, he began to reconfigure wires, trying each possible option he could think of in the short amount of time he had left.

The spinning of the ship began to make him feel violently sick, turning his vision round and round like some sort of twisted carnival ride. Finally, as he jerry-rigged the old tractor beam's power supply cable into the port for the engine's power, the screens flickered back to life, the life support stabilized, and only one of five thrusters roared to life. With the power flowing again, the ship's axis activated once more, and Hubert was able to direct the ship into a stable plummet, rather than a haphazard spiraling. Now was the problem of coming to a stop with only 20% maneuverability...

He pulled up, until all he saw was the Tatooine sky, and threw everything he could into that thruster, converting all fuel and accelerant power to the little turbine that would slow Hubert to salvation. The Star-Scrapper began to spin lie the tip of a drill. Slowly at first, but gradually gaining speed in the motion. Slowing however, was his ship's decent. For what felt like an hour, (But was only a minute or two...) Hubert fought the controls to his ship, keeping the nose as skyward as he possibly could, burning every last atom of his fuel through this thruster until it began to melt.

Finally, the thruster gave, and only seconds after, the ship slammed into the desert sands, tumbling and spinning through the air like a rancor had thrown it in attempt to skip it along the sand. Back and forth his head bounced and bounded off the sides of his pilot seat. Thankfully, it was cushioned enough to only concuss him.

As the ship made one more great leap, it rotated twice fully, and stuck nose-first into the sand, sticking upright out of it beside an abandoned sandcrawler. And as the ship came to a halt, so did Hubert's consciousness...

His eyes opened slowly, his ears ringing, his head pounding, and his body aching in several spots. As he goes to wipe the blood form his face, he feels the taught resistance of a set of restraints locking his arms behind the chair he's sat in. He looks around, vision blurred, and registration questionable, but not so much so for him to bypass the fact he's been abducted. Finally, his thoughts clear a little, and the first thing that comes to mind is the realization he's been captured by Jabba's men.

Now, with no allies, no equipment, no ship, and no way to call for help, his only hope is his trusty luck... Hopefully someone boards this ship for one reason or another, and frees him in the process... Otherwise, Hubert will soon meet his fate by the order of Jabba the Hutt...

 

[Evangel]

An approaching ship was suspicious, but other 'allied' interests might be drawing near.

A lone figure wearing Mandalorian armor that strode down the rear hatch was suspicious, but Hutts were known to hire their kind. Not that other, career-minded mercenaries appreciated their haughty presence.

A lone figure from a foreign ship that didn't declare their identity or purpose, however, demanded a challenge. The lone soul forced to stand outside with their weapon drawn did their job admirably. Who were they? What did they want? This wreckage was claimed. Simple. Effective.

After a moment, the dark armored figure lifted their right hand. The guard's grip on their weapon tightened at first until they saw the Mandalorian hadn't drawn the pistol at their hip; that drew a furrowed brow as the mentally processed the scene. It'd only take a second. So did the finger-guns pointed at their ship, which drew the Mandalorian vessel's turret to snap into position and lay into the other ship.

The sharp ping of a blaster rang out twice. Once from the discharge. Twice for the armor it struck. Then a second and third high pitched shriek. Once from the arm-mounted blaster that pivoted from ship to man. Twice for the cry of alarm and disbelief as their life came to an unceremonious end.

Boots stomped on the ruined entryway. One hand on the frame to stay steady in the face of unfamiliar territory filled with hostiles.

They stepped into view and immediately let loose a barrage. Evangel twisted her upper body as the energy shield sprang into being to absorb the bombardment. Just long enough to mentally aim the response. The Mandalorian twisted back the other way, this time with a short spear in their left hand thrust into the offensive humanoid.

Evangel stopped just outside the chamber where Hubert Starhopper was tied up. She waited and listened to discern how many might be inside the room.

 

[Hubert Starhopper]

From the sound of screams and commotion suddenly clamoring through the ship, reverberating off of its metallic hull, Hubert can assume one of two things. One: His luck has held out, providing him with his saving grace that he oh-so desperately needed, or two: Someone more dangerous and adamant has decided they want the credits on his head...

He strains his ears, which wasn't very necessary as the sound of ship turrets ring out, and their contents slap against the hull of the ship, presumably through his captors. Tinitus still takes his ears, and a slight blur has his eyes due to the concussion he suffered in the crash. It feels like his world is spinning on its very own axis, but the sounds of battle are unmistakable.

With a few attempts to blink his vision crystal clear, squinting through his aching eyes he looks around the room he is in for means to free himself from this restrictive chair he has grown a rather large disdain for. From the looks of things, he assumes he is in their cargo hold. What little his vision focuses, allows him the sight of crates and cages in the rather small room, but no tools or any means to free himself.

"Gahhh..." He growls, leaning forward in attempt to rip his restraints from the chair they lock him to, ultimately (And obviously,) to no avail. Anxiety begins to swarm through his nerves like a horde of angry insects, his jerks and twists in his restraints becoming more violent and frantic, the thought of his savior-turned-captor growing with his rising state of panic. Completely to the whim of a stranger, his life sits impatiently.

Eventually, he can't help himself, and his mouth starts moving in hopes of a response to his rambling.

"Hello?!" He calls out, first and foremost.

"I seem to have found myself in a bit of a tough spot! 'Preciate the help!" He yells through the ship, his hollering making his migraine pound through his skull. "Youse' ain't here for me next, right?" His question is asked in a higher, almost playful tone of voice, but the inquiry couldn't be any more legitimate.

"Cause if so, it ain't gonna be a very fun hunt." He chuckles once to himself, trying at last to stand in the chair. The idiots never bolted the chair down...

Hunched over, in a slow waddle, he begins to make his way towards the back of the cargo hold. He takes his time maneuvering the ship, making sure there were no stragglers waiting to get the drop on Hubert's unknown guardian angel. Thankfully he was cautious, as he goes to round a corner and is met with a Rodian holding an automatic blaster, tucked away in the shadows.

The Rodian notices him at the same time, and the scuffle begins...

The Rodian shouts something in his language, and raises his gun, slamming his finger against the trigger. However Hubert reacts quickly, drops his shoulders and slams the top of the chair into the Rodian's chest, pinning him against the wall, and knocking his gun loose from his hands. The alien then lifts a knee sharply into Hubert's sternum, knocking the wind out of him.

He falls back, landing on the legs of the chair, and just barely managing to keep himself from tipping backwards. The Rodian leans to pick up his gun, and Hubert kicks at his elbow, a snap and a scream echoing around the hall of the ship. With his good arm, the alien grabs Hubert by the throat and flips him onto his back, a rage boiling in the black orbs that sit in his head. The hand finds Hubert's throat again, and presses down tightly. Hubert's vision immediately starts to pinhole a bit, as he gasps and chokes for a breath of air, his face turning red, then purple. His life flashes before his eyes.

His youth on Tatooine, and the slavery he endured. The years of providing for himself as an orphaned street urchin, each job gone wrong. Almost all of his life has been spent struggling, and now finally one of those struggles would take his life.

'No...' He thinks to himself, witnessing the world blacken around him, the sound of his assailant's voice shrinking to be quieter like he were talking to him through a pillow.

'I refuse...'

His knee kicks up in one last breathless act of self-preservation, and manages to strike the Rodian in the side of the head, knocking him onto his back. Hubert immediately takes one of the deepest breaths he has ever taken, coughing and gasping for air as the life floods back into him. Beside him lie the Rodian, groaning in his own dazed state. Hubert struggles to flip the chair over, but manages, catching himself with his legs in enough of a split to keep his balance, and lean against the wall as he stands.

Once upright, he hunches over the Rodian, takes a few jagged steps back, and then forward he throws himself, jumping into the air as high as he possibly can, and coming down onto his attacker's neck with the metal stand of the chair. With a crunch, and the clamor of Hubert falling over, unable to balance atop the corpse's neck, the two now lie in the hall of the ship, yet only one of them soaks in the feeling of adrenaline fleeting after a hard fought battle.

"Heeh... Hello..?" He calls out again, breathless and tired.

 

[Evangel]

The click and clatter of debris absently flipped over or moved aside rustled in one of the chambers aboard ship. After a few moments, the Mandalorian crouched down and reached out with their right hand. A small, flat, circular object made of metal was carefully plucked from the ruin. Evangel turned it over between two fingers to read the inscription on both sides. A slight nod of her helmet followed.

A soul Coin. Not her soul Coin, but a Coin was a Coin. She wondered if the man that'd called out 'hello' earlier had known what it was when he found it. Probably appeared to be a shiny trinket to keep in a collection or as a keepsake of some long forgotten Sith fortress. Few people knew what it was worth these days. Then again, there weren't a lot of creatures still around that bartered with them.

Evangel slipped the disc into a pocket as she straightened up to her full height. From the sound of things, someone had gotten into a fight. Didn't sound one-sided, so the captive must have been fighting back. Some begrudging respect for that. Might make up for their lack of appreciation concerned the nature of the Coin -- and how it brought someone like herself down on your enemies.

The scuffle went quiet and suddenly there was that 'hello' again.

As the dark Mandalorian stepped through a doorway, they turned their golden visor down at the chair-bound man. A short spear was still held in her left hand. "I am here for you." Her right hand slid along her side until the Coin reappeared for Evangel to hold it out for Hubert Starhopper to bear witness. "For a different reason. Payment received." The Coin was pocketed once more before she stepped closer. "Hold still."

The point of her spear drew nearer, but despite what he might think it was intended for the shackles that held him bound.

"I don't know if it'll be worth putting up with the bounty on your head, but the contract doesn't list terms. Why did you come back?" Evangel was aware of the man's... problems. Perhaps under different circumstance she might have even been tempted by the nice sum. Ship maintenance wasn't cheap.

 

[Hubert Starhopper]

Hubert's breaths are heavy, wetting the metal flooring of the ship his cheek is now pressed against in a slight fog. As his breath slowly starts to come back to him, a deep one is taken, and let out as if resetting his lungs.

"Came back because I figured it would be better to admit I screwed up, than run away. Guess Jabba didn't share that same thought..."

As the restraints shackling him to his deadly weapon are broken, his arms flop to the floor, and he lets out a groan of relief, slowly collecting himself off of the floor. "As far as the coin goes, take it. Ain't mine. Ain't even my ship." He looks around the hall, taking in its slick features, and cool strips of clean metal. "Far too pretty to be mine. If I had to guess, it ain't flyin' outta' here anytime soon. I took a pretty rough tumble coming in. I assume they brought me to theirs."

Hubert straightens his back, placing his hands upon the small of it as he bends backwards, a few audible pops emitting from him. A twist in either direction from the waist follows, and finally, a hand extends, gesturing for a friendly greeting he isn't entirely sure Mandolorians would even consider reciprocating. His fingers are stained black, the thickness of which fades the further up his palm it trails. In fact, his entire body is covered in engine grease, giving him an appearance like that of one whom cleans chimneys for a living, coated in a fine dusting of it. He hasn't had time to clean since he crawled into the engine of the star scraper for repairs.

"Hubert Starhopper. But, I would take it you know that." He refers to her mentioning of the bounty on his head, and that fact alone makes him question whether or not he should thank her yet. How does she know about the contract he had with Jabba? Was she working for him, or against him, looking for some piece of the cargo Hubert carried, now drifting in the void of space? His eyes slant a bit in suspicion, with no means of hiding the emotion.

"Why do you know that..?" He takes a few steps back, his hand instinctively lowering to his holster, ready to draw if it deemed necessary. But alas, hi blaster is gone, and nowhere to be seen. The only weapon between them lies on the floor closest to the Mandolorian before him. "If you're here to take me in, I would at least like a smoke first."

 

[Evangel]

"Hutts never show mercy." The man came back looking for absolution? Forgiveness? Probably thought he could settle his debt. Problem was, once they dropped a bounty on someone there was only one way it ended: the bounty dead, or captured and brought before the Hutt only to die. They were very straight forward employers. They knew what they wanted and spent the credit to get it.

The black helmet pivoted and rotated slight at the man confessed to not owning the ship. Or the Coin. "Are you certain you've never seen it before?" Evangel asked slowly. The tip of the spear rose diagonally between them. "They don't respond unless a contractor is in need, and these men weren't in danger of you." Evangel checked her HUD for signs of any other life in the area that might have been the trigger.

It wasn't the man's mess that stayed her hand, but the thought of grease on her palm was outrageous. Grease didn't wipe off easily and if she lost a weapon because of a handshake, Evangel would take it out of Hubert's hide.

That the man was suddenly wary of the Mandalorian didn't cause any change in their body language. Obviously, Hubert was something of an everyday man. Not beaten, worn, and weathered enough to stay silent. Inquisitive. Well, suspicion was useful in survival as well; perhaps better when dealing with a Mandalorian as the beskar-wearing type weren't ones to proactively offer information without probing. Often not even then.

"If you ever meet a Mandalorian unaware of a local bounty, run. They're not Mandalorian." Obvious hyperbole, but it might not be a bad gauge to verify the cultural identity of someone wearing a full suit of armor. "Jabba the Hutt's lineage has a tradition of hiring us. We get the job done. You," the tip of the spear pointed directly at Hubert then, "however, I have not contracted to acquire. Yet."

"Tell me how you screwed up. What makes you worth a Hutt's anger?"

Hubert Starhopper ​

 

[Hubert Starhopper]

The stiffened posture that Hubert took on begins to cease a bit. Something about the Mandolorian's words spoke to him in a subtle way. A way that told him he was in no immediate danger, that is, until the tip of her spear flair upward, pointing in his direction. Albeit, in more of a means to point it seems, but nonetheless startling to the young mechanic-turned-smuggler.

With arms now raised, one of the hands pointed skyward flicks towards his torso. "I'm gonna' grab somethin' outta' my coat, 'kay?" His words are calm, and as cautious as his movements. He slowly pops open the top few buttons, and reaches inside. As the hand retracts, within it lies a holo-puck, a deathstick, and a lighter for it. He drops the holo-puck into his other hand and extends it to the Mandolorian, his other hand putting the deathstick to his lips, and flicking the lighter.

As he activates the holo-puck, its blue light flickers into a projection that immediately starts to crackle and distort its imagery, earing a few honest smacks from Hubert in attempt to make the device work. This results in the puck deactivating altogether, and refusing to turn back on. Hubert stares at it, his gaze white-hot.

"Well..." He takes a long drag from his smoke, blowing it to the side. (A sign that he still has his manners at the forefront of his mind.) He tosses the puck aside, its metallic body clattering as it hits the wall and tumbles across the floor. A few nervous chuckles escape him, as his evidence has quite literally stopped existing. "Damn thing worked 'fore I slammed into the desert." He pauses, clapping his hands together and rubbing them quickly, the sound of which seems more scratchy than the average man.

"Right, so. Jabba hired me to take some... Desirable items, from Hutta, to Tatooine. And I dunno' if I was tailed, or if it was a set up from the get-go, but I had a swarm of Imps on me comin' outta' the hyper-lane just outside this damn rock." The impact of which his words are carried with begins to grow, as does his anger while recalling what happened, and the injustices that followed.

"And Jabba's greedy ass ain't sparin' me a ship, so I gotta take the Scraper! The Scraper! I pieced that thing together with crap I found from a sandcrawler! So obviously, I had my doubts, but I need the money. All was goin' good, until the Imps caught me in a blockade more or less... And of course, I wasn't gonna' just up and surrender, so I take off. Only the Scraper ain't makin' it... I tried everything I can short'a convertin' my shield battery to my engine's power. But I had so many cannons firin' at me, I would'a been torn apart in an instant."

He brings his hand up to his face, rubbing it in irritation, smearing new streaks of black across his face like black paint on an alabaster canvas.

"The bastards pelted me 'till my shield wore down, so I dumped my cargo in their cockpit glass, and jumped. Let Jabba know on the way what happened, and that I was coming back to settle, or at least try to make up for it." He sighs, taking another drag from his smoke as he leans against the wall.

"Then I got shot down by these freaks. The rest, you know as much as I do. I been knocked out 'till just a bit ago. Was there a wreck outside?" He asks, his eyes losing their glare of frustration, and gaining a sense of hope. "As much as I curse the damn thing, It would hurt me to lose her like that. She's the first ship I ever scrapped together." He rambles on, sporting a proud smile, his stained yellow teeth appearing white against the clash of his grease-blackened face.