Cyberjunk
Mahporeem was a scrapper’s paradise.
If you ignored the imperial stench, at least. That was the tricky part - the closer you got to an imperial seat of power, the better the pickings. The junkyard smelled of tibana byproducts and sun-baked rubber, mixed with the dull metallic tang of rust and oil soaked into earth. It reminded Yula of Terminus, of her youth spent picking through its great scrap heaps for discarded treasures.
“Huh,” she muttered, jaw working in thought beneath her skin. Pink hands turned a short metal cylinder over, feeling the heft of its weight. “I’ll give you two-hundred.”
“Two-hundred?” The Ithorian sounded out as if she’d just suggested they take the day off for ice cream. “That gyroscope is a gen-u-ine imperial part! Stripped from a First Order cruiser!” He rattled off. “It’s worth at least four-hundred. At least!”
The Zeltron snorted. “From which era? Before I was born?" She scraped at some of the rust experimentally, and it chipped off underneath her finger nail. “Hum…”
Yula held the gyroscope up to the clouded sky, looking for a logo or a stamp that would confirm its authenticity. “Two-fifty,” she decided. “But only ‘cause I’m fond of you.”
"Careful with that!" The vendor hissed, clambering up onto the table to try and nab the Zeltron's wrist. "Uh-huh." Yula stepped to the side, still trying to make out the faint impressions on the device's casing. "I'll give you two-forty, actually. There's cracks in the sealing."
She continued squinting past the gyroscope and up at the cloudless sky. One corner of her lips lifted faintly.
Oh, how she’d missed this dance.
Ronhar Tane
If you ignored the imperial stench, at least. That was the tricky part - the closer you got to an imperial seat of power, the better the pickings. The junkyard smelled of tibana byproducts and sun-baked rubber, mixed with the dull metallic tang of rust and oil soaked into earth. It reminded Yula of Terminus, of her youth spent picking through its great scrap heaps for discarded treasures.
“Huh,” she muttered, jaw working in thought beneath her skin. Pink hands turned a short metal cylinder over, feeling the heft of its weight. “I’ll give you two-hundred.”
“Two-hundred?” The Ithorian sounded out as if she’d just suggested they take the day off for ice cream. “That gyroscope is a gen-u-ine imperial part! Stripped from a First Order cruiser!” He rattled off. “It’s worth at least four-hundred. At least!”
The Zeltron snorted. “From which era? Before I was born?" She scraped at some of the rust experimentally, and it chipped off underneath her finger nail. “Hum…”
Yula held the gyroscope up to the clouded sky, looking for a logo or a stamp that would confirm its authenticity. “Two-fifty,” she decided. “But only ‘cause I’m fond of you.”
"Careful with that!" The vendor hissed, clambering up onto the table to try and nab the Zeltron's wrist. "Uh-huh." Yula stepped to the side, still trying to make out the faint impressions on the device's casing. "I'll give you two-forty, actually. There's cracks in the sealing."
She continued squinting past the gyroscope and up at the cloudless sky. One corner of her lips lifted faintly.
Oh, how she’d missed this dance.
Ronhar Tane
