Xaedrin Vondiranach
Atreus
Dust and spiderwebs covered the control panel to the old, dilapidated prefab unit. The lights behind the keypad flickered softly as if in rhythm to some unheard melody running blithely through the dank, underworld streets. Xaedrin frowned, stooped over as he examined the electronic door controls, a mental picture of himself emerging as an adventurer exploring some ancient ruins. In a way, he was. The number of people who roamed the deeper levels of Coruscant was small, and the majority of them had no choice. Thieves, murderers, the criminally insane - these found refuge in the dark underbelly of the great city planet, its long arms of law and order either being unable or unwilling to reach this far below the surface. The wealthier denizens of the galactic hub moved upward, away from the undercurrent of crime and villainy. Those who were poor or impoverished, however, were forced to move further below the surface. Xaedrin considered the image of an expensive, well polished boot crushing the less fortunate into the planet's harsh, metallic soil to be an apt analogy. Straightening his back, he released an audible sigh. The code he was given hadn't worked. Seems about right, he thought to himself. It hadn't cost him much, but he had paid for the code to the once high-end apartment. The informant he'd used was usually reliable in these sort of things. He'd have to get his money back. Even given the meager price tag, Xaedrin wasn't about to let those credits go to waste. He had far too few of them to spare, and he was going to need them all for what he had planned.
Xaedrin wasn't born on Coruscant but he had lived here for nearly half a decade, which was a pretty good portion of his life given his relative youth. He'd grown quite a bit since his arrival, maturing from a short, gangly kid into a man of average height and build. The black, buttoned shirt he wore fit him nicely, seemingly tailored for him to show off his fit physique, while his simple black trousers spoke of class and dignity. Not at all like the street urchin's clothes he'd worn in his younger years. At first, as a young boy on the low-level streets of Coruscant, he'd fought only to survive; stealing what he could in order to eat or buy whatever basic supplies he'd needed. He'd been terrible at it originally, getting caught more often than not. An involuntary shudder moved through his body as his memory brought those encounters to mind. In time, however, he'd improved and even honed those skills. Down here, it was either that or die - and many ended up with the latter. Xaedrin had refused to be one of them, however, and today it showed. He was in the upper echelon of street-thieves, and he wasn't done yet.
Closing his eyes, Xaedrin reached out toward the locked door in front of him. He'd stumbled into his abilities by accident - running afoul of a local gang of thugs and needing an escape, his abilities had manifested themselves in spectacular timing. Some called it the Force, but that idea brought with it a host of philosophical discussions that he didn't have the time for. Instead, he simply looked at it as his advantage. Despite his mental prodding, the door refused to budge. He wasn't by any means an expert in his abilities, especially the move-stuff-with-your-mind aspect of them. No, his expertise were elsewhere. It was in pushing people's minds that he excelled. Still, he was pretty sure this lock wasn't opening without some slicing.
He had hoped that he would have the door open, along with the opportunity to inspect the place - which was most likely trashed - before the other members of the crew he'd invited would arrive, but it seemed that was not going to happen. Unless no one came, of course. Having survived thus far off petty thievery, he'd decided he wanted more in life. He could own this place, with the right help - especially if he found others who had their own advantages. He'd watched for weeks, finding individuals who seemed to exhibit uncanny luck or unexplained tricks, and he'd done his best to recruit them. Some had agreed to hear him out - some ... not so much. He rubbed a bruised shoulder, remembering one rejection in particular. Those who had agreed were supposed to meet him here, at what would be their new safe house and base of operations if they agreed to join him. Now, if he could only get the door open ...
Xaedrin wasn't born on Coruscant but he had lived here for nearly half a decade, which was a pretty good portion of his life given his relative youth. He'd grown quite a bit since his arrival, maturing from a short, gangly kid into a man of average height and build. The black, buttoned shirt he wore fit him nicely, seemingly tailored for him to show off his fit physique, while his simple black trousers spoke of class and dignity. Not at all like the street urchin's clothes he'd worn in his younger years. At first, as a young boy on the low-level streets of Coruscant, he'd fought only to survive; stealing what he could in order to eat or buy whatever basic supplies he'd needed. He'd been terrible at it originally, getting caught more often than not. An involuntary shudder moved through his body as his memory brought those encounters to mind. In time, however, he'd improved and even honed those skills. Down here, it was either that or die - and many ended up with the latter. Xaedrin had refused to be one of them, however, and today it showed. He was in the upper echelon of street-thieves, and he wasn't done yet.
Closing his eyes, Xaedrin reached out toward the locked door in front of him. He'd stumbled into his abilities by accident - running afoul of a local gang of thugs and needing an escape, his abilities had manifested themselves in spectacular timing. Some called it the Force, but that idea brought with it a host of philosophical discussions that he didn't have the time for. Instead, he simply looked at it as his advantage. Despite his mental prodding, the door refused to budge. He wasn't by any means an expert in his abilities, especially the move-stuff-with-your-mind aspect of them. No, his expertise were elsewhere. It was in pushing people's minds that he excelled. Still, he was pretty sure this lock wasn't opening without some slicing.
He had hoped that he would have the door open, along with the opportunity to inspect the place - which was most likely trashed - before the other members of the crew he'd invited would arrive, but it seemed that was not going to happen. Unless no one came, of course. Having survived thus far off petty thievery, he'd decided he wanted more in life. He could own this place, with the right help - especially if he found others who had their own advantages. He'd watched for weeks, finding individuals who seemed to exhibit uncanny luck or unexplained tricks, and he'd done his best to recruit them. Some had agreed to hear him out - some ... not so much. He rubbed a bruised shoulder, remembering one rejection in particular. Those who had agreed were supposed to meet him here, at what would be their new safe house and base of operations if they agreed to join him. Now, if he could only get the door open ...