Public We Were Kids Once Too

[Hubert Starhopper]

Objective: Secure the Cargo



Tags:

Gear: Tool-Kit, Custom Blaster Pistol



-----------

He almost said no. The word was dancing along the top of Huberts tongue with every intention of making its presence heard with a twinge of flourish, but then the commissioner of this job just had to go on and mention the children. As much as his exterior would protest against the claim, Hubert has a soft spot in his heart for children- especially those in a rough spot in life.

Perhaps part of it is due to the traumatic childhood he himself went through, perhaps it is simply due to an irregular curving of his moral compass... The answer to it has always eluded him, but the results of his affliction always seem to blare loudly.

He is to smuggle a group of child slaves out of Tatooine, and escort them to Koboh. Not the strangest relocation he's ever taken part in. At the very least, if problems for them are no better on Koboh, at least their way of life won't change much- in means of survival, that is.

Hubert leans against the wall of the local cantina, surveying the crowd through the ever-upward billowing column of smoke that permeates from the end of his cigarette. His hopes are to find a face or two that prove useful in a job like this before he takes off.

After a few hours of scouting, he eventually decides to leave an ad at the bar, and make his way back to his ship. He is a meticulous mechanic to say the least, so he ends up using his spare time to tinker with his ship.

Gotta' do something while he waits for the green-light.

 

[Allie J.]

​

[]

Hellhound - DeathbyRomy ft. Jazmin Bean
​

Location: Tatooine
Objective: Something About Children
Tag: Hubert Starhopper


Allie's fingers trembled slightly as she traced the words on the odd prescribed contract, the ink seeming to undulate under her gaze, as though the parchment itself were aware of her hesitation. The terms were simple enough on the surface; rescue or smuggle, the phrasing blurred between salvation and crime, but the gravity beneath them pressed on her chest like an unseen weight.

The mention of Tatooine, of stolen children trapped beneath the endless suns and harsh sands, sent a shiver down her spine, as if the desert itself might reach across the void to claim her complicity. She found herself rereading the clauses, unsure whether she understood them or if her own mind was twisting the meaning into something darker than the author intended.

The spaceport spread before her as the ship descended, a hive of heat, dust, and mechanical clangor, yet even amid the bustle Allie felt the creeping unease gnawing at the edges of her awareness. The cries of moisture farmers, traders, and scavengers seemed to warp in the periphery of her hearing, a chorus of desperation and indifference that made the sands outside her viewport feel alive with hidden eyes.

Koboh, her intended final destination, promised sanctuary, yet the journey there, through pirates' routes and Sith-guarded sectors, loomed like a spectral gauntlet she might never emerge from intact. She clutched the contract again, as if holding the fragile weight of morality might anchor her against the cosmic wrongness pressing on all sides.

Stepping onto the platform, Allie felt the planet's heat and light strike her like an intrusive thought, and she whispered the question to herself that had haunted her from the moment she accepted this task: why had she agreed to this at all? The idea of saving children should have been simple, noble, but instead it felt entangled with shadows; legal ambiguities, the hum of hidden predators, and the lurking sense that even the act of mercy might carry consequences too vast for her to comprehend.

Her hand brushed against the hilt of her blaster almost reflexively, though it was not the weapon she feared needing most. No, it was the uncertainty, the creeping notion that some horrors on Tatooine were not merely human in origin, and that even the contract, carefully worded and sanctioned, might be a whispering thing with its own inscrutable agenda.

Allie pushed through the cantina's swinging doors, the air inside thick with the sour tang of spilled liquor and alien perspiration, and her eyes immediately caught a flickering holo-ad above the bar. The image, a grinning figure promising "safe passage and secret work for the brave" made her stomach knot as if the universe itself were mocking her. She muttered under her breath, voice trembling with equal parts disbelief and unease, "Either this is a set-up, or the Fates have a very awkward sense of humor." The patrons' laughter and the clink of glasses seemed to pulse in rhythm with the holo, a dissonant cadence that made the shadows in the corners twitch and lengthen, as if leaning closer to witness her reaction.

​

 

[Hubert Starhopper]

Objective: Wait And See



Tags: Allie J.

Gear: Tool-Kit, Custom Blaster Pistol



-----------



The ship provided for the mission is anything but state-of-the-art. Loose fittings, leaking components, rusted welds... After the all-around examination of the ship, Hubert takes a step back and casts a pondering gaze over the hunk of junk- hands placed rather abruptly against his hips. It's going to be a bit more of a hassle than he originally anticipated, but what else can be expected from anyone living here? Half the people who scam others don't even do so because they're good at it, they do it to survive. Cutting a corner here or there on Tatooine could mean food for the day, or hunger through the night., so it was no wonder that any sleezy opportunity that was seen, was taken.

Unfortunately, this rule of thumb does not exclude the ship they are to smuggle children off-world with, and an anxious feeling begins to grow in his gut at the thought of what could happen out in the void of space. Especially charting through the routes they have planned...

Thankfully, the ship seems to be a sperate package than that of its false identification. Hubert has been reassured dozens of times, that the technology used to rig it up is the best of the best, and no trouble should come from it. However, seeing the state of this rust-bucket, his past assurance begins to feel a little less... Ensured...

With a huff, he begins to fix any exterior damages around the ship, reinforcing welds, tracing and fixing any leaks, slamming any loose plates back into place and tightening them- the works. It's grueling, and not an easy task. Baking under the suns of Tatooine isn't helping his discomfort in the situation either. With an hours' time, and a few final strokes of his welder, Hubert crawls out from under the ship and huffs a breath of exhaustion. He wipes his face, smearing the black film of engine grease coating his leather-tan skin and mixing it with the sweat struggling to push past it.

Hopefully it all holds, and there's no interior work that needs doing. But in his state of concern about their provided equipment, Hubert boards, and begins to fire up the engines, praying to anything which would listen that there are no malfunctions...

"C'mon you... Karkin... Crock of Kriff..!" He mutters absentmindedly, tuning his ears as finely as possible to listen for any possible errors in the ignition process.

So far, so good.

 

[Allie J.]

​

[]

Hellhound - DeathbyRomy ft. Jazmin Bean
​

Location: Tatooine
Objective: Something About Children
Tag: Hubert Starhopper


Allie found him where the cantina's noise thinned into a sickly murmur, beyond the reach of lantern light and laughter, in a hangar that smelled of oil, salt, and something faintly organic, as though the metal itself had learned to sweat. The man from the advertisement moved with a disturbing ease among the exposed innards of his vessel, hands disappearing into cavities that should not have fit them, coaxing life from corroded conduits and whispering adjustments to mechanisms that twitched in reply.

The ship was an affront to geometry. Its angles subtly wrong, its hull etched with scars that suggested survival rather than construction; and as Allie leaned back against the cold wall, she felt the creeping certainty that the craft had not merely traveled through space, but through places space had forgotten.

She watched him work, arms crossed, amusement curling at the edge of unease as sparks danced like captive stars around his fingers. At last, she broke the silence, her voice curt against the oppressive hum of the hangar, and said, "You're really going to fly that piece of junk?"

Allie let her gaze linger, tracing the vessel's blasphemous silhouette as it rested in the half-light, each rivet and seam suggesting an anatomy rather than a design. The hull bore faint, spiraling etchings that seemed to shift when she wasn't looking directly at them, as though the metal remembered pressures no sane craft should endure. Still leaning against the wall, she felt a strange intimacy in observing it, the unsettling sense that the ship was, in some alien way, observing her in return.

She clicked her tongue and tilted her head, amusement sharpened by dread, and called out, "So tell me, this thing is actually safe for anyone to fly in, let alone children?" Allie smiled thinly, though her grip on the wall tightened, because some instinct older than reason whispered that safety was a concept this craft had never learned to recognize.

​

 

[Hubert Starhopper]

Objective: Wait And See



Tags: Allie J.

Gear: Tool-kit, Custom Blaster Pistol



-----------



Hubert at this point has lost himself within the machine, almost as if he had directly connected to its systems, and knew every slight tweak that the ship was begging for. He has become one with the ship, like a Jedi with their Force, he too has a form of meditation. Despite the swears and depraved shrieks of excitement that may or may not blurt out along the way- the art of ship maintenance has a way of... Grounding Hubert. As the engine scratches and squeals in protest, he hears it. Something is clogging the fuel line, and the engine is catching on something. It's a good thing he hasn't heard from the Fixer yet... He's probably going to need a little longer to get this thing flying.

Suddenly, a voice pulls him from his little plain of existence, and he jumps up out of his seat to his feet, turned to face the woman before him. At her first question, he remains silent, his eyes narrowing slightly in observation. They scan the stranger from head-to-toe, catching on her weapons and equipment and lingering for only a moment a piece. The silence settles between them and the ship for a moment as he sizes her up. Hubert has a hard time trusting people- that being said, finally coming face-to-face with one of the strangers responsible in helping carry this mission to fruition- is never his best leading impression. He always comes off as a bit awkward, sometimes a bit creepy to some, but he doesn't mean to be that way.

It isn't until the stranger asks her second question that Hubert finally speaks up.

"She's gonna' have ta' be." He takes a filthy, oil-blackened rag from his back pocket, wiping his hands of grease and grime as best as he can. His words are accented with a country drawl, known commonly amongst farmers and those among backwater areas. His bantha leather jacket is draped over the back of the pilot's seat, leaving him in his sleeveless undershirt, and a pair of charcoal grey overalls- all of which are stained in different shades of black, reds, blues and so on.

As his hand is sufficiently wiped, he reaches into his coat pocket hanging from the seat, and pulls out a cigarette. He places it in his mouth, and with the ignition of the fusion cutter in his tool belt, he lights the end, and takes a deep drag, folding his arms across his chest and leaning against the dead cockpit.

"My ship ain't big enough for the transport. S'posed to gimme' somethin' that'd withstand a barrage... Bastard gave us a piece 'a kriff- can't even withstand gettin' itself up offa' the ground..." Hubert shakes his head, letting out a disappointed sigh carrying a large amount of tobacco smoke out with it. Huberts sunken, dead eyes meet the strangers, under the bags residing along his eye sockets is an expression of worry, not large- but there.

"I can getter' flyin' again, just need the time. We may be a lil' behind schedule, but hopefully that won't throw our plans outta' the window too much." He takes another puff from the cigarette, blowing it to the side out of natural respect he was raised with. He stands straight from leaning on the control panel and extends a filthy hand outwards towards her for a shake.

"Hubert Starhopper of the Mandalorian Star Corps. Good ta' meet'cha." His expression never changes from that cold, dead-eyed glare, but the tone in his voice does give a bit of ease.

"You seen that karkin' Toydarian? S'posed to be by with our contract a while ago. Damn bugs..."

It is no kept secret that Hubert despises Toydarians, but- these kids need help...

 

[Allie J.]

​

[]

Hellhound - DeathbyRomy ft. Jazmin Bean
​

Location: Tatooine
Objective: Something About Children
Tag: Hubert Starhopper

Allie remained where she was, one shoulder resting against a cold durasteel strut, her eyes never quite settling on any single part of the ship. The vessel loomed before her like a deliberate omission in reality, its lines too purposeful, its silhouette carrying the unsettling suggestion of intent rather than design. As the man spoke; defending its patched hull, its asymmetrical engines, its "quirks", his words flowed around her like a half-remembered chant.

She listened without interrupting, tracing the ship's scars with her gaze, and with each explanation the craft seemed to rearrange itself in her mind, no longer a wreck barely holding together, but a thing that had endured. There was a wrongness to it, yes, but not the wrongness of failure; it was the wrongness of something shaped to survive places where survival should not be possible.

The longer he talked, the more the ship pressed back against her scrutiny, as though aware it was being judged. Allie felt an unwelcome stirring of doubt in her earlier certainty, a fissure opening in the neat mental ledger where she had already written the ship off as scrap and salvage. The man's quiet conviction suggested histories unspoken; runs made through voids that chewed at sanity, evasions from pursuers best left unnamed, returns from journeys that should have ended in silence.

She exhaled slowly, eyes narrowing, and for the first time allowed the thought to fully form: this ship might be more than it seemed. And somewhere deep within its hull, beyond the reach of light and reason, something old and watchful seemed to lean closer, listening as carefully as she was.

Allie finally pushed off the strut and stepped closer, the echo of the man's words still hanging in the stale air like incense burned for forgotten gods. "Allie," she said, inclining her head in a gesture that was half greeting, half appraisal. Her eyes flicked from his face back to the ship, lingering on its shadowed seams. "You're the pilot, and that counts for more than schematics ever will."

The admission surprised even her, yet it felt inevitable, as though the ship itself had leaned into her judgment and whispered assent. There was something in the way he spoke of it; not pride, not desperation, but familiarity, that carried the weight of long nights spent listening to the void answer back.

She folded her arms, a faint, crooked smile tugging at her lips. "If you say it flies, I believe you," she continued, her tone light but threaded with something older and more cautious. "Schedules are always made to be broken anyway. They're just promises people make to time, and time has never been particularly honest in return."

Her gaze hardened then, drifting toward the distant mouth of the marketplace. "Besides," she added, voice lowering, "I saw the Toydarian. Loud wings, louder mouth. He was gloating to his friends about how he charged some offworlder double the credits for parts and equipment." A humorless chuckle escaped her. "Funny thing about liars, they never realize how far their echoes carry."

She looked back at the pilot, eyes sharp and knowing. "So yeah, I assume we depart as soon as you get those parts?"

​

 

[Hubert Starhopper]

Objective: Be Nice



Tags: Allie J.

Gear: Tool-Kit, Custom Blaster Pistol



-----------



Hubert huffs, his eyes darting towards the marketplace as well. Of course he was ripped off by the Bug, that much he could have brushed away as your "Average dealing on Tatooine." But this time is different... Parts desperately needed for the ship that was loaned to them, for a mission that the same Toydarian is asking to have done. A true scumbag through-and-through... Hubert unclasps the safety loop holding his pistol in its holster, keeping it at the ready hanging from his chest. A different kind of look settles within his eyes as he gathers his bits-and-bobs into his pockets, eventually dawning his bantha leather coat.

"Yup. Well, more like- we'll depart once those parts are installed, but yeah. S'why we're still here, that and the location tag. But I'm sick'a waitin'." Huberts deadened eyes push past Allie and into the marketplace, scouring for the Bug with white-hot focus. No luck... His eyes dart back to Allies', one final gaging look at her mettle before he starts out towards the market, pulling the gaiter around his neck up, and over his face- concealing his features from the nose down.

When Hubert finally sets eyes on the Toydarian, that white-hot focus begins to boil into rage, but he contains himself, and takes a breath, cigarette smoke rising through the fibers in his mask. Hubert approaches, and the Toydarian's humors immediately change up. "Heeey! I was-a just coming to talk to you!" The Bug announces, extending his arms to either side as if he were reuniting with an old friend. The look he receives in return from Hubert lets him know that he couldn't be further from the truth.

"Ya' told me you was givin' me a deal, Bug... Imagine my surprise when I hear from my partner here, you found yerself a helluva' score. Pushin' cheap parts to some... Lowly mechanic- ain't got but a few credits to his name." Huberts' tone is light, almost playful with the Toydarian, at some point, even a small smirk had found its way to Huberts' features. "Ehh... Listen- I was just talking nonsense..!"

Before the next breath in the room is drawn, Huberts' pistol is pressed into the Bugs' throat, the same smile and tone remaining as he continues. "Nah. I ain't interested in hearin' you try ta' weasel yer way outta' this'n. I want my parts- and I want em now..." Hubert primes his blaster, the bolt of energy audibly charging for the next shot He just so happens to squeeze. "Plus, half my money back, and the puck for the pick-up location. Tired'a waitin' on you takin' your sweet time."

Hubert isn't normally this brash, or harsh even, to people. But this one is playing with fire. Pushing cheap parts for extra credits into a ship he gave the crew to harbor children within... It's taking a lot out of Hubert not to just lay waist to the scum here and now. It wouldn't surprise him at all at this point if they were to find out THIS Toydarian specifically enslaved these children in the first place...

"I ain't afraid ta' pop you here and now, Bug. Gimme' the stuff and we both walk away from this."

 

[Allie J.]

​

[]

Hellhound - DeathbyRomy ft. Jazmin Bean
​

Location: Tatooine
Objective: Something About Children
Tag: Hubert Starhopper

Allie lingered at the edge of the hangar's yawning mouth, half-hidden by shadow and humming machinery, listening more than watching as the pilot stalked ahead. The air outside felt wrong, too thick, too aware, as if the sand outside had given way to something that breathed. She followed at a careful distance, boots trotting against the sand, her senses catching every muttered curse and clipped breath.

The Bug stopped beneath a flickering lumen-strip, its many-jointed silhouette standing over a scatter of parts that gleamed with an oily, unwholesome sheen. Allie watched the exchange unfold like a ritual gone sour: the pilot's voice tight with rage as he jabbed a finger at the components, demanding half his credits back, accusing the Bug of deception.

The Bug answered in a stumbling cadence that sounded almost amused, mouth flexing as it gestured to the parts as though they were beyond mortal valuation. The words themselves mattered less than the tension vibrating between them, a pressure that made the air prickle against Allie's skin.

Then the pilot moved, and Allie smiled. Slowly, deliberately, he produced his pistol, the weapon's dark muzzle rising like an accusation made flesh, resting squarely on the Bug's throat. The Toydarian stilled, its alien mirth freezing, while the shadows seemed to deepen, as if eager to witness what came next.

Allie's smile did not reach her eyes; it was the smile of someone who knew this moment had always been inevitable, that beneath commerce and civility there lurked only threat and hunger. In that instant, the universe felt vast, indifferent, and quietly amused by how small all of them truly were.

Allie sighed softly and shook her head, as though disappointed not by the danger but by its predictability. She stepped forward before the moment could curdle further, two fingers pressing against the pilot's pistol and easing it away from the Bug's vulnerable throat. The motion was unhurried, almost gentle, yet final.

"Threats don't work with the greedy," she said, her voice low and even, carrying an odd certainty that made the air seem to tighten. The Toydarian's wings buzzed nervously, his eyes darting, the greasy confidence he wore slipping like a cracked mask.

Then she struck him. Her fist drove into the Toydarian's stomach with a dull, wet sound, forcing the breath, and something like a choked croak, out of him as his body folded instinctively around the pain. Allie leaned in close to the Bug, so close that her sunglasses reflected his clustered eyes back at him, a mirrored infinity that offered no escape.

She tilted her head, smile thin and humorless. "I think my partner here asked nicely for his credits and parts, not excuses," she whispered, her tone calm enough to be terrifying. "Don't make me ask nicely."

​

 

[Hubert Starhopper]

Objective: Get Things Going



Tags: Allie J.

Gear: Tool-Kit, Custom Blaster Pistol



-----------



The grin on Huberts' face could be entered into that of a biological compendium, and not even then would there be anything as remotely disturbing as the pleasure upon his face watching his new-found partner inflict pain to this cretin. Any doubts that may or may not have resided within his mind are now cleared, and with that clearing- a better understanding of his ship-mate. At least on the "Business," side of things.

Against his usual moral standing, he gives into his urges and squares a kick durasteel-toes first into the Bugs' jaw, (His flexibility flies highly undermentioned,) and sends the Toydarian crashing down to the sand-spackled floor. Hubert presses his boot into the Bugs' chest, pinning him to the floor with a creaking of leather and a groan of pain from his captive. He brings his pistol around again, and clucks his tongue as if he is disappointed, sliding it back into the holster on his chest.

"Tch... Naaah- we gon' do this 'ere right." He reaches into his tool-kit, pulling an old fusion cutter from its contents. He quickly straddles the bug, making sure to give him no time to even attempt planning his escape. Now Hubert sits upon his chest, a leg on either side of the Toydarian. Hubert grabs one of the arms and holds it down to the floor with one hand, and with the other- activates the fusion cutter, and begins to lower it to the aliens sickly green, lumpy complexion. "Gimme' what I'm askin' for this'll all go right away, 'pard."

"Yes! Yes of course I get you your mon-"

His words are cut short by the sound of flesh sizzling and his own screaming- which would be a whole thing if they were anywhere else, but this is Tatooine...

"Nope, not good enough, buddy... I don't want you to tell me you'll GET the money, I want you to tell me you have it ready to go." The cutter is sparked again, making the Toydarian recoil as much as possible under the weight of the mechanics' physique. "-And collateral. So ya' don't just hand us in at'cher earliest convenience... Good?"

A series of quick nods and affirming grunts emit from the Bug who quickly slips a loop of string from around his neck, handing it over. Tied to it, is a key to the Bugs' own personal ship. Hubert snatches it from his hands and inspects it for a second, gaining the attention of Allie before finally tossing the key to her.

"Now..." Says Hubert.

"Let's you an' me talk upgrades, eh?"

It takes hours longer than Hubert originally thought to fix the ship. Where one problem becomes fixed, another sprouts like a weed out of Winter. Leaky this, fried that, corroded is ALMOST everything Hubert lays his eyes upon. Curses and cries of frustrated anger sound off throughout the process. A wrench even ends up being flung across the bay, slamming against the wall and coming down onto a pile of other tools- sending them crashing along the floor in a violent symphony of clanging metal.

Another couple of hours and a pack of cigarettes later, the silence of the ship bay is suddenly shattered by the manic laughing of one Hubert Starhopper as the ship coughs out a couple clouds of black smoke from its' turbines, and the engines start rolling beautifully. The muffled laughter quickly approaches Allie's earshot as Hubert makes his way out of the ship. He grabs a bar along the top of the entrance and hangs from it, swinging back and forth as he carries on in celebration. As he comes into the light, it is seen that he is twice as disgusting as he was when they first met. There isn't an inch of his alabaster skin that isn't smeared in black of varying thicknesses. Save for his eyes, where his goggles sat of course.

The aforementioned undershirt is now a greasy black scarf around his neck- which he uses to wipe his face after swinging off from the ship, sullying the only untouched portion of his appearance. A lit cigarette hangs from his mouth- an aide in his trials, now a treat in his triumph.

"Well, she's practically an entirely different ship. Well- where it counts anyway. She should get us there lickedy-split, no problem. Only problem could be the guns. Ol' girl didn't get any new ones, so I did 'em up best I could. Now all's left is to wrangle the passengers. You wanna' start now, or wait 'till mornin'? FIgured I made you wait this long, 'least I could do is let'cha choose whether or not you wanna' sleep 'fore we go."



(OOC: So sorry for the delay, I had some stuff come up and I couldn't come up with anything good, hopefully you're still interested, lol)