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| - Spaceport -- Corusca City The Corusca City spaceport is one of a countless number of spaceports that litter the surface of Coruscant like craters on a moon. This particular spaceport, the largest, is a multistory complex built atop a triad of towers which loom over all adjacent buildings like a mythological giant. Of the spaceports myriad of hangars and areas, none is more pivotal than the CUSTOMS and Immigration area near the gated exit. Of all the other connecting accessways, most link the main spaceport with smaller, private hangars or storage areas. New Republic soldiers stand at each of these accessways, friendly and congenial, but always on the alert. ________________________________________________________ Simon Before you is a young human male of average height and narrow build. His hair is a deep brown, parted and cut short. A strong jawline and deepset eyes of blue-grey give the man a stern look at a glance. For facial hair he wears a well groomed goatee and mustache, trimmed short and of the same deep color as the rest of his hair. All in all, the man's demeanor can be summed up in a word: aware. Simon is dressed in earth tones. Light tan, loose fitting trousers are tucked into soft leather boots that come up to just under his knees, and are tied tight with brown, leather chords. Tucked into the top of his pants is a simple shirt of a matching color. Over this is a loose wool tunic of dark brown, covering his arms completely and hanging down below his waste. It's comfortable clothing, suitable for most climates and cultures. Strapped diagnolly across his chest and back is what appears to be some sort of harness. It's worn in the way some people wear a bandolier, yet there is nothing attached to the device. A long shaft of cylinder rises over his left shoulder, a rod sheathed where some warriors sling their sword. Mira What can be seen of this woman under the large, grubby cloak that she wears isn't a whole lot. One might be able to tell that she is small and wiry, almost painfully thin. The bottom of the cloak drags on the ground, and looks frayed, as if it has been trod upon often. The hood of the dirty, dusty cloak that she wears manages to throw a shadow over most of her face, leaving it mostly obscured. A clump or two of frazzled, dark hair finds its way out of the cloak's hood to stick out at odd and unnatural angles away from her face. ________________________________________________________ Mira creeps down the ramp of the White Ghost, peering about the eerily quiet spaceport, which had become eerily empty as a result of the Imperial blockade up above. None of the usual traders or normal tourist or commuter traffic was present. The only ships around are those that are owned by people stuck on the planet. And the only people around are those quietly making preparations to leave when the blockade lifts. Or those pulling off supplies to sell to a panicked citizenry. At present, this spaceport was one of the emptiest that Mira had ever seen, having grown up in a big city on a crowded planet. "It's quiet," she whispers behind her to Simon, although whether it is just a comment on the situation or an "all clear" signal isn't really clear. Quiet was hardly what Simon would call it. Even without the people, the hum of the city still echoed in Simon's ears, like the deep throating growling of a rabid bear. As his feet hurriedly carry him after Mira, his right hand constantly moves to his side where his lightstaff no longer dangles. It was now lashed across his back in an effort ot make it seem less then it was. Simon itched to have it ready in such a place that had abandoned all of nature. "This place is cursed," Simon says quietly, not looking at Mira as he scans the area as if there were danger lurking behind every shadow. From the tone in his voice, he could have been simply speaking his thoughts outloud. "I do not like this place." A New Republic patrol tromps through the area, the stomping of their boots across the tarmac echoing through the expansive spaceport. Mira pauses for a moment to watch them pass by, as they glance at each ship, checking its registration. They move through quickly, the ships in the spaceport the same ships they had passed by every hour since the beginning of their patrol. Nothing had changed. "I don't like it here either," Mira echoes. "It's boring here." Maybe that's not why Simon didn't like the spaceport but that's why Mira didn't like it. With that, she wanders towards the exit, glancing behind her to make sure her buddy was behind her. "Boring!" Simon repeats, clearly unhappy with Mira's choice of words. They were moving around on a planet that in every way, shape, and form, epitomized what Hell would be like for Simon, and she found it 'boring'. How typical. "Let us just find what it is we are to find, and hope that Markus Lisardis can get us and his ship away from here safely." "What are we looking for again?" Mira asks, as she presses the button to the lift that would take them down into the city. As she waits, she shifts her weight from foot to foot impatiently, sighing heavily with impatience with every number that flicks by as the lift zooms towards their level. Growing tired of looking at the numbers display, she shifts her gaze over the main part of the city. "It looks like it always did," she states. Of course...it did not. The usually busy spacelanes and hover vehicle traffic was noticably absent, or at least greatly descreased. What little traffic there was was mostly made up of NR patrol vehicles, transporting troops or supplies. "Same old same old," she says, turning back to Simon. No sooner than her back is turned than a black figure appears on the horizon, growing closer and closer at an alarming rate of speed. As it screams by the spaceport, it is obvious that the ship is an Imperial TIE fighter, scouting the area. If Mira's words were intended to make Simon feel better, they weren't having the proper effect. Seeing people might have lessened the effect of cold suffocation of steel and concrete. There were still people, but their more diminutive numbers accentuated the emptiness. In the perfectly pleasant weather, Simon shivered with the cold. He shivered with the feeling at the edge of his senses, that normally would warn him of impending danger. Unhappy with his environment, distracted by the act of trying to watch every direction at once, he's completely oblivious to the ship approaching. He looks toward the display giving the location of the lift they were waiting for, then says, "I do not know what it is we are looking for exactly. We should be trying to find out what it is that is happening here, and find some way to leave without being seen." With a pleasant ding, the doors to the lift slide open, offering its services to Mira and Simon. It sounds especially happy to be used, as things had been so slow recently. Or at least it sounds especially happy to Mira. "Oh, okay," she replies as she steps into the lift, punching a button that will take them to the main exit of the starport. It had a star next to it, which is why she picked it. She didn't like boring numbers. Drawing a deep breath, Simon steps into the lift after Mira and stoicaly endures the butterflies that begin to flutter in his stomach as the 'cheery' lift begins to move at its break-neck pace. Naturally, it was anything but cheery to Simon. It's tinny bell reminded Simon of the last, shrill cry of a bird before its neck was broken beneath the steal-tipped boot of an uncaring man. Many things on Coruscant were like that for Simon. The butterflies in Simon's stomach perform an extraordinary manuever, and Simon's stomach emits a growl. He clears his throat to try and cover up the sound, then says, "I do not understand how people could live in a place like this." Mira turns around to look at Simon as she hears his stomach growl. "Are you hungry?" she asks, her hands dropping to dig around in her pockets as the lift reaches its destination. Stepping out of the list into the street, Mira finds what it is she is looking for. Pulling her hands out of her cloak, a chunk of what appears to be some sort of lint-covered jerky is gripped in her grubby little hand. "Here!" she says, offering it out to Simon. "It's good." Simon wasn't really hungry, but it just happened that they arrived at their destination at the same time Mira made her offer, and without looking at the jerky, his left hand took the offered... food. His eyes were too busy going out to this new set of shadows and corners, searching for signs of danger. Taking the lead, Simon steps out of the lift, ready to take whatever should come in Mira's stead. Completely distracted by his duties, he brings the morsel of dried meat and pocket lint, and puts it in his mouth. Munch... munch... munch... pause. A stormtrooper could have jumped out at that moment and had his way with Simon as the Selas's face puckers in a wince. Tears well up in his eyes, and the gag reflex makes Simon nearly wretch. He settles for carefully spitting the bit of meat, then turning an accusing look back at Mira, the after-taste of boiled shoe leather still in his mouth.
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