Truz looked down on his hands. The small suction cups at the end of each finger tapped on his knees frantically. It was one of those things he often thought about, but a moment later realized he didn't want to think about. His shoulders were pushed in by larger Rodians to each of his sides. The steel bench of the shuttle was colder than he expected it to be, and the ride was as turbulent as riding a speeder bike. He just wanted to lose thought for a moment, or fall asleep, and then in a moment be on Coruscant.
But it wasn't working. He had become to observant of the surroundings to forget them all together. The two, long rows of Rodians on the shuttle faced eachother like a military dropship. The ship was packed with travelers, and Truz could tell by the look of them that they were all mercenaries or smugglers. Despite is desire to be one of them, and in time have the same bulky frame and prominent scars, like battle trophies, Truz felt quite intimidated in this moment.
He was afraid to turn and look at those in his row, as he would not want to risk starting a brawl in the middle of a very long shuttle flight. So he slowly skimmed down the opposite row, seeing the lined thugs all as possible visions of himself in the future. The row displayed the full biological range of Rodians, skin from turquoise to olive to emerald. Each had their wounds of battle, some even with eye patches. They all held some form of weapon, mostly rifles with countless strange alterations and customizations. One of the ones across from him had a force pike and a vibroblade.
Truz didn't bring much. He had a blaster, but it had 3 shots in the energy cartridge and he wanted to save them for life risking moments. He had a bag of belongings; filled with a journal and some rations, letters from home and a book on learning common. He hoped he could get more stuff once he got to Coruscant. He sold mot of his things to get the credits to fly there and to secure a place to live. He had no clue someone could live on Coruscant for a hundred credits a month, it just didn't make sense. It was cheaper than most housing on Rodia.
Luckily for Truz, finally that moment of security came and e fell into sleep. Rodian slumber was always awkward, their black, bulbous eyes staying exactly the same. But the simple nod of the head was enough for the other Rodians to know he was sleeping. They didn't care much about it.
He didn't dream on that flight. It was the first time that Truz could remember where he slept but did not dream. The first thing he missed about home already was dreaming up vivid fantasies about the future. Truz just imagined blackness for a few hours and woke up.
Truz was a bit bony, and tall for a Rodian. Most called him gangly. His skin tone was a dark forest green, like the majority of Rodians. He always admired the aqua and turquoise skin tones, but alas he was who he was. He was wearing clothes of a beggar, or farmer, or losing gladiator on Rodia, but as he would soon find, most people saw it as rags. His bag was a mere sack. His blaster was nothing special, the usual Blastech DL-18.
Finally, an abrupt clank and a juggling bounce of all the passengers came and those that were sleeping, like Truz, woke up. One by one, in no specific order, they started taking off their seatbelts and grabbing their weapons, forming a mass at the tail end of the shuttle. A large door, like the door of a hangar, opened from the bottom to the top like a garage. The width of the opening was the width of the shuttle, essentially, so the pace was large enough for the hardened thugs to leave without calamity. Truz was the last off the shuttle, naturally.
As he left the characteristically gray innards of the shuttle, Truz walked into the characteristically gray innards of the hangar. Most of the other docked ships were cargo ships. Truz was glad to see Rodians were well appreciated. His sack slung over his shoulder, he followed the trail of passengers, past two large doorways, until they formed a line. The line was long enough for Truz to not see where it lead, but he was too intimidated by the mercenary in front of him to ask. After half an hour had passed with little movement, under his breath Truz mumbled in Rodian "where are we going?" He was answered, to his dismay, by the thug in front of him who turned his shoulder with a jerk to face him, and then explained that they were in line for customs. As the mercenary turned back to face the line, Truz began to wonder how a Rodian could have such a deep, grizzly voice. None of Truz' friends had such a rugged tone, was he whiny?
After hours of senseless waiting, Truz was a sole figure in front of a desk which was operated by a rotund human, who hadn't shaved renently nor had he brushed his teeth in decades. Always cringed at the sight of most humans, they had a strange skin texture as if they were made out of mud or clay, and had hair, but not like Wookies, their hair was saved for only the most grotesque places. Such hideous creatures, but he knew he would be seeing a lot of them on Coruscant. He might as well start to get used to it.
"Okay bug eyes, name, date of birth, home system, housing arrangement, and citizenship status," the fleshy creature said, "and in basic, you speak basic, don'tcha?" Truz was too nervous and disgusted to reply. He just slid his informational papers across the desk and said "I speak basic."
After twenty minutes of seemingly unnecessary stamping, filing, and moving about, the flesh creature muttered "go ahead." As Truz passed the desk, he couldn't help but notice the sagging fat under the human's neck, and the little hairs sticking out of it. Truz itched his snout to keep himself from gagging.
He left the blockish hangar into a dark world, lit by neon lights, which often flashed and buzzed as the power was fading. The first thing he saw was a human, in a rag like his, being robbed by some Quarren thug. It kind of amused him, but mostly scared him. Then again, what did Truz have that someone would want to take?
He managed to scribble directions to his new housing before leaving home. The tiny scrap of material he ripped from his sack had the very location of his new home jotted on it in ink. He pulled aside the next person he saw, which happened to be a Trandoshan shopkeeper, and straightened the patch of fabric and put it in the shopkeeper's three-clawed hands. In a hissing tone of basic, the Trandoshan told him to step onto the next main street and go left until there was a deadend street to his right, and it was there.
Truz stepped onto the bustling main street ahead of him, and turned to his left. Before his head could pivot he was knocked onto the hard ground.
He looked up from the ground, only to find another body to his left also on the ground. The figure got up, it was a stalky Gand who pointed a blaster rifle at Truz and exclaimed "Watch it!"