Author's Note:

Guess what? Star Wars costuming. That's what. And role-playing. I've got my plate full and it's taking away from Mass Effect time. I've started some blurbs on those forums for when I don't want to wait for replies, so you'll find the explanation of part of my character's back story. It should make sense later… uh, yeah. For now, this is more or less a failsafe in case that site goes down and I lose the document.

Naw. I'm full of crap. I just wanted to post a Twi'lek story and see what happens. Meet Kin Creeda and her problems. They're way cooler than all of ours.

I don't own Star Wars. Star Wars owns me.

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Some years prior to the rendezvous at Rishi, Outer Rim Space…

Somewhere between Dantooine and Dathomir, Kin completely forgot what she was doing. The near-silence of the cockpit was so foreign to her that each train of thought required excessive concentration in order to keep it. She was entirely capable of flying on her own- she'd spent enough time at the helm to perform all operations one-handed. The fact of the matter was that she wasn't supposed to do this alone. There'd always been a second in command, a crew to fall back on. That had been her whole purpose a few days prior. Now, there was no one to answer to, no flank to cover and no orders. As much as she denied it, she truly was drifting. There was no rhyme or reason to the courses she set. She had rarely left Phindar space in past few weeks and only stopped to make port at Laressa in order to trade what dwindling food stuffs she had left for useless astromech parts, which now littered her quarters- untouched. Most hesitated when she offered her wares, taken aback by the glazed eyes and disheveled attire. Now, more than ever, she truly was a disgrace to her species. Lofty gossip had made them out to be perpetually graceful creatures, incapable of homeliness. Kin was testing those words; wandering bantha fodder sporting a tattered flight suit and fraying head wrap, not to mention the hyperdrive coolant stains she just couldn't bring herself to scrub out. Her cheeks had become magnets for grease and grime, giving off the impression that she'd wrestled with a protocol droid and lost. The worst part? She simply didn't care.

The apathy drove her to wander about the ship in hyperspace dressed merely in undergarments. It was this same abandon that had led her into the cockpit barefoot, wearing tight black undershorts and a chest wrap for modesty. Her head band had disappeared into the clutter of her room for now and would probably resurface a few weeks from now when necessity called upon it. Lavender eyes gazed at the control panel, but saw nothing, peering out from above heavy blue sacs of exhaustion. Sleep continued to escape her, despite her active efforts to claim it. It had nothing to do with her bunk, though cramped and narrow as always. The captain's quarters were vacant and alluring, but the captain's absence was still a fresh wound and she couldn't bring herself to breach the threshold. She hadn't touched it since... For all she knew, everything down to his socks were still in place, right where he left them. Kin had left the bulk of the ship in a 

similar state, refraining from touching the remnants of a bustling crew. What little nerve she had only supplied her with the nerve to enter the cargo hold where she took her pick of various goods they'd hoarded from previous deals, only to swap them out for more ship parts and labor.

The Anooba Rush had become a worm hole, sucking at her life force indiscriminately. Kin was torn between the promise to keep the ship in working order and the screaming need to escape its durasteel confines for sanctuary far from this prison. Her heart lay in space, but the memories soaked through the walls and bloated around her, constricting and choking until she felt as though she'd suffocate on the very air. Perhaps it was time for an extended layover- but where? She hadn't the credits for lodging and she was in no state to trade work skills. There was nothing of value aboard the ship save some peculiar dried fruit, but even then they were novelty items, lure for tourists who'd only dreamed of the lush fields of Naboo. Regardless of her hesitation, her hands moved without her consent and pulled the freighter out of hyperspace, filling the view shield with the blackness of space. Almost immediately, the ship's comm panel whined at her. A single red light blinked at her, urging her to answer the call. Someone had found her frequency- a difficult feat for those who had no previous dealings with the iRush/i. Kin thought to leave it be, fearing her own voice inappropriate for conversation. She hadn't spoken to another living thing in days and wondered if her vocal chords would even support the effort.

Still, the combined assault of curiosity and hope forced her to open the beam. She remained silent as the static spilled into the cockpit and destroyed the silence. Kin waited, refusing to offer the first word. A few seconds passed and a man's voice spilled through, pervading the ship and filling her with such nostalgic longing that she almost list her nerve.

"This is the... Anooba Rush?" The voice came off tentative and plenty confused. The fact that he had access to this channel and knew the ship's identity by it's flight signature alone stirred Kin's interest. This had to be someone on the inside if he knew to make contact without offering a visual first.

"Affirmative," Kin croaked in reply, sitting up from her draped position to punch in a new set of coordinates, trying to lock onto the signal's location.

"Conroy! Stang, man, you had me worried! You've got one hell of a cold there. Didn't think you Zabraks could get those. You sound like kark," the man's voice broke through, considerably more confident and all-around friendlier. But the spoken name hit her like a blaster bolt to the chest and stole the air from her lungs, rendering her speechless for a moment. All at once, her limbs felt like ferrocrete, pulling her down into the abysmal pressure of grief. She opened her mouth to release the words, but they felt strangled in her throat. Feeling stupid despite her entirely abandoned cockpit, she shut her mouth and tried again, finding her voice the second time around.

"Dilik Conroy's not on board," the words came out monotone; she hadn't expected anything more.

One heavily pregnant pause came and went, bringing the stranger back to his tentative questioning, "He's dead, isn't he?"

Kin couldn't reply. More so, she wouldn't reply. If she'd meant to inform the stranger of his death, she would have told him so in the first place. The truth was much than she was willing to give at this point and why give what one couldn't take? Still, the silence seemed to be enough for the disembodied voice, who now lacked the conversational playfulness he had minutes ago.

"I should have known when you didn't start the comm. Conroy never did like anyone else taking his calls..."

Still, words escaped her. Nonsensical jibberish filled her head, abstract ideas and raw emotions swarmed her, but coherent speech remained elusive. Everything she needed to say- everything she wanted to say remained locked in a vault, forcing her to continued on in the most detached manner. She couldn't even bring herself to answer the most pressing questions. "What can I do for you?"

"The name's Grid Felox. I'm captain of the Counter Measure. Dilik and I used to outrun eyeballs back in the day for the Hutts before he got out of his contract. One of the best spice runners I ever met and a damn good man... Though if you're the one he left in charge, I'm sure you know that just as well," Felox continued, his words a mix of somber respect and bright admiration. Kin began to interrupt him, but he continued as if anticipating her interjection.

"I don't need to know how it happened or who to blame. If you're who I think you are, it's all been taken care of. The Rush is in good hands."

Kin stiffened at that, eyebrows quirking quizzically. Felox added no more and Kin took advantage of the silence, her interest in the man growing exponentially with each passing moment. "You know who I am?"

"That depends," he began mildly, "If you're the Creeda girl, then I suppose I do."

Genuine surprise came over her, unsure of how a completely faceless stranger would know of her name, much less of her existence. He answered the unspoken question matter-of-factly, "Conroy and I didn't do too much business together after he split, but we kept in touch. He had a client base that kept him in the know and never minded sharing information when needed. I returned the favors- don't worry. It was purely mutual. He kept me posted on going on's of your bird there... Warned him about taking on that Rodian way back when. He mentioned you and your scheme- nicely done, by the way... He took a teacher's pride in your progress with the ship. Says you might have been just as good as him, if not better. Dilik was a man of his word. If he says it's true, then by all the stars in this galaxy, it's true."

Kin snorted in what should have been a laugh. It was a humorless sound though, brimming with bitterness. She ignored the compliments, uncomfortable acknowledging Dilik's posthumous compliments. The Zabrak in life had never been one to flatter. Rather, he'd been a man quick to tear down confidence and build one up with criticism and experience. He'd never admit her own success to her face and this relay of confidence felt like a betrayal to his character. It inspired no pride, no gratitude- only prolonged the mourning.

"Well the Rodian's no more. Reet never had much of a spine about him anyway. Dagnor and Hayle were pretty quick to follow," she muttered, each name bringing with it a catalogue of memories. Final words, incessant pleas for mercy, and vile smiles with no regrets. Villains she mistook for compatriots.

Another pause. "Wish I was more surprised, but I'm not," Felox finally replied. "Figured the only ones who'd ever take him down would be the those he let get close. You're the exception of course. Like I said though, don't need to know. You obviously somethin' right if his bird's still flying."

A nagging pressure was building up in her forehead, beginning the cloud thought. She scowled and brought a bare hand to the bridge of her nose, where she attempted to rub out some of the phantom tension. "I got it out of traitorous hands, sure... Doesn't mean I know what to do with it. Runnin' out of rations, cannon's not calibrated, hyperdrive's humming like a class one..." She listed off just a handful of the issues plaguing the poor freighter and assumed the guilt herself. Kin felt like a poor excuse for a parent, letting a once-loved ship fall into disrepair. It wasn't that she no longer felt at home here, it was just that the scene had changed so drastically that she hardly recognized the Rush as her own. The company that had once made it hers no longer bantered within its hull. It was a ghost ship now, haven to one Twi'lek set adrift among the stars.

"You pulled into Ka-Zorn recently?" Felox chirped back, background chatter polluting the comm wave. Kin frowned, the name nagging at the back of her mind but revealing nothing.

"No... why?" She mumbled, feeling sluggish and dumb in her questioning. Kin was supposed to be picking up the slack here, but instead she felt like a maladjusted youth who wouln't know her way around a moisture vaporator.

Felox remained patient with her despite her reservations, "Old stomping grounds for us. That's where Dilik had that second turret installed for a very modest price. The station manager is an old friend of his and knows the Rush by sight. You press for clearance, tell him what happened, and he'll fix you up. I'd take you there myself, but I'm flying hot over here. I'll send you the coordinates... It's just a couple jumps out."

Sure enough, the coords came in and had her landing in the Mid Rim system, taking her painfully far from the territories she'd come to haunt of late. Still, this was an opportunity to escape the drudgery she'd immersed herself in. Deft fingers punched in the digits as she straightened in the pilot's chair, scanning the readouts as she readied the ship for another jump. "What's the manager's name?"

Felox was speaking to someone in the background; a voice she didn't recognize and in a language she'd not heard before. His attention eventually returned to her. "Name? Oh, sorry. Ask for Yaz Men'lil. He's a big Devaronian guy- can't miss him. He'll set you straight."

Kin was already preparing for the jump to lightspeed as Felox continued to talk. She only made out a few bits and pieces, her mind occupied with the jump ahead. She'd picked up her fallen vest 

from the cockpit floor and put it on, straightening a pitifully crumpled collar to the best of her ability. Finally, she had a bearing and something to spark her interest. Kin even took a stab at rubbing off the muck from her face.

"Thanks, Felox. I'm making the jump now. Keep in touch," she said in earnest, her voice gradually regaining its strength.

"Stay alive, kid. It'd be a shame to see you go up in smoke after what you've done for Dilik," Felox's voice wavered, static slipping as the Rush hummed and whirred, power reverting to the hyperdrive.

What had she done? What could she have possibly done that warranted gratitude? She'd been a pain in his side since boarding. She'd made demands and scowled at refusals. She'd unloaded her perverse sense of pride upon him; a man who lived among the scum of the darkest worlds, and expected him to swallow her ideals. He'd called her brash and foolish, ignored her obstinate fits, and expected her to accept his word for law. But after the dust had settled and bodies were counted... after screaming matches and name-calling, she was better for it. He had given Kin the resources to survive and thrive; when she wanted to do so. He knew which battles were worth fighting and honored her refusals when he saw their logic. Beneath the exterior of chaotic disagreement, he'd cared enough to keep her happy. She'd just been too ignorant to notice then.

She hesitated, but knew she'd burst if the words weren't spoken to someone- anyone. Even a faceless stranger drifting in the darkest depths of space. "Doesn't even come close to what he's done for me. Rush, out."

Kin shut the comm link and propelled the ship into hyperspace.

Several months earlier…

The first impression had been positive; hopeful, even. The lot appeared every bit the hardened, vile and experienced as rumor hinted. She'd expected cut-throat fringers, toughened by the farthest reaches of uncharted space. Cold, but capable in times of peril. She'd been correct in part of her initial assumption, as the three proved themselves to be quite despicable. They proved apt in most situations, but for the most part, they were despicable. Not in a good way.

Perhaps Kin had let herself become disillusioned by the idea of deeps-space camaraderie wrought from years of watching each others' backs and taking blaster bolts for the man on your left. For Conroy, that may have been true, but his three lackeys were completely repulsed by the idea of shedding blood for anyone else's hide. They intimidated Kin; not in the way that caused her to fear outbursts of violence or madness. She worried more for their mutability and their weak wills, anticipating a shot in the back whenever they stood behind her. She had confidence enough in her own skills and know the others to be decent shots, but they were every bit the 

villains her father had warned her about. They kept her on her toes, heightened her awareness. She'd become a light sleeper thanks to them, waking at the slightest stir in the ship's massive hull. A nightmare plagued her of opening her eyes to a malicious smirk and pointed pistol, seeking nothing more than the sick satisfaction of hearing her scream. While none had expressed any interest in her as far as a conquest was concerned, they were still male and raucous ones at that. The time would come when drink and company would overwhelm them and they would seize whatever comforts within arm's length. There'd been moments where Kin had exercised every ounce of self-control the Force allowed her in order to keep from booting a boot between his eyes. She'd thrown caution to the win on a few occasions; mainly ones where he'd be too drunk to remember the next day just whose heel mark that was decorating his forehead. Lucky for Kin, he hadn't the insight to memorize the sole pattern and she remained anonymous. When he was awake and aware, she left him very much alone. Needless to say, they didn't get along.

Which was why Kin had resolved to remain standing in the nook between the cargo corridor, leaning against the cool durasteel of the door with her arms folded across her chest while the rest of the crew bantered loudly in the galley. The shadows of the hall allowed her to play with the light, granting her visibility of half the room while casting darkness over her face. She could see them, but they were most likely too buzzed and ignorant to take any notice of the Twi'lek.

"So who's the contact anyway?" Hayle groaned, followed by a wet belch as he crossed his heavy boots over the galley table, nursing the bottle in his lap. Kin was unfortunate enough to have full view of the man; he was muscular at first glance, but closer inspection would reveal a particularly inflated midsection with deeply-scarred upper arms that gave the off impression of definition. Hayle was a brown-haired crook with one good eye. He had tried to replace is left years ago, but a shoddy back-room job on Nar-Shadaa had left him with irreparable facial scars and a busted implant. He had the good grace to hide the gaping hole with a cheap eye patch that bound most of his grimy hair down with it. Hayle might have been handsome if he bothered to bathe every few months or launder his clothes, but he hadn't the personal pride to do any such thing. His strong jaw and carefully-defined face came off as harsh and cruel as his face always seemed set in some sort of snarl or queer smirk.

A green, ridged hand snaked into view as Reet sat down beside him and claimed the second bottle on the table, kicking the intrusive pair of boots with his own as he wheedled at Hayle in rapid Rodese to move his shoes.

Hayle ignored the request and Reet appeared no more deterred by the refusal as he flopped down into the booth, prattling in Basic, "Eeh, some jactna who don't want to get his hands dirty. An' why not? S'where the good money is. " Reet's voice had this terribly grating effect on Kin. He'd long-since mastered Galactic Basic, but his accent was so strong and nasal that she just couldn't take him seriously. Aside from his irrefutable knowledge of binary and renown as a splicer, he really had nothing to offer the party other than pointless conversation.

Pale eyes squinted through the shadows as she tried to peer around the shielding corner. There was one more she preferred to keep in sight rather than unchecked… and Dagnor gave her plenty of reason to do so. He was a thin, slippery man with a body so altered by cosmetic surgery that she wasn't even sure he was the human he claimed to be. His pupils had been trimmed to mere 

slits, reptilian against sickly yellow irises. Acid green hair only grew on the top of his heads and along the sideburns, draping over his ears like misplaced tails. He was brilliantly pale, practically luminescent and marred only by the intricacies of the blue and black tattoos that snaked up his arms, legs and neck in narrow, knife-like patterns. She had no idea what his chest bore, nor did she care to find out. He just rarely wore shirts or jackets with whole sleeves and seemed eager to show off his markings. Conroy had mentioned that Dagnor once claimed he hailed from a clan of Mandalore, but the man was so wrapped up in lies that he spewed daily that Kin couldn't even conceive the idea. From what she knew of her few encounters with the Mandalorians, devils like him had no place among them. Dagnor was cold, brutal, and utterly sadistic when he was set with a blaster in hand. A mad beast, kept on a tight leash… when Conroy remembered to chain him up.

A cold hand trailed down her spine as Dagnor virtually danced into view, tight pants hugging limbs of the anorexic variety. He let out a cackle that made Kin shiver and squeeze her own arms tightly, embracing her nerve. In one hand, the man flailed a half-drunk bottle of ale while the other gestured flamboyantly about, "No skin off my ass! They don't want it? More for us. I'll take my credits bloody or clean, especially for a gig like this. We need a couple of spineless bugsluts on board. Blast, haven't calibrated my deecee in-"

A set of footsteps filled the galley, firm enough to overcome the madman's rant. Kin knew well enough whose they were and the knowledge chased away the cold. "Shut your gap, Dag. I don't want to hear that kark. Save it for your quarters."

Conroy was just out of sight and she was better off for it. His voice alone had quelled the trio, though it didn't quite sober them up enough. Reet whined loudly in Rodese, "So when do we get it on cap'n? Dagnor says we're taking live cargo."

"Live and sexy," Hayle snorted, chasing his laughter with another swig of his bottle. Kin couldn't see his face, but could practically feel Conroy's countenance set into that unreadable blankness. His response was carefully spoken. "I haven't confirmed the pickup. The contact is two jumps away and we've got a hyperdrive sorely needing repair. Not sure if we're up for it, boys."

Dagnor let out a keening squeal that gave Kin a start, "Twi'leks! Real Twi'leks! Not that purple garbage you're keeping in back! I'm talking complacent little slaves for us to play with for a few hours. We have our fun, cash them in for a real load and live easy!"

Hayle coughed and slammed down his bottle, "Or we could just sell Kin... Though she's about as soft as a block of ferrocrete. She ain't even eye candy no more… She just looks pissed all the damn time."

Reflex drove her hand to her blaster, heart thudding against her chest as images of capture assailed her. She forced herself to relax as Conroy's words chased away the idea.

"Have you seen yourself lately? I'd be mad if I had to look at you all frakin' day long, too," Conroy's voice held the lilt of a laugh and Reet caught it, giving a small chuckle up if only to 

please his captain. Dagnor, however, hardened. Kin saw that telltale pout that turned into some malicious need. He wasn't getting his way and that never brought about good things.

"You're saying 'no' to this, boss?" He asked softly, narrow eyes tempting the wrong answer.

"Never said that. I'm just not going to take a job that kills us in the process. Give me a line of bucket heads, sure. That's danger I like the taste of. But when we're careening through space because our hyperdrive shot us clear into the next galaxy, there's only so much I can do," Conroy's voice lifted in another sarcastic attempt at humor. Hayle and Reet accepted it with their own peals of laughter, but Dagnor frowned just as severely as the captain began to walk away.

And directly towards Kin.

She back stepped in complete silence. Even if her clothes had rustled, it would have been impossible to hear over the thunderous laughter and stream of expletives spilling out of the galley. Dilik Conroy left the light of the common area and strode into the dark of the hallway.
He wasn't as adorned as most Zabrak; or at least the kind that Kin had stereotyped. His facial markings were limited to a pair of lines tracing his jaw and cutting into his cheek. His short horns grew in two lines evenly spaced and trailing down to the back of his neck where they met to make one. He had a thick, full head of close-cropped deep black hair. When she had first met him, it had been long and only tamed by a loose thong at the back of his neck, but he'd since taken to cutting it with careful precision. His eyes were a warm orange, piercing when they had once unsettled her. As much as she hated to admit it, he was quite handsome. The tight-fitting black shirts and pants didn't help his case; the shin-high works boots were especially distracting when she wasn't busy giving him a piece of her mind. Tall, well-muscled and gifted with a strong face and jaw line, she never really understood why someone as physically gifted had resorted to a life of piracy and seclusion.

She wasn't given much time to dwell on it as he stopped at her corner, where Kin had made a pathetic attempt to appear as though she had lost something. A stark look from him forced her to abandon the cover and she turned to face him.

"Lose something?" He drawled, voice dripping with the deep, familiar sarcasm.

"Just my nerve," she replied with a shrug as she leaned back against the wall, hands on her hips for a change. "Don't take the job."

Conroy arched a jet eyebrow, but the rest of his face remained rigid, "Come again?"

"Don't take it," Kin repeated, refusing to relent despite the obvious fact that she was about to be ridiculed. No surprises there.

"I'm sorry… for a moment, I thought I heard some kind of insubordination. What were you saying?" The same sarcasm had this knack for striking the right cord at the right time. This was one of those. Kin's face lit with the first spark of anger, eyes narrowing as she met his, strengthening her challenge.


"Stang, when did I enlist? Look, you heard me damn well. I don't do slave trades. I don't do live, sentient, unwilling cargo. No syndicate would even dare touch this," Kin cast a sideways glance down the hall to the galley, where she could just make out beginning of a cantina song- off key and marked with the occasional burp.

"The syndicate is too high-profile for this kind of job. Illegal is still illegal no matter what color you paint it… This just happens to be particularly illegal and all the more alluring," the faintest of smiles ghosted across his lips.

Kin wouldn't have it. The anger blossomed into a thankfully-controlled fury as she did her best to channel the sentiments into a loud whisper.

"Cut the act, Conroy- you aren't even half the villain you make yourself up to be. Look at this from another stand point; a practical one, okay? You get a call from a freighter en-route, requesting a cargo transfer and offering a payload way too good to turn down- which no one would do, so how could someone not take them up on it? Either way, they're guaranteed a sucker: that's you. We take these girls on board and our contact gets as far away as he physically can. Three blinks later, we're staring down actual marshals wondering why we don't have any chips on these 'slaves'. Why do you think they're in such a hurry? They're flying hot and didn't cover their trail… now they want to pass these girls off and let us do the time. I don't know about you, but I hate spice."

She expected a witty retort, a slap in the face, a punch in the gut or something painfully humbling. Conroy, however, exercised remarkable control. Face perpetually set, he answered blandly, "Good to know someone else on this ship isn't completely wasting their brain matter."

Kin cocked her head, lekku twitching with interest. Her brow furrowed in mild confusion, "So what was that show, then? You were never going to take the job. You knew all this from the start, yeah?"

He nodded, "Yeah," mocking her own cadence.

She let out a huge sigh of relief she hadn't even known she'd been holding. It was painfully revealing, yes, but the sudden breaking of the tension made it difficult to care about appearances at that moment. Kin's fingers found the bridge of her nose, squeezing in that vain attempt to ward off an oncoming headache.

His eyes searched her face and she tightened under his scrutiny, unsure as to what exactly he was searching for, "You honestly thought I'd put four stolen Twi'lek on this ship with you?" Conroy's words came out strikingly soft. Kin wasn't quite sure how to respond, used to his typical sarcasm or noncommittal replies.

Warily, she attempted a reply, "Didn't think you'd honor my rules…"

"Rules?" He let out a short laugh; a rare sound that always seemed to give Kin some bizarre kind 

of joy, as if she'd just been made privy to a priceless secret. Cliché, of course. "Not at all. I figured you'd have them all wielding blasters and leading a mutiny against me before we broke out of hyperspace."

Kin blinked. There should have been a clever comeback, some smug comment. Instead, there was only the sinking realization of just how heavy that word had become. "Speaking of mutiny…" she muttered.

Conroy's eyes steeled then and immediately captured her attention. He looked towards the galley, then back to the Twi'lek. "Not here. Come," he motioned for her to follow as he continued down the curving corridor.

She didn't like turning her back on problems. Especially drunk problems. Drunk problems who were about to be denied free lays. Kin pushed off from the wall and followed the captain, a new quickness in her step.

--

There you go.