Hond laid back against the permacrete wall, one leg hanging on the bunk, arm hanging off the knee of the other, his head resting against the wall. He exhaled, slowly.
Jail again. Boredom. It was all that jail meant, a long stretch of unbroken boredom. He counted the cracks in the ceiling again, listened to the drips of water fall from it and pound against the floor, in the silence each one was deafening. The toilet or sink above him was probably leaking, just like his was. Each drop ran down his floor and into the drain, finding freedom in the sewers.
His eyes finally closed, a single drop of water falling between them, like being shot in the head, it made him wince. Then the grating of his prison bars opening shut out the sound of water falling with it's own melancholy groan. He brought his head back down and opened his eyes.
The psychopath in front of him was well known; his wild hair tied back, white shirt, brown vest, shotgun on his hip. Everyone knew Snipes. He was a raging psychopath to anyone who got on his bad side, the kind of man that wouldn't hesitate to rip you apart, one limb at a time. But he treated his friends well, often better than they deserved.
"C'mon," He said, smoke billowing out of his nostrils from the cigarette permanently glued between his lips.
He tossed Hond a pair of sunglasses, the prisoner quickly put them on. The world darkened, slightly, as he rose stiffly. He stretched once, popping bones and stretching muscles he'd forgotten he had. The guards gave them a wide berth as they exited the cell, then the building.
The sudden emergence into the sun made Hond step back slightly, even with the sunglasses. Tadath's capital, Sianat, was as busy as ever. Speeders running this way and that, like so many angry beasts, the bustle of people on a busy street, the smell of exhaust, people and rotting produce filled his nostrils. Snipes speeder was sitting right in front of the jail door, still running, the older convertible Incom was covered in rust, but the engine growled at Hond, like a wild beast ready to devour him. Snipes motioned for him to hurry up.
Hond walked, slowly and lethargically, towards the speeder, his muscles were still stiff from the time spent in jail, he climbed into the Incom, dropping into the passenger seat heavily. Snipes wasted no time hitting the accelerator. Snipes wasn't the sort to give him a lecture, he wasn't going to preach. Hond knew that as he opened the glove box and pulled out a cigarette and lighter. The deep inhale felt good, his body almost shivered it felt so good. Two days rotting slowly without and the nicotine suddenly became heaven. A purifying experience.
"Your shit's in the back!" Snipes yelled over the air rushing past them.
"Thanks!" Hond replied, levying his upper body over the seat.
The token back seat was too small to really be of much use to anyone. Sitting on the floor like a neglected child in a wet paper bag were his few belongings. He pulled out the half pack of cigarettes first, threw the one he had out the window. Smoking filtered cigarettes was like drinking smoke whiskey through a dirty bar rag. He stuck one of his own in his mouth and shoved the crumpled pack into his pocket. Then the lighter came out of the box, he lit his cigarette and let the lighter join it's companion in his pocket. Then a jackknife, he opened it, the slight tint of his sunglasses gave the blade an orange gleam, like the last light of a setting sun before the world was enveloped in darkness, he closed it and slid it into his pants pocket. The last item was the shoulder holster; he pulled the Enforcer slugthrower out and wracked the slide to see if it was loaded. One of the .48 caliber rounds started up at him, like a baby waiting for it's father, he smiled and put the gun back in it's holster. He had to remove his jacket to slide the shoulder holster in place, the gun a familiar weight on his left side.
The rest of the trip was passed in a foreboding silence. Hond knew where they were going, and it didn't take long to get there. An old spaceport on the edge of town where Snipes junkyard was more or less housed. Full of dilapidated ships and old spacers who still remembered when it had been the busiest port on Tadath. Old men who smelled like death and rotted away there, who only used the port for sentimental reasons, they housed their coffins there, many no longer able to fly.
When they got there Hond followed Snipes. He knew that just because Snipes didn't lecture didn't mean he wasn't mad. Hond had been through this routine already, he followed Snipes with his head slightly bowed and the melancholy walk of a man to the executioner. They made their way down one of the familiar halls and entered a bay.
The smell was always the first thing that hit Hond, fermenting fruit and spilled chemicals. The sights were as they had always been. A dilapidated CEC Deep Space Scout rested in the center, covered in rust, wires and mechanical bits poking out, most of the hull plating removed. It looked more like a carcass left out for the scavengers than a ship.
"Well, lets go." Snipes called back, breaking Hond from reflection.
Hond picked up the pace and followed Snipes inside. He didn't have to be shown where to go, but Snipes led him anyway. In the engine room. Hond stepped inside and sighed. It was dimly lit and damp, covered in grease and cigarette ash. It reminded Hond of a coffin, the final resting place he'd sent others to, it always gave him the shivers. Snipes left once he entered the room, Hond knew what to do. He removed his sunglasses and tucked them into a pocket of his jacket, letting his red eyes glow freely. He tossed the jacket on top of a toolbox and got to work.
This was how he repaid Snipes. Every time the older man got him out of trouble, bailed him out of jail or helped him out with anything Hond found himself somewhere in the ship, wrenching on one thing, pulling apart another, installing something else. It wasn't bad, it was always silent when Snipes was upset or disappointed though. Hond was learning things however, every time he left the ship he realized he'd learned something more about the ship. Hond had never liked lectures, talks, yelling. He respected this. It was gritty work, hard labor, but it was honest, no speeches, nobody looking down their nose.
Honds contemplation was broken by a bolt stripping, the wrench spun free and his knuckles scraped against the engine. He swore loudly before reaching over for the wrench to try again. This was part of it too. At this point he thought the ship probably had more of his blood in it than he did. Almost made it family. The thought made him clench his teeth.
Family. Bah. He concentrated on the work.
Hours passed, more knuckles bloodied. At some point a twi'lek brought him food and a couple beers. Two good steaks and sides, he had finished it all and left the tray by the door before going back to work. He knew he could leave any time he liked, no one would stop him. He didn't though. He continued fighting with the engine until he was exhausted. Too exhausted to continue. Then he got up and grabbed his jacket and left the room, switching off the dim light.
He went to the refresher and cleaned himself up as best he could, it had been a long weekend, he was ready to sleep. In the lounge were his blanket and pillow, right where he'd left them the last time. He dropped his stuff on the floor, then dropped himself onto the couch, rolling onto his side and drifting quickly to sleep.
