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<blockquote data-quote="Shayuri" data-source="post: 3664766" data-attributes="member: 4936"><p>Cool metal pressing on her arms on both sides. Dim light. The tangy smell of aging alloys, lubricant, sweat and just a hint of what might be blood. The floor was a grill; a bit uncomfortable underneath her and on her feet.</p><p></p><p><em>...next time I'll bring a pillow...or...was that last time?</em></p><p></p><p>It was easier to focus here, in the cargo bay. People were bright lights to her, stretching backwards and forwards in time, and the forwards part was always whipping around, like a snake held by the tail. Changing, moment to moment, second to second, as their choices gelled in the present and built the past. She could still feel them vaguely even here, but with walls between them and her, she could tune them out. Even so, she wasn't deaf...</p><p></p><p>"...I just don't see why you have to get work from the Hutts. I understand reputable business is hard to find, but it will be harder still if you get the black mark of Hutt smuggler on your resume..."</p><p></p><p>It echoed through the vents and around the doors and through the hull itself. Liam. Talking to him was hard. The press of years was strong around him, and it was easy to get swept up, swept away. It was too bad. He was nice. And he had a good point. Hutts hated to give things up, and people were things to them. Once you worked for one, working for anyone else could be harder. It was like a road that vanished behind you once you started walking it. Straight and easy to get on...but you were lost in the dark if you ever wanted to get back.</p><p></p><p>The metaphor burned in her mind for a moment, capturing her imagination in introspection. There was something else like that...something important.</p><p></p><p>When she snapped out of it, she realized she was getting to her feet, emerging from between the two cargo containers where she'd wedged herself. It was almost time for her to be somewhere else. She didn't want to be late.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Shayuri, post: 3664766, member: 4936"] Cool metal pressing on her arms on both sides. Dim light. The tangy smell of aging alloys, lubricant, sweat and just a hint of what might be blood. The floor was a grill; a bit uncomfortable underneath her and on her feet. [i]...next time I'll bring a pillow...or...was that last time?[/i] It was easier to focus here, in the cargo bay. People were bright lights to her, stretching backwards and forwards in time, and the forwards part was always whipping around, like a snake held by the tail. Changing, moment to moment, second to second, as their choices gelled in the present and built the past. She could still feel them vaguely even here, but with walls between them and her, she could tune them out. Even so, she wasn't deaf... "...I just don't see why you have to get work from the Hutts. I understand reputable business is hard to find, but it will be harder still if you get the black mark of Hutt smuggler on your resume..." It echoed through the vents and around the doors and through the hull itself. Liam. Talking to him was hard. The press of years was strong around him, and it was easy to get swept up, swept away. It was too bad. He was nice. And he had a good point. Hutts hated to give things up, and people were things to them. Once you worked for one, working for anyone else could be harder. It was like a road that vanished behind you once you started walking it. Straight and easy to get on...but you were lost in the dark if you ever wanted to get back. The metaphor burned in her mind for a moment, capturing her imagination in introspection. There was something else like that...something important. When she snapped out of it, she realized she was getting to her feet, emerging from between the two cargo containers where she'd wedged herself. It was almost time for her to be somewhere else. She didn't want to be late. [/QUOTE]
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