The landing ramp of the battered old freighter hissed open, revealing Voren Dhur stepping onto the dusty surface of Ord Mantell. He squinted against the harsh sunlight, pulling the brim of his worn hat lower to shield his eyes. A tattered brown duster billowed around him as he descended, giving him the appearance of a wandering space cowboy with a mission.
What that mission was, he was not entirely sure.
He'd been near-on blind drunk this time yesterday and was nursing a handover that felt as if a horde of bantha was performing the macerana in his skull.
His trusty speeder bike, heavily aesthetically modified and decorated with the scars of countless scrapes, awaited him nearby. With a swift, practised motion, Voren swung himself onto the seat and revved the engine. The thrum of the speeder echoed through the desolate landing area as he manoeuvred toward the heart of the beating heart of the city.
The streets of Ord Mantell buzzed with a gritty energy that felt like home to Voren. He navigated through the labyrinth of alleys and neon-lit cantinas, his destination clear in his mind – the plush residence of Senator Kiyomi, and her husband - Senator...
Jeff?
For the life of him, he could not recall the other one's name. He shook his head and decided it wasn't an issue.
As he approached the estate, Voren couldn't help but feel a twinge of excitement mixed with a healthy dose of scepticism. The Hyperlane Herald (and more specifically him) had recently featured scathing headlines about Senator Kiyomi of Fiana, accusing her of abandoning her constituents. Now, he was here to dig deeper, to get the untold story straight from the source – the woman who's life had been smattered across their pages.
Parking his speeder in a manner that could only be described as casually reckless, Voren dismounted and strode towards the entrance with a determined swagger. His holo recorder dangled from his neck, ready to capture every nuance of the upcoming interview. The entrance guards eyed him warily, but Voren flashed a press pass with a smirk, dismissing any potential objections.
As he entered the lavish foyer, Voren's eyes scanned the surroundings. He adjusted his crumpled shirt and muttered to himself, "I need a fucking drink." he tutted, scolding himself. It wasn't yet midday. Lighting a stim, he took a drag and shuddered with relief.
He was addicted to stims.
He just needed them all the time.
Voren sat down on a very expensive-looking stool, and put his feet on the chair opposite it, waiting for his interwee to arrive.
What that mission was, he was not entirely sure.
He'd been near-on blind drunk this time yesterday and was nursing a handover that felt as if a horde of bantha was performing the macerana in his skull.
His trusty speeder bike, heavily aesthetically modified and decorated with the scars of countless scrapes, awaited him nearby. With a swift, practised motion, Voren swung himself onto the seat and revved the engine. The thrum of the speeder echoed through the desolate landing area as he manoeuvred toward the heart of the beating heart of the city.
The streets of Ord Mantell buzzed with a gritty energy that felt like home to Voren. He navigated through the labyrinth of alleys and neon-lit cantinas, his destination clear in his mind – the plush residence of Senator Kiyomi, and her husband - Senator...
Jeff?
For the life of him, he could not recall the other one's name. He shook his head and decided it wasn't an issue.
As he approached the estate, Voren couldn't help but feel a twinge of excitement mixed with a healthy dose of scepticism. The Hyperlane Herald (and more specifically him) had recently featured scathing headlines about Senator Kiyomi of Fiana, accusing her of abandoning her constituents. Now, he was here to dig deeper, to get the untold story straight from the source – the woman who's life had been smattered across their pages.
Parking his speeder in a manner that could only be described as casually reckless, Voren dismounted and strode towards the entrance with a determined swagger. His holo recorder dangled from his neck, ready to capture every nuance of the upcoming interview. The entrance guards eyed him warily, but Voren flashed a press pass with a smirk, dismissing any potential objections.
As he entered the lavish foyer, Voren's eyes scanned the surroundings. He adjusted his crumpled shirt and muttered to himself, "I need a fucking drink." he tutted, scolding himself. It wasn't yet midday. Lighting a stim, he took a drag and shuddered with relief.
He was addicted to stims.
He just needed them all the time.
Voren sat down on a very expensive-looking stool, and put his feet on the chair opposite it, waiting for his interwee to arrive.