[ DJ doesn't understand anyone else's motivations but his own, and that suits him just fine. People, he thinks, are messy and disappointing and ultimately only worth any credits you can squeeze from them. People are stupid. Wires, machines--that's what he understands.
A little too well for his own good, but if there's a weakness in something, you use it. It's what he knows growing up in the outer rim, and it's served him well: people will actually pay him, for instance, for just a bit of light sabotaging work. He can do most of it with his eyes closed. Some crypto stuff he's yet to nail down, but trial and error is the name of the game so long as the error part comes during the downtimes like this instead of while he's breaking in somewhere.
Lately, the downtimes are more than he cares to admit. It's not that he's not good--he's one of the youngest in the field, one of the best--but the Empire is cracking down harder on shit like this. Which is why his current headquarters is in an abandoned section of the slums. It's at least quiet so he can concentrate, save for his empty stomach growling on occasion. His little workshop at the moment consists of wires and far too many tiny machine parts than he should reasonably have.
His face had been buried in the guts of something he'd retrieved from an old junk heap, currently trying to separate it so he can find something relatively valuable, and DJ sniffs, irritated. He's above garbage picking, usually, and the fact that he has to now is something he rather dislikes, even if it is temporary. Soon someone will come along and--
DJ swears he hears someone approaching. Speak of the devil. An only vaguely familiar devil, as DJ, frozen and trying to figure out if this is a fight-or-flight moment (it's always flight), only half-recognizes him from a cantina or two. ]
Having f-f-fun in my workshop?
[ It's a shithole is what it is, and DJ at least keeps calm enough to flash a grin. ]
Not very much. [The smile bounces right back at him, easy and a little crooked. A slight young man, who doesn't look like much of a threat, though possibly not much of a customer either. He sidesteps lightly around a cable spool, coming a pace or two nearer but halting again at a still-healthy distance.] Does it usually liven up later?
[ DJ blinks heavily and with exaggeration, none of which are new psychical ticks for him, and he uses the opportunity to look at him--really look. He's not a great judge of character but he can usually suss most people out. He tends to err on the side of 'people will fuck you over,' which tends to help his case, but still. He doesn't look like too much of a threat.
It's not like DJ is at a place where he can even have anything that's worth taking. His pride, maybe, but he doesn't have much of that, either. ]
Depends. Are you a debt collector?
[ And if that's the case, he's got a blaster right by him. He's a poor shot, but it's something. ]
Little bit. [ DJ's face turns up, half a wince, half a grin, and his fears have been placated for now. The other's right--and if he'd been a debt collector, no doubt there would be a blaster in his hand.
So, friendly terms. Or maybe not friendly, but something. DJ can work with 'something.' Usually, he tries to turn it to his favour. Time will tell with this one. ]
Not many people know how to find me here. What can I d-d-do for you, my friend?
Good question. What can you do for me? [It could easily be mocking, the kind of thing people say to cut a cocky kid down to size. But there's nothing in his tone but a certain easy raillery, like they've known one another for years. Only his eyes are still sharp.]
[ DJ, it seems, is in a bit of a strange impasse. It doesn't necessarily show on his face but he's weight his options carefully--not that he hasn't stopped. He gives the impression he's relaxed and carefree, but when has he not? That part's hardwired. ]
You got the credits, I got knowledge. I'm not half bad of a slicer, either.
[ Bullshit. He's one of the best, despite his age. He shrugs, and there's the tiniest of grins poking out on his face. ]
You know where to find me, or is this a happy accident?
[The other tilts his head, a gesture like a shrug.] A little of both. Someone pointed me in the right direction, I figured it out from there. [A pause; then he waves at the cable spool.] You mind if I sit down?
Help your s-s-self. [ He flicks his wrist, a round and sweeping gesture, to the place around them. There's not much to sit on in the first place, but heaps of junk are heaps of junk and will probably hold Cassian's weight. Probably. He's a scrawny little thing.
They both probably haven't eaten in forever, looking at him, but DJ won't say that out loud. Admitting weakness is only going to get you chewed up in the machine that is life even faster. ]
I'll be honest - If you're looking for someone like me to hire, I'm listening, otherwise, not really interested, buddy.
I can see you're a busy guy. [Unsettlingly, there's not the faintest trace of irony in his tone -- he sounds for all the world like he means that shit, which. Well. It doesn't stop him parking himself on the spool, elbows on knees.] I'm not here to try and sell you something, if that's what you mean.
[ Cute. Cute, and DJ's about to tell him such before he realizes that the other's serious. DJ's used to a lot of things--most of them negative--and he glances warily over. ]
Everyone has an angle. [ For example, DJ is fucking starving. That's his angle. ] You waitin' for soldiers to pass or something?
Aren't we all? [ A flash of that disarmingly wry smile, but he doesn't - fortunately - wait for an answer to that one. ] Say I was curious. I hear a lot of things, some of them more unlikely than others. Thought I'd come see for myself.
[ And DJ's a little smug, sure, a little proud, yes, but he's not sure it's wise to keep a conversation with someone who isn't going to give him some goddamn money. A slicer's got to eat. ]
Especially the unlikely ones. So if you've got something that needs to be sliced, I'm your guy. Otherwise, if you don't have credits-- [ A shoo-shoo motion ]-- street rats don't look good for my business. [ Ironic, for someone who's exactly the same age and in the same level of general filth. ]
[ He's fairly certain this is a bad idea. That's smuggling, in DJ's opinion, a bad idea for everyone--a whole lot of winging it, a whole lot of not being prepared. It's not like slicing or codebreaking, where you're in you're out and that's it. Precautions are months in advance even if it's not a slow process. Plus (and this is his favourite part), you can do it alone. You have to have a team of some sort with smuggling. Arrangements, at least. Too many variables for someone who doesn't trust anyone.
He does, however, trust alcohol. This is expensive shit, good shit, and the guy that looks half his age is the one buying, so fuck it, he'll drink. He can tell the First Order officer he'll decline, but only after he gets smashed. He likes the kid, they've talked a few times, but he's not above getting the hell out of the dodge before it's too late.
Maybe he can get food, too. He's a bit hungry. Not that he wants for anything, but it always tastes better when the money isn't yours. ]
So you're switching sides, huh?
i don't even remember what i was doing with this so shoves this at
[ Here's the thing: the First Order pays damn well.
Especially for someone his age bracket, with no family, no responsibilities other than himself. Even better, he's climbed the ladder, working his way up to near the top of the intelligence ops through a combination of ruthlessness, quick decision making, and sheer luck. Aren has always had some flexible morals; growing up basically on his own had reinforced that as an admirable trait. So when the First Order had scooped him up and gotten him out of the pits of his younger life, he'd leapt at the chance to prove himself.
Now though, the tarnish is starting to show through. The corruption lining the seams, the absolute tight-fisted way they want to rule. Comply or vanish, that's the whole of it. His flexible morals could only take so much and he's finally hit a wall. One he's unwilling to take a sledgehammer to. Which means it's time to bail.
That leads him here, to a moderately nice cantina on a busy enough planet he can go virtually unnoticed. He's dressed down for the occasion, though he's sure his clipped (learned) accent would be a dead give away if people listened too hard. Across from him is probably the seediest looking man in the galaxy, but Aren knows people like him are useful. A wealth of information and only out for themselves. That's what he wants, that freedom to slip under the radar, and he thinks he can get it this way.
He grins at the question, leaning back in his seat. ]
Not exactly. What use are sides? You get caught up in the ideology for what, some merit? I think I'm pretty done with that angle.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
there was an attempt
heavy breathing
A little too well for his own good, but if there's a weakness in something, you use it. It's what he knows growing up in the outer rim, and it's served him well: people will actually pay him, for instance, for just a bit of light sabotaging work. He can do most of it with his eyes closed. Some crypto stuff he's yet to nail down, but trial and error is the name of the game so long as the error part comes during the downtimes like this instead of while he's breaking in somewhere.
Lately, the downtimes are more than he cares to admit. It's not that he's not good--he's one of the youngest in the field, one of the best--but the Empire is cracking down harder on shit like this. Which is why his current headquarters is in an abandoned section of the slums. It's at least quiet so he can concentrate, save for his empty stomach growling on occasion. His little workshop at the moment consists of wires and far too many tiny machine parts than he should reasonably have.
His face had been buried in the guts of something he'd retrieved from an old junk heap, currently trying to separate it so he can find something relatively valuable, and DJ sniffs, irritated. He's above garbage picking, usually, and the fact that he has to now is something he rather dislikes, even if it is temporary. Soon someone will come along and--
DJ swears he hears someone approaching. Speak of the devil. An only vaguely familiar devil, as DJ, frozen and trying to figure out if this is a fight-or-flight moment (it's always flight), only half-recognizes him from a cantina or two. ]
Having f-f-fun in my workshop?
[ It's a shithole is what it is, and DJ at least keeps calm enough to flash a grin. ]
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It's not like DJ is at a place where he can even have anything that's worth taking. His pride, maybe, but he doesn't have much of that, either. ]
Depends. Are you a debt collector?
[ And if that's the case, he's got a blaster right by him. He's a poor shot, but it's something. ]
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So, friendly terms. Or maybe not friendly, but something. DJ can work with 'something.' Usually, he tries to turn it to his favour. Time will tell with this one. ]
Not many people know how to find me here. What can I d-d-do for you, my friend?
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You got the credits, I got knowledge. I'm not half bad of a slicer, either.
[ Bullshit. He's one of the best, despite his age. He shrugs, and there's the tiniest of grins poking out on his face. ]
You know where to find me, or is this a happy accident?
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They both probably haven't eaten in forever, looking at him, but DJ won't say that out loud. Admitting weakness is only going to get you chewed up in the machine that is life even faster. ]
I'll be honest - If you're looking for someone like me to hire, I'm listening, otherwise, not really interested, buddy.
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Everyone has an angle. [ For example, DJ is fucking starving. That's his angle. ] You waitin' for soldiers to pass or something?
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[ And DJ's a little smug, sure, a little proud, yes, but he's not sure it's wise to keep a conversation with someone who isn't going to give him some goddamn money. A slicer's got to eat. ]
Especially the unlikely ones. So if you've got something that needs to be sliced, I'm your guy. Otherwise, if you don't have credits-- [ A shoo-shoo motion ]-- street rats don't look good for my business. [ Ironic, for someone who's exactly the same age and in the same level of general filth. ]
walk the line, don't join
no subject
He does, however, trust alcohol. This is expensive shit, good shit, and the guy that looks half his age is the one buying, so fuck it, he'll drink. He can tell the First Order officer he'll decline, but only after he gets smashed. He likes the kid, they've talked a few times, but he's not above getting the hell out of the dodge before it's too late.
Maybe he can get food, too. He's a bit hungry. Not that he wants for anything, but it always tastes better when the money isn't yours. ]
So you're switching sides, huh?
i don't even remember what i was doing with this so shoves this at
Especially for someone his age bracket, with no family, no responsibilities other than himself. Even better, he's climbed the ladder, working his way up to near the top of the intelligence ops through a combination of ruthlessness, quick decision making, and sheer luck. Aren has always had some flexible morals; growing up basically on his own had reinforced that as an admirable trait. So when the First Order had scooped him up and gotten him out of the pits of his younger life, he'd leapt at the chance to prove himself.
Now though, the tarnish is starting to show through. The corruption lining the seams, the absolute tight-fisted way they want to rule. Comply or vanish, that's the whole of it. His flexible morals could only take so much and he's finally hit a wall. One he's unwilling to take a sledgehammer to. Which means it's time to bail.
That leads him here, to a moderately nice cantina on a busy enough planet he can go virtually unnoticed. He's dressed down for the occasion, though he's sure his clipped (learned) accent would be a dead give away if people listened too hard. Across from him is probably the seediest looking man in the galaxy, but Aren knows people like him are useful. A wealth of information and only out for themselves. That's what he wants, that freedom to slip under the radar, and he thinks he can get it this way.
He grins at the question, leaning back in his seat. ]
Not exactly. What use are sides? You get caught up in the ideology for what, some merit? I think I'm pretty done with that angle.