[ 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. ]
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. ]