spncentral | Of Sith And Street Rats

Between thinking it best to steer as far away from the Core as possible given the current regime, and needing repairs to his ship, he finds himself on some backwater planet in the middle of nowhere. Not only that, but so far as he could tell, there were only a handful of cities worth the name with one of them being the capital city. Which was also oh-so-imaginatively named Capital City. It seemed to be his best bet, so it was the one he chose to land at.

While his ship was undergoing repairs, he heads out into the city. The workers don't need him breathing down their necks, so he may as well see what, if anything, was of interest. So lightsaber firmly hidden in his jacket, and anything the mechanics didn't need access to firmly locked, he heads out. May as well start with the market. Wherever it is.

Current Mood: calm

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It hasn't been a good day for Ezra. Or a good week for him, really. Between begging and scrounging for food in the dumpsters, he's usually able to come up with enough to keep him from starving, and when that fails, snitching food from the stalls in the market would normally make up the difference, but this week... People get tired of giving away their money, especially if you ask too often, and getting food from the dumpsters only works if there's food there and you beat all the competition for it. Maybe the Loth-rats ate it first, or maybe other homeless people, but he hasn't gotten more than a half-eaten jogan from the bins, and the street vendors keep watching him.

He's getting desperate.

Stomach twinging painfully, he scans the street, looking for someone who isn't paying attention to him. If he can't steal from the stalls, maybe there's a tourist or someone who won't miss a few credits from their pockets. Maybe even an Imperial, if he thinks he can get away with it. They deserve to have stuff taken from them. They're the ones who take stuff, who take people-

It takes an effort of will to drag his mind away from that thought. He needs food. He needs to focus on that.

There's a Bothan passing by who isn't paying attention. Ezra's eyes land on him, follow him down the street. Just as the little boy's about to start tailing him, though...

Something tugs at his attention.

Something draws his eye.

Something whispers in his mind, in his instincts. Only a year on the streets, but Ezra's learned to listen to his feelings. He turns his head and- Yeah. Yeah. That Zabrak looks like a much better target. His clothes are nice and his boots are shiny and he's got to have money if he's coming to the market from the direction of the ship yards. Ezra doesn't think to question why he's sure that's where the man came from. It's just a feeling, like the one that prompts him to edge his way closer and closer until-

-he's close enough-

-and sure the Zabrak isn't looking-

-and quick as lightning, he snatches for Garth'zel pocket.

Also as quick as lightning, Garth'zel spins around and grabs his arm. "Gotcha."

He could sense that he was essentially being stalked, but had chosen not to give any sort of outward reaction. Instead, choosing to wait until whoever it was made their move.

Said someone being rather younger than he expected. He keeps a steady grip on the arm he grabbed and raises an eyebrow at the filthy child it was attached to. "Didn't your parents teach you not to go rifling through other people's pockets?"

Ezra yelps, nearly startled out of his wits, because how'd he know? How'd he move so fast? Then the fact that he'd been caught sinks in, and fear jumps into his already too-wide eyes.

"Let me go!" He struggles against that iron grip, and when that doesn't work, he tries to kick Garth'zel's shin. "I didn't do nothin'! You'll be sorry if you don't! 'Cause- 'cause my dad's important! He's the govener!" A lie, but the Zabrak can't possibly know that it's not.

Except, you know, the real governor's a woman.

And he hardly looks like a governor's son.

And one of the stall owners who's close enough to hear them just snorted in blatant derision. "Caught the little thief, did you? Go ahead and tan his hide. If he's got parents at all, I'm a Hutt."

Edited Date: 2018-06-28 05:21 pm (UTC)

"I'm sure the governor would be very interested to hear that she's a man and has a child who looks like he's rolled in dirt roaming the streets instead of staying in whatever nice school she picked out for him," Garth'zel says dryly, ignoring the kicks. Good luck getting through that heavy boot leather.

"No parents, huh?" He studies the boy for a moment, never releasing his hold on his arm. Under the layers of dirt, he could see he was too thin. "What's your name, kid?"

Ezra shoots a dirty look at the merchant who blew his story, even though Garth'zel made it clear that he didn't buy the lie for more reasons than that. "That's a lie!" he yells, still trying to tug free. "I got a mom an' dad! They're just... just..." Tell the truth and lay the blame for their absence where it belongs? Or refuse to give the vendor even an inch of satisfaction that he might be right?

Not really a choice at all.

"They're just busy! They gotta work!" He doesn't answer Garth'zel's question - partly because why should he? But mostly because he's too caught up with denying where his parents are.

The man just snorts again, not even bothering to dignify that with any other response. "Kid's a regular street rat around here," he says to Garth'zel. "Doubt any of us would mind if he got a good thrashing. Maybe it'd teach him to quit stealing. But if you don't want his hollering attracting attention..." He trails off, eyes pointedly following a pair of stormtroopers farther down the street. "Might want to take him somewhere else."

No, there's absolutely no concern to be found for Ezra's wellbeing here.

Edited Date: 2018-06-29 12:14 pm (UTC)

"With no parents and apparently no family friends to take him in, how is he supposed to survive without stealing?" Garth'zel says in a tone of mild rebuke before focusing his attention on Ezra.

"No good parent doesn't have time to make sure their child is clean and well-fed, keeping them from needing to steal to survive. If your parents were around, this would be a sign that they just don't care. Or worse," he says firmly before shaking his head slightly and tucking him under his arm, making sure to keep hold of Ezra's arm. Mostly to try to avoid any punches landing someplace unfortunate. "Let's continue this discussion somewhere else, hmm? Someplace there's food."

He has the feeling the last sentence should take any real fight out of the kid with any remaining basically just being for show to avoid hurt pride on the boy's end.

"Not my problem," the vendor says with a dismissive grunt. "Except when he makes it my problem. I'm sure there's some sort of program he could be in." Except there isn't, really. The Empire hasn't exactly put a lot of effort into welfare or child services. If Garth'zel's expecting the man to care, though, he's going to be disappointed.

Ezra isn't surprised at all, and isn't even paying attention to him anymore. It's just more of the same kind of treatment he gets everyday. What Garth'zel is doing, however, really isn't.

"Put me down!" the boy yells. "My parents care about me lots. Don't say that they don't! That's a lie!" He kicks and twists, and even tries to bite (unsuccessfully) - but only once, before the Zabrak's words sink in. He stills for just a second, not quite sure he heard right, before streetborn suspicion rears high.

"What do you wanna get food for?" he asks. There's the obvious answer, of course, but that's not what he's asking.

People might give him a handout from time to time, but they don't go and buy food for him.

Never mind that his stomach is growling.

"You would probably be easier to deal with if you weren't hungry or cranky," Garth'zel says dryly, carrying Ezra back the way he came, ignoring the street vendor. Which has the side effect of him heading away from the stormtroopers.

"Before you start up again, think carefully about if you really want the stormtroopers further down the road paying too much attention to you," he says quietly. That should make the child shut up, if nothing else does.

Ezra's eyes flicker in the direction of the stormtroopers, indecision warring briefly on his face. You don't go places with strangers. Not unless you have a way to escape if things go bad, and he doesn't have that right now. The stormtroopers would probably stop this guy if he called them.

But...

But what would be the cost? What would the stormtroopers do with him? They follow regulations. They'd want to know where his parents are. Who his parents are. If they found that out, would Ezra vanish, too? If he doesn't tell them who his parents are, then what? Ezra's never seen a case of someone from the Empire being kind to someone who's homeless, and the one time he saw them take a kid, he never saw the kid again. He doesn't know what they do with orphans. His gut says it's nothing good, though.

But is it any better if he lets this guy take him to wherever it is that he's going? He doesn't know anything about him, except that he's promising food, and Ezra would be lying if he said that wasn't really, really persuasive, he's so hungry, but what happens after? What does dealing with him mean?

They're not yet out of yelling range of the stormtroopers when Ezra squirms again. "Put me down," he says. "I can walk." A test. A test to see if this guy will give him any freedom, any chance to make this decision himself. Something in him is tugging, a feeling he can't name, a hum that's tipping the balance just slightly in this guy's favor. It's a feeling Ezra's felt before, and one that usually keeps him out of trouble when he listens.

Garth'zel looks at Ezra carefully. Or rather, what he can see of him given the way he's currently carrying him. "All right. But I am keeping hold of you," he warns as he sets Ezra down, readjusting the grip on his arm. If this was a ploy to try to escape, it's not going to be as effective as hoped.

"If you can't keep up, I'm picking you up again. What are you, six?" More probably seven, but underestimating is usually the way to go in order to get a child's actual age out of them.

Garth'zel, do you wanna get kicked again? Because that's definitely a way to rile Ezra up. "I'm not six! I'm eight!" he says, completely offended. Never mind that he's too small for his age. That's not his fault! "An' I can keep up! I'm not slow! Or- or old!" Look, Garth'zel insulted him first, so it's totally fair to insult him back.

Even if Ezra does have to take two quick steps for every one of Garth'zel's just to keep up with his stride.

"I'm twenty-eight. Not even middle-aged as Zabraks and humans count these things," Garth'zel points out in an amused tone.

It's not too much longer until they reach his ship and he opens up the main entrance ramp to enter and then haul Ezra to the galley, closing the ramp once they're in. "So. Can I trust you to behave if I let go of you to get you something to eat?"

Ezra's stomach tightens painfully, and the decision is made almost before he can think about it. Caution is one thing, but if he's really going to get food from this, he can wait a little longer before thinking about how he can escape. "I'll be good," he promises, using his best contrite little boy voice - the voice he uses when begging on the street. It's an easy promise to make, because it doesn't say what he'll be good at, and people never think about that, they just hear what they want to hear.

But in this case, he really will behave if Garth'zel lets go of him. At least for now. And maybe Garth'zel can see that in his eyes, hunger clouding his judgment and fear. He doesn't even ask if he gets to choose what he wants. At this point he'll eat anything.

"Try to make that being good at what I've told you, rather than something else," Garth'zel says dryly, hearing the unspoken.

Even so, he lets go of Ezra, hunting out a glass to fill with juice to set down for Ezra. May as well give him something to drink to occupy himself with as he sets about finding what would be suitable sandwich materials for a child before handing over the sandwich itself.

The juice is enough to prove this is real, that there really is going to be food, to get Ezra to sit down after a few thirsty gulps. And it tastes so good, still cool from storage and not spoiled at all, and there's nobody's spit in it, that he can't help but savor every swallow he takes. Which is just as well, because otherwise he would have finished it off completely before Garth'zel could come back with that sandwich.

Hopefully Garth'zel's definition of being good doesn't extend to table manners. If so, Ezra's going to fail miserably as he practically shoves the sandwich into his mouth, taking as big a bite as he can - like he's learned to be afraid of people taking his food, so he has to claim as much as he can as fast as possible. Or maybe like he was on the verge of starving. Both are equally true.

Edited Date: 2018-06-30 05:18 pm (UTC)

"Slow down before you choke yourself," Garth'zel admonishes as he reaches for the glass. "I'm going to add more, since you're almost out."

He sends a wave of reassurance Ezra's way. He promises he's not trying to take anything he's given you away, just give you more.

The glass is returned to it's previous spot before Garth'zel gets something of his own to drink.

"You never actually told me your name. You were a little busy being outraged," he says gently and probingly. Time to start getting information out of the kid.

Ezra twitches like he wants to reach out and grab his glass before Garth'zel can take it, but... but oddly enough, he feels reassured by the promise that Garth'zel will give it back. And sure enough, he does, and that helps some of Ezra's tension, too. He settles a little, slowing down enough to swallow.

"'M Ezra," he says, before taking another bite, because look, he's got priorities. There's a sandwich in his hands that's just as fresh and delicious as the juice, and he hasn't eaten almost anything in days. He chews that bite just enough to swallow it, too, before asking his own question. "Who're you?"

"Garth'zel," he says before taking a sip of his own juice. "How long have you been on your own?"

No, he doesn't remotely believe that Ezra's parents are still around. Not with what the kid was caught trying to do and what the street vendor said.

Ezra eyes Garth'zel, faced again with the question of how honest he wants to be about his parents. Why does he even want to know? And what kind of trouble will it get Ezra in if he answers?

Ezra can't come up with an answer to either question that he likes, so he bluffs. "I'm not alone. I told you. Mom an' dad are working." Subtly (or at least he thinks he's being subtle) he picks off part of his sandwich before sneaking it under the table. Even as hungry as he is, he knows he should save some of this sandwich for later. Just like the way his luck has been rotten all this week, he doesn't know when he'll get his hands on more food. Whatever he can stuff in his pockets will hopefully keep him going until his luck turns again.

"They know I'm big enough to look after myself until they get home," he adds, puffing himself up for a touch of authenticity.

Garth'zel gives him an even look. "We both know you're lying about your parents still being around. Somehow, I doubt they'd let you out of the house without making you take a bath and put on clean clothes. Along with expressing their strong disapproval of you trying to pick pockets."

No, he doesn't buy that Ezra's parents are still around.

Ezra scowls at being called out on his lie. More than that, though, his temper sparks at Garth'zel talking about how his parents would feel. (Maybe partly because his conscience twinges a little because Garth'zel is right.)

"What do you care?" he says hotly. "It's not like it matters to you if I've got parents." Other than the fact that Ezra had tried to pick his pockets, but he'd stopped Ezra from doing that anyway.

"You mean aside from the fact that if you did, you would have been in school, not trying to steal from me?" Garth'zel inquires, eyebrow raised.

He rather doubts Ezra can come up with a convincing argument to counter that.

Ezra can absolutely come up with an argument.

"It didn't work anyway, did it?"

Garth'zel gives him an exasperated look. "That's not the point, and you know it."

Honestly, child.

"What made you pick me as a target, anyway?"

Whether or not Ezra knows it, he still feels like his own point is valid. He didn't succeed, so in the end it didn't matter to Garth'zel what Ezra did.

With the shift of subject, Ezra shrugs halfheartedly. How is supposed to describe that anyway? He'd acted on a whim, a feeling too nebulous for an eight year old to understand completely. If he said it was his instincts, would the man just laugh at him? Instincts are what his dad used to say he had whenever he tried to explain stuff like this. But his instincts had been wrong this time.

"I dunno," he finally says. "You were just... better, and... and you had shiny boots an' nice clothes."