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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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."

"My boots were only shiny because I hadn't been on the ground long enough for them to get dirty," Garth'zel points out.

"As for my clothes..." He shrugs. "Fair enough. I can afford it, so I may as well get some that are good enough quality to last for some time. Hopefully a few years."

"They're still good boots," Ezra says. "Some people who get off ships still have bad boots." Or no boots, but Ezra can't exactly judge the quality of every type of footwear.

He's warming up to the conversation a little now, so after another bite of sandwich (and another bit stuck in his pocket), he adds a little bit to shine up his reputation. "I just knew from lookin' at you that you were better than the first guy I saw."

"Considering I'm hoping to get you in the shower to get cleaned up and your clothes in the wash, you may want to stop sticking food in your pockets," Garth'zel says with a raised eyebrow.

Then, as if he'd said no such thing, "I tend to be fairly active, so good boots are a good idea. Don't want to find myself unwilling to keep going if I have to walk a long distance because of my feet hurting too much from boots in poor shape, now do I?"

That pronouncement is met with a look of bafflement, followed closely by a scowl. "What do you want me to take a shower for?" Sure, he's had people complain that he smells, but it's not like he's sticking around.

The discussion about boots is getting dropped in favor of this threat to his food, which his little hands are clutching protectively now.

"A couple of reasons. One," He raises a forefinger, "You'll feel better if you're clean. For the second one, I'm going to need to ask you something first. That being, how well do you know Capital City. Enough to know what a newcomer to the planet might find interesting or useful?"

That first reason is met with nothing but suspicion. Sure, Garth'zel. Just try to convince a little boy that he'll feel better after a shower. The second reason, though...

His interest is piqued just enough to answer honestly. "I know it a lot. I've always lived here. Why? An' what's it got to do with a shower?"

"That brings me to reason two: no one is going to take you seriously as a guide if you and your clothes are dirty." Garth'zel goes quiet to take another sip of his juice as he gives that time to sink in.

What?

"I'm not a guide." Ezra's staring up at him, caught off guard because where did he get that idea?

"Not yet, considering you haven't been hired to do so yet," Garth'zel agrees. He was hoping the child would be faster on the uptake than this.

Cut him some slack, Garth'zel. He's only eight (barely eight) and the last thing he was expecting to hear after talking about showers is a job offer from the guy he just tried to pickpocket.

"You want me to be your guide?" he asks, disbelief coloring his voice. Why would he hire a kid? Why would he hire Ezra? "I know lots of stuff, but... but I don't got a speeder or... or... Lots of people don't even want me around."

"We don't need a speeder. Or if we do, I can rent one." But Garth'zel doesn't expect to need to. "You'll probably be harder to recognize when you're cleaned up, since they're used to you as you are now."

He shrugs slightly. "It's your choice, but there's three meals a day, a safe place to sleep if you want it, and pay. Not as much as there should be, but if I give you too much, you'll just become a target to steal from."

Well, okay, maybe a shower might help with that, though Ezra can't help but still doubt that he'd still be recognizable even without the dirt. But there's a bigger question here now, one he can't ignore.

"Why?" Food and safety and a job and money - it all sounds too good to be true. And when things sound too good, they usually are, and the streets have taught Ezra to look for the catch. "Why are you doing this? Why me? I'm just a... a dirty street rat. There's better people than me you could ask."