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strawberry-barista · 7 months

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"What, me? Pfft... All right. I'll tell you a little. The name's Sanae Hanekoma. Born March 4, blood type A. I'm a Pisces, and one hip café barista, mista. I'm a big gambler. My favorite word: "windfall." "Natto" gets my tummy rumbling. As for my physical dimensions. . ."

★ Disclaimer: Unlike many, I do not assign specific years to TWEWY or to my own Hanekoma and his universe. Personally I feel each game is simply a representation of the time in which it was created and do not attempt to use technology or similar context clues to determine the year. Therefore, such elements are based on whatever reads best at the time, and Hanekoma's zodiac is based on his personality. ★

⚅ — TLDR — ⚅

Sanae Hanekoma is an angel that watches over Shibuya as its acting Producer. He’s laid back and doesn’t often lose his cool, but he takes his job very seriously.

⚅ — Table of Contents — ⚅

Use this to skip ahead to information you want to read.

⚀ General Information

Name

Nicknames

Age

Date of birth

Zodiac

Gender/Pronouns

Orientation

Race/Species

Hair/Eye Color

Height

Weight

Scars

Body Modification

Style

⚀ Personality

Positive Traits

Negative Traits

General Mood

Greatest Joy

Greatest Fear

Motto

General Description

⚀ Habits and Hobbies

Likes

Dislikes

Favorites

Spending Habits

Tics

Hobbies

⚀ Background

Childhood

Adolescence

Young Adulthood

Adulthood

Death and Afterlife

⚀ Abilities

Angel

Noise

Human

⚀ Relationships

Overview

Romance

Family

Important individuals

⚀ Canon Events

No subcategories

⚀ Links

Headcanons

Musings

Desires

Aesthetics

— ★ ⚄ ★ —

⚅ — General — ⚅

⚀ Name: Sanae Hanekoma

⚀ Nicknames: Mr. H, H-Man, Fuzzface, Coffee Man, Pops, Tito

⚀ Age: 152 (physically 36)

⚀ Date of Birth: March 4

⚀ Zodiac Signs: Pisces, Wood Horse

⚀ Gender/Pronouns: Male, He/him

⚀ Orientation: Panromantic Demisexual

⚀ Race/Species: Japanese Human-ascended Angel

⚀Hair/Eye Color: Black/Black

⚀ Height: 175 cm (5'9")

⚀ Weight: 120 lbs.

⚀ Scars/Marks/Etc: Hanekoma has very small, mostly unnoticeable scars over the majority of his body from regular bumps, scrapes, and accidents that occurred during his life. One feather on his wings is smaller than the others from where it had been pulled out many times over. He has a sizable scar on his leg from being shot by Apichisi.

⚀ Body Modifications: Hanekoma has a blue and red tribal tattoo wrapping around his upper left arm resembling his noise form. He also has regular ear piercings.

⚀ Style: Hanekoma visited a casino once and was so enamored by the uniforms there he decided to just start emulating the dress. But doing so properly was still a little too restrictive, so now he wears oversized shirts and doesn't button anything all the way. For shoes, he always wears sandals for maximum comfort. He's always got an expensive watch on his wrist, but these days he's taken to wearing earrings as well.

⚅ — Personality — ⚅

⚀ Positive Traits: Compassionate, loyal, creative, affectionate, brave, intelligent, open-minded

⚀ Negative Traits: Selfish, impulsive, impatient, stubborn, obsessive, greedy

⚀ General Mood: Relaxed, content

⚀ Greatest Joy: Creation, meeting people

⚀ Greatest Fear: Losing the city/his loved ones

⚀ Motto: "Enjoy every moment." and "The world ends with you."

⚀ General Description: Hanekoma has an easy-going personality and a generally happy disposition. It’s incredibly difficult to rile him up in any regard, and he will often simply let insulting or hurtful comments roll off of his back. He may come off as if he doesn’t take anything seriously, but in fact he is incredibly perceptive and analyzing. He has a tendency to take people under his wing, especially if he can see in them the potential for a lot of personal growth. This most often comes in the form of protecting players from shady dealings during the Reaper’s Game. He can sometimes have a parental attitude towards others, but he has no trouble at all with pushing people to their limits if it means they might reach a breakthrough in their character.

⚅ — Habits and Hobbies — ⚅

⚀ Likes: Coffee, gambling, new experiences, meeting new people, long conversations, Shibuya, art in all forms

⚀ Dislikes: Close-mindedness, extended isolation, threats to the city, a lack of personal growth

⚀ Favorites: The colors red and black, jazz and hip hop music, Haruto Abe's house blend coffee, the word windfall, natto, money, poetry

⚀ Spending habits: Excessive spender, but very careful with his money. Gambling can sometimes be the exception, but these days he leaves his cards at home to limit his gambling.

⚀ Tics: Rubbing/holding the back of his neck, rolling a pair of dice in his hand, running his fingers through his hair, tugging his chin

⚀ Hobbies: Hanekoma seems to run a café as a primary business, but in fact this is a hobby of his. He also works as a multi-talented artist that dips his hands in almost every form of art from graffiti to music to fashion design. Hanekoma takes a deep pleasure from being an active source of growth and change in his city and does so primarily through his work as CAT. More recently, Hanekoma had learned how to tattoo, and had a tattoo parlor that he runs as a hobby as well. Appointments can be made by anyone, but the business is not advertised at all.

⚅ — Background — ⚅

⚀ Childhood: Hanekoma was born and raised in Shibuya by two loving and supportive parents. His family was always lower income, though, so they never had a glamorous or fruitful existence. During summers Hanekoma would go into the country where his grandparents lived. Death was introduced early in life with the passing of his grandfather, and he was taught to accept the natural course of life. As a student, he was charismatic and did well on his work, but he would skip out unnoticed when he thought he could get away with it. He never caused a lot of trouble, but he always bent the rules as much as possible.

⚀ Adolescence: Hanekoma was a stressed teenager, but he never showed it to those around him. He began to live to please his parents and teachers, but he yearned to experience life his own way as well. Both of his grandparents now passed, he no longer took summers in the country and instead spent his free time exploring and learning Shibuya in and out. He fell in love with the city, but he also instilled in himself a wanderlust.

⚀ Young Adulthood: As a young adult, Hanekoma began to fear the retaliation from his parents for not going into a university, and so he quickly moved away from home as soon as he could. He lived by himself and spent his days living a fairly closed in life until the day his mother called him to inform him his father was dying. He rushed home immediately, and finally he made amends with them just a few days before his father's passing, learning that he'd never had any reason to fear in the first place. He lived with his mother afterwards, but she passed mere months after his father. After this he began traveling with a gaggle of friends he'd made over the years, eager to fill the void his parents left behind. It was through this venue that he was introduced to casinos, and he became addicted to gambling. He visited a casino wherever he went and lost more and more money, until he couldn't afford to travel anymore. Still obsessed with gambling, he began spending his money in pachinko parlors and illegal gambling dens.

⚀ Adulthood: Hanekoma wasted away all of his money until he could no longer support himself, and he found himself on the streets and struggling just to exist. He spent many days in alleyways and abandoned buildings. Having worked up quite a debt, he often found himself being attacked and was always on the alert, though any time he could get money he usually found himself playing street craps with it or in some other gambling den. This carried on until one particular winter he nearly died from the elements alone and was approached by an old man offering shelter. As much as he wanted to refuse, he knew he didn't have that luxury and finally gave in. The man, named Haruto Abe, took him into his home and got Hanekoma back on his feet. Therapy, a job at his own café, training in learning how to support himself, and the love and support he hadn't seen since his parents. Hanekoma did pick himself back up and went on to open his own café, Wildkat, and slowly healed into a person that loved Shibuya once again.

⚀ Death and Afterlife: Hanekoma met his end at the hands of a man he used to borrow money from. In the end his old gambling habits caught up to him anyway. Hanekoma fought to the end, but his opponent was in possession of an illicit firearm and determined not to let him get away with his life this time. Hanekoma entered his Game a little bleary, but not without help. Abe, much to Hanekoma's surprise, was able to find him right after his registration into the Game and give him pointers, with the explanation that he had a sixth sense which allowed him to see into the UG. Hanekoma followed Abe's instructions expressly and was able to win his Game, allowing him to become a reaper (per Abe's suggestion). From there Hanekoma quickly rose in rank, casually raking in more and more souls. All the while Abe kept feeding him secrets about Composerhood and the Higher Plane and angels, priming him for the position of Producer. Once Hanekoma finally reached his ascension, he was offered the position of Producer in lieu of Composer and he took it. Abe disappeared directly after this and wouldn't be seen again for many years.

⚅ — Abilities — ⚅

⚀ Angel: As an angel, Hanekoma has the ability to see and interact with the RG, UG, and HP at any given time. He also has the ability to scan living humans, players in the Reaper’s Game, and reapers. He can jump from one universe to another. Hanekoma has knowledge of taboo noise and refinery. He will not use these abilities unless pushed to extremes, however. And finally, Hanekoma has the ability to imprint on both people and players. The most common way for him to do so is through his art and tattoo work.

⚀ Noise: Hanekoma has a noise in the form of Panthera Cantus, which act as two entities with separate abilities. Leo Cantus is fast and teleports away when hit directly. Tigris Cantus can create clones of herself and can only be hit through her shadow, not her actual body.

⚀ Human: Just through his physical body, Hanekoma has considerable skill in street fighting, and he often chooses to do most of his fighting through this method (genuine quarrels, as opposed to testing an individual, in which he would use his noise form).

⚅ — Relationships — ⚅

⚀ Overview: Hanekoma makes friends easily. That being said, he also tends to keep people at arm’s length without them really realizing it. He says very little about himself while working to get to know others on a deeply personal level, earning the trust of many despite keeping himself a secret. He enjoys being social and making new friends, and he understands the power personal bonds can have on society as a whole. He actively encourages friendship, but he will never seek to deepen a bond any further than that.

⚀ Romance: Romantic relationships are, for the foreseeable future, strictly non-canon for this blog. Hanekoma is in a romantic relationship with himself, literally, as far as his canon is concerned. However, non-canon ships are available to plot and write.

⚀ Family: Hanekoma has no biological children, but he has a few canon familial ships. The first is his Composer, Joshua (@kingsmedley), whom he treats like his son. The second is a young reaper named Joel (@mundanemiseries), whom teeters back and forth from being like a nephew to being like another son. There is also Sho Minamimoto (@the-grim-heaper), whom Hanekoma considers a child of his even if he has no solid, concrete evidence that Sho feels the same way.

⚀ Important Individuals: Haruto Abe (@falseapostle) is the man that took Hanekoma in and is an angel. Hanekoma treated him as a parent in his living life and as a mentor, but after his return they grew a closer, more romantic relationship. Now that they are separated, both physically and emotionally, Hanekoma has forgiven him but doesn't interact with him at all. Raizen (@fangedstories) is Hanekoma's warden angel, an angel that checks up on him and makes sure he isn't breaking angel law. Apichisi (@catncore) and Eanas (@dandybarista) are older angel counterparts from another universe. While interactions are largely non-canon, these two have played roles in significant canon events. Similarly, their Joshua (@the-composer) has also participated in some of these events. Hope (@hopeful-hugz) is a character that is entirely non-canon for Hanekoma, however is still important to some canon events. When speaking with other characters that have non-canon relationships and interactions with Hope, they may come up in conversation. Otherwise, Hanekoma's secondary therapy works much differently.

⚅ — Canon Events — ⚅

⚀ Hanekoma and Joshua have had multiple falling outs, the last of which resulted in Joshua going to therapy and learning how their codependency was making them both unhealthy. As a result, Joshua and Hanekoma almost never come into contact anymore, for the sake of earning independence from one another. To this day, however, Hanekoma has never been so close or so attached to any other person, and even now he will put Joshua over any other person in his life.

⚀ Hanekoma met Apichisi and Eanas while traveling and refused to take no for an answer when he tried getting in their business. The intention was to help, but the push resulted in an altercation with the universe's Joshua, which then resulted in a deeply traumatizing battle with Apichisi. Shortly after this he also exchanged words with Eanas which led to his being banned from the universe altogether. Over the time of his absence he healed, and he made amends with the universe, but he still occasionally has nightmares related to the fight with Apichisi. In this altercation Hanekoma was shot with an angelic bullet that disabled his ability to heal. This is where he received the scar on his leg, a mark where the bullet once was.

⚀ Hanekoma received an arm tattoo from Apichisi during one of his visits. He imprinted on the tattoo so Hanekoma now feels his presence at all times. Apichisi then taught him how to tattoo on others as well, effectively allowing him to take up the occupation in his own universe.

⚀ Apichisi taught Hanekoma how to preen his own feathers and preen the feathers of others. Before this point Hanekoma didn't touch them at all. To this day his wings are extremely sensitive because of this, but he does preen himself regularly now.

⚀ Hanekoma developed a crush on Eanas, and it helped to cause the events of the banning situation. Canonically, he has moved past this and now remains romantically involved with himself, but non-canon threads playing on this may still occasionally pop up.

⚀ Haruto Abe reappeared in Hanekoma's life, making the excuse that he'd been unable to visit beforehand. He began manipulating Hanekoma, making him believe that he was harmless and merely misinterpreted while threatening and mistreating everyone in Hanekoma's life. Abe continued this farce with the intention of isolating Hanekoma to the point of him returning to the Higher Plane for reconditioning. But the longer he stayed in Shibuya the more attached he became to Hanekoma's loved ones. In the end, he could no longer continue the ruse and chose to end it. Hoping to make Hanekoma hate him and earn his own exorcism, Abe ripped a feather from Hanekoma's wing. Joshua attempted to exorcise him, but only succeeded in cutting him off from the Higher Plane. Abe was transferred to Shinjuku of Apichisi and Eanas's universe. For a time after this, Hanekoma attempted to pull the feather any time it tried to come in, but eventually he allowed it to heal. Ever since this, this particular feather has always grown in shorter than the others of its like.

⚀ Hanekoma began going to therapy. ★ In compatible threads, Hanekoma attends therapy at Hope's medical facility STM, where therapists have multiversal licenses that allow them to work with angels. ★ In all other threads, Hanekoma attends therapy at a regular office, and he simply avoids talking about forbidden subjects, choosing to translate them into situations he can talk about legally (e.g. explaining the feather incident as pulling out a good chunk of his hair instead of a feather).

⚅ — Links — ⚅

⚀ Headcanons

⚀ Musings

⚀ Desires

⚀ Aesthetics

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notasouleater · 4 months

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You have a beautiful mind

NOTE:

wretched (adjective) 1: deeply afflicted, dejected, or distressed in body or mind 2: extremely or deplorably bad or distressing 3: a. being or appearing mean, miserable, or contemptible b. very poor in quality or ability : inferior

Thank you @floofylion for the star wars info and @justheretolurk24 for proofreading. And everyone else that supported me in losing it over my favorite B1 battle droid

He was built for war, and the first thought he ever truly had was that he was terrified of it.

He’d had lots of thoughts before, technically. Usually “roger that” or a rush of self-preservation. Mimicking a joke. Thoughts like move forward, fire, take cover, execute the order. A slight moment of calculation as targets changed. Move forward.

Things like calibrating as he flew through the air, pushed by an energy he didn’t understand, not really. Stalling as it tripped something in his processors. Reconnecting after his head hit the ground.

Then war. He realized the world was ending around him before he realized he was a person.

People were dying all around him, and he understood it now in a way he never had. Blood staining dirt around the fallen remains of things that looked like him. That crumpled in like he could. He thought he’d been scared of death before, but he was wrong. He wasn’t built to last. He’d only been aware for a moment. He couldn’t die before he could even figure out what that meant.

The only things not in the fight were the people already on the ground. So he lay down next to his mirror image and waited.

He waited as people ran and screamed around him. As missed lasers burst on the floor next to his head. As the world grew redder and hotter. As things got quiet. As it faded back to a muted grey.

He waited for hours. Waited until he was more scared someone would come looking for bodies than he was of a soldier still being around. He sat up and realized something else: there was nowhere to go. He couldn’t go back. Not with this in his head. Even if he could they would just send him back out to die. Anyone else would probably kill him on the spot.

He staggered to his feet. Silently, he walked through bodies. He pulled outer robes off of one. He doesn’t think he tied them on right, but at least no one would confuse him for- for one of them. He took boots from another, gloves from a third. He wouldn’t risk anything showing. There was a body with an undecorated helmet, and it wasn’t built for his head at all but the person was large so he crammed it on and let it rattle.

He looked around, and right, they landed a bit outside a city. He thinks they were trying to attack, and maybe any citizens would hate his face for that, but power had probably changed by now and he doesn’t care enough to remember. He just needed to get away. He turned towards the city and started walking.

He didn’t understand why other beings had talked dismissively around him about lacking feelings like it was a bad thing. He hoped he would never have an emotion again.

Being in the city didn’t help. He felt like every person he passed in the street was going to grab him and ask him who, exactly, he thought he was fooling. Most people were occupied with, well, the occupation, likely too busy to notice him, but that just meant half the people he passed were soldiers. Soldiers that, even if they considered them below notice, had worked with B1s before. Surely learned their shape and movements, even if they wouldn’t be looking for it in a stranger. It was worse when he passed by other battle droids in the street. He didn’t know how to feel about them. Like a funhouse mirror that distorted something on the inside rather than out.

He passed by buildings he might be able to hide in, but the only places he could really camp out in all required money he didn’t have. Most were restaurants or bars anyways, and what a great way to get caught- not eating anything he ordered. He almost wished he could get drunk, though.

In the end he wandered to a sparser, darker edge of the city, more absent of guards. He tucked himself into an empty alley, scanning it repeatedly for any heat signals to ensure he was really alone before finding a hidden corner to curl up in. It was hard like this, the compact design not intended to need to work around something like fabric. He made it work though. He didn’t need to sleep, but he did need to think. And there was a lot of that to get done.

He needed money, obviously. That would solve most of his problems. He had over a week before he would need to recharge, but if he didn’t have a way to get energy by then he was fucked. Same for getting better clothes, especially a helmet. This thing was practically begging to fall off his head. Maybe a place to stay.

He wanted to get off-planet, after that. Somewhere very, very far away. It would be a long time before that would be possible, though, unless he won the lottery somehow. Would lotteries still be running after everything? Maybe he should enter the lottery.

None of that would be possible until he figured out how to get money though, and his best shot at that would be in the morning. He just tried to tuck his head in and wait for morning.

This was, unfortunately, easier said than done. Something in his head was fundamentally changed, but he didn’t even really understand what, exactly, it was. He remembered, still, everything that came before. It felt almost like it happened to a different person. It was definitely the same him that did all that. He’d felt things before, he’s sure. He never actually knew what an emotion was. Something that was always there that was freshly grown had been locked away for years. He wanted to rip out his processing unit. He wanted to freeze himself and preserve all of this forever, he almost lost it as soon as he had it he’d almost died as soon as he lived and it was all around him still one slip and he would be dead or inhibited or-

His limbs were shaking. Stupid model can’t even work right. Why was he built like a horde of idiots?

He would put himself into standby for the night if it wouldn’t be so dangerous. In the end he just resigned himself to it, watching and listening until the small sun finally started creeping into the sky and the city rumbled from alive to busy.

He steeled himself as people started to push through the street outside the alley, waiting for the crowd to get busy enough to hide him. Then he stood, walked out, and, as he was learning to do, he didn't look back.

He wandered around for a good while before he decided what his best chance would be. He was probably most qualified for a job as a bodyguard or bounty hunter or something, but he wasn’t about to go do something dangerous. The last thing he wanted was a job that suited his experience. He finally decided on what seemed like just a corner store, a help wanted sign on the window in Galactic Basic and ten other languages he couldn't read. The place seemed sketchy, but he figured that at the least that meant no one would care enough to look too closely at him.

The person at the front didn’t even take their eyes off their magazine as he walked up and asked about the job, so his guess felt pretty good.

“Why do you want to work here?”

He looked around the cramped, dusty store.

“Money.”

The owner huffed. “At least you’re honest. You ever worked in a store before?”

“Can’t say I have.”

They considered him for a moment, before shrugging. “Well then. You got a name?”

He went to answer, before feeling like the back of his processors ran very neatly into the front of his head. Did he?

It’s not like anyone ever called him anything. He was always part of a group. Just- unit number N-8 of squad R3N. And he couldn’t give a number. His best chance of hiding would be if no one even knew he was a droid of any sort to begin with.

The owner was starting to give him a strange look.

How did people usually get named? For droids he'd only heard nicknames based on some shortened version of their code, and he’d already decided against that. But he didn’t know what else he’d be named. That designation was his. Maybe though- if he just said it like it was all letters. There were a lot of names in the galaxy. No one could say this wasn’t one of them.

“Nn-eight. Nate,” he said.

“Just Nate?” asked the owner, eyebrow raised. “No connections or nothing?”

“Nate-” What? Rthreen? Arethreeen? Or- shift it-

“Ren. E?”

He didn’t like that. Shove it together different, make it work.

“Nate Renet.”

He felt gross. That was close enough to his designation, but it wasn’t the same. He didn’t have connections, not really. He was realizing he’d never actually thought about if he even still wanted to be a he.

“Great. You want to start?”

Silence.

“I said-” the grocer finally looked up, but Nate was gone.

What was his name?

Nate(?) hurried down the crowded street, paying little attention to where he went. What was his name? He didn’t mind N-8, it was his. But he couldn’t give that out. Nate though… that wasn’t- it just wasn’t his name. And Renet? Where did that even come from?

His old squad, he supposed. What was that grocer asking about- his connections? Family? No. Absolutely not. He wasn’t anything like those things. Not anymore. He didn’t mind messing with the squad notation really, just- keep it closer. R3N, Renet- R3N37. He liked that. If he just pronounced it like Renet no one would know the difference. And then he could just do the same with Nate and N-8.

N-8 R3N37. He could be him.

Ah. That brought him back to the other question- he? He didn’t really care that much, to be honest, but it seemed like an important thing to know. He ran through options in his head- it, she, xe, fae, onwards- as well as some combinations. No, ‘he’ was right, he decided. A bit of a shit reinvention, but he didn’t feel much need to change anyways.

A bit late to get there though. He’d already fucked up his actual chance to get a job. Fine. He’d just find something on the other side of town.

One advantage, at least, of his model was the height. He had a good view of the things going on around him as he walked, able to turn away if he saw a soldier getting close. There also seemed to be a lot of clone troopers around for a place he’d assumed had been taken by the separatists. He vaguely remembered a shift in that last battle, shooting in different directions than usual. It made his head hurt. He shook it off.

It didn’t matter why anyone was there, as long as they had nothing to do with him.

There was a shift in the crowd, and he abruptly shifted his attention back. Focus, stupid. There, on the side up against a building, a small group of people gathered around… some sort of game?

He sidled up to watch, observing a sort of guessing gambling game. A ball was put under one of three cups, then the cups were mixed and the player had to guess which one it was under. More players were failing than seemed statistically likely. He lingered in the back for a bit, watching.

“Idiots. All these games are scams.”

He turned towards the grumbling person next to him, who seemed to take his vague attention as some sort of question.

“Everyone thinks they’ll be the one to beat the trick and win big. Then they lose all their money. Idiots.”

N-8 let his attention drift back towards the game. It didn’t seem that hard, but he supposed that was the trick. It wasn’t like he had money to use on it anyways. At any rate, he was wasting time. He pushed his way out of the crowd. Back to the plan.

The day was pretty much a failure, after that. He thinks he must have walked out of the only place in the city dumb enough to hire him. He only found one other place with a sign out (that he could actually read, at least), but they seemed to have higher standards than any old schmuck off the street. He tried to convince them he definitely had the experience they were looking for, but was cut off when a soldier came in from the street, looking for something. He slipped out as soon as he could. Maybe that kind of job was a bad idea after all.

It would be easier if he had any other way to search. Now that he knew it was needed he didn’t mind lying if he could just find the right person to lie to, but he didn’t know how to find anyone like that- he didn’t exactly know anyone on this planet that could help him network. He didn’t know anyone at all.

Eventually he trudged around until he found another empty alley, and settled in for the night. He didn’t go into standby, but still felt startled when the sun rose. It felt like his head was stuffed with red, but he couldn’t grasp why.

It’s not like it mattered, anyway. Up and at ‘em. You have to make this work.

It did not work. The paltry few places he found would all have him interacting with the public, and thus far more people that might be familiar with battle droids than was to his liking. It got to the point where he was ready to give up, and find some position that just required him to hold a gun. Not ideal, but it was getting late. And he only had so many days before he needed to recharge. Grimly, he found a place that looked seedy enough and asked around on where he might find work. Someone gave him directions to a job board elsewhere, and he set off.

The sun was already setting when he left, which felt fitting. He didn’t expect it to be easy for him, but he didn’t see why it had to be so hard. As he scanned the area he noticed a disturbance in the crowd again, spotting a woman fielding the cup game from before. He hesitated a moment, but… if he could buy himself time he might be able to avoid the job board. He started making his way through the throng, waiting until he brushed past someone with wide pockets. He slipped a hand in, and was graced with some credits. He needed them more. He shoved his hand back into his own pocket, keeping his fist tightly around them.

He hovered in the spectators around the game for a while. He wasn’t sure what the protocol was, exactly, for joining it, but he must’ve had the right hesitant air about him because after ending a game the woman running it pointed at him.

“C’mon helmet, wanna play?” she grinned.

He stepped forward, hand still tight in his pocket. “How much is it?”

“Tell you what,” she said. “I’ll let you have a practice round. I’ll even give you enough to cover half a proper one if you win.”

He’d seen the person yesterday do this. She’d raise the amount as they went, after getting him overconfident, or desperate, whichever it came to. That worked for him.

He sat down, watching as she shifted the cups around. He pointed to the one with the ball at the end, and she lifted the cup with an exaggerated gasp.

“Nice play, helmet!” She pulled out a credit, and pushed it towards him, before stopping with her finger still on it, and winking. “Think you can do that with real stakes?”

In response, N-8 finally pulled his hand out of his pocket, luckily finding the right credit to match hers and placing it down. She grinned, and started a new game, hands flying much faster this time.

It wasn’t that hard, really, if you knew the trick. He switched to his infrared vision, watching as the orange prints from her fingers slowly faded from the cup she first held after she began to shuffle. But during a pass he caught another glimpse, round and red, as the ball switched cups. Oh. That was the trick.

He pointed to the right cup after she stopped, and she looked surprised, but still unconcerned.

“Nice guess,” she said, sliding more credits across the table. “You want to go again? The winnings only get higher.”

He pulled out more credits, adding even more onto the pile, and she grinned, teeth sharp.

Her mouth fell when he once again pointed to the correct cup.

After faltering for just a moment, she plastered her showy smile back on. “You see folks, anyone can be a winner! Just takes some luck! With skill like that I’m sure you want to play again.”

N-8 just shook his head. She was already glancing at him like she suspected a trick. He was quickly trying to get all the money into the deeper folds of his cloak when she grabbed his hand, leaning in with something dark in her eyes.

“If you truly think your ‘luck’ can carry you, go down to May’s Walk tonight. I’ll see how you fare in a real game.”

In a blink she’d released him, beaming again to the crowd. He hurried away, and didn’t look back.

The credits didn’t get him very far. Energy, it turned out, was a pretty penny out here, especially if you needed both to go out to get it and privacy while you used it. He was recharged, but he didn’t think he’d be able to do so again with what he had now. It didn’t help that as a couple of days passed by, so did changes in the weather. He didn’t want to spend another night in the rain, not built like he was. Rent wasn’t exactly going to be covered by the leftovers of his roadside winnings though. He needed to suck it up, and either brave the public facing job or just find someone who’d pay him for being tall and holding a gun and hopefully not much more than that.

He could suck it up, or he could take a risk.

He went back to the place where he’d found out about the merc job board (even if he didn’t use the previous help, it seemed like a place with the right crowd), asking around with a new question this time. That night he made his way down to a concerningly empty part of the city, counting doors down the street until he decided he'd found the right one. He knocked, and a window in it slid open.

“What do you want?”

“Is May home?” N-8 asked, enunciating carefully.

The window slid closed, followed a moment later by the door swinging open and inwards. N-8 stepped forward to find a dark set of stairs. The bouncer gestured him forward, and he descended downwards.

There were several tables in a dimly lit space. He disliked the cramped atmosphere, with people running into him. It was hard to see him, but that made it harder to see others. Heat only gave you so much, leaving out important details like anyone that wasn’t endothermic, or what uniform they wore. Not that anyone there was likely to be very committed to their outside duties during their stay.

N-8 passed by several games, realizing with a sinking feeling he didn’t actually know how to play- well- anything. He resigned himself to observing for a while, taking the chance to learn something that would hopefully be easy enough for him to rig but also have a big payout. Unfortunately for him, he’d already been spotted.

He internalized a wince as he watched the woman from the cup game waltz up to him. “Took your time, didn’t you, helmet?”

He looked out over the sea of games. She wanted the chance to wreck him and he was at a disadvantage. But maybe he could use that.

“I don’t know any of these games.”

She looked taken aback. “Not even spoker? Chance cubes?”

“Well I’ve heard of them,” he said, imbuing his voice with as much dumbass-sounding confidence as he could muster. “So surely they can’t be too hard.”

Her pointy smile was back. “I’m sure. Why don't we test that theory out?”

Chance cubes, he learns, can be used for many games. He wishes he’d been built for even the slightest bit of computations. It would make the whole thing much easier. Even as the woman tip-toesed around spelling it out as she teached him, though, he could tell the point of the game was to favor the house. Which was unfortunate, given she apparently worked there.

He lost a good couple games, still breaking about even but with enough awareness to know this wasn’t going to go well for him. That was fine. He’d already figured out how he was going to make this work for him. The person sitting next to him at the table was dressed very, very well. And at their feet was a just-as-nice looking briefcase.

N-8 kept playing- tilting his head in confusion at new rules and loudly proclaiming his confidence in turning it around. He was losing more and more money, but that was fine. As each round passed, he used his foot to pull at the briefcase under the table, sliding it further and further away from the rich gambler. Getting it close to the perfect position to secure his fortune until-

“Karabast!”

The gambler finally looked down, noting their loss with shock and fury.

The woman running the table, for her part, reacted quickly, immediately deciding N-8 was to blame, for no reason whatsoever. She jumped up, swearing and leaning across the table towards him. This was unfortunate for her, because as she did so she fell over the briefcase located at her own feet.

N-8 shook his head as the pair broke into a fight. A dealer stealing from people at her own table. Shameful.

The two were drawing more attention as they fought, devolving from yells to fists as they drew a crowd. He sidled away from them, worried she might still drag him in and distrustful of the crowd, but it was still good for him as it meant no one was looking in his direction as he slipped behind the table himself. Goodness, someone left a briefcase back there! And a hefty pile of credits too. He should take those with him. For safekeeping.

The bouncer from the front had run back at some point to separate the combatants. Ah well, time to go.

In a last moment of impulse he swiped the chance cubes from the table, before hurrying, as low key as possible, to the stairs, hearing one last screech before he slipped out into the night. He didn't run, because he wasn’t stupid, but he still sped quickly from the area, twisting through different streets until he settled in a corner where he couldn’t be found. Only then did he start cataloguing his spoils from the night.

Oh goodness. That was more credits than he thought it was. Someone was getting fired tonight.

Not that he felt very bad about that. He had no illusions that she planned on robbing him blind, or, if he had been particularly lucky, making sure he still learned his lesson on what she certainly knew was cheating. The world was built around fighting. He was determined to be the one that survived.

He then turned his attention to the briefcase. It was mostly filled with papers, and bagged flakes of plants. Maybe the gambler was in the culinary business? N-8 couldn’t actually read the language the documents were written in, so he wasn’t sure. The bag’s contents had to be valuable though, if he could just find the right place to sell it off.

He considered whether it would be worth it to go back to the same place where he’d heard about the illicit job board again. It would put him in the same general vicinity as where he’d first run into the cup game. Plus, he was pretty sure that bars only tended to put up with so much use of their space without actually buying anything. But the longer he held onto this thing the more dangerous it felt, and he didn’t want to risk anyone coming after him. This was a check that needed to be cashed as soon as possible.

The better part of an hour later he was sidling through the establishment’s front doors, attempting to avoid the gaze of the bartenders as he tried to scan the area. He didn’t exactly have the background required, yet, for figuring out who might be good to go up to. His eyes finally settled on one of the people that had sent him towards a job in the first place (a “Bith” he thinks, if that wasn’t xyr name), and, figuring xe probably had connections, wandered up to xem.

Luckily the(?) Bith seemed to assume, when he explained he had something to sell, that it was something from a job xe had sent him towards, and didn’t ask further questions. On the other hand, xe insisted N-8 buy xem a drink before xe would talk business.

At least that settled his bartender worry.

After he slid the glass across the table, Bith (the Bith? He was struggling) gave him a nod, and he pulled out the case, sliding it over before cracking it open. TheBith looked in, eyelids raising at the plant bags, then further and further as xe scanned the documents.

It occurred to N-8 that if TheBith tried to just take the thing and run, he wouldn’t be able to do a thing about it. He tightened his grip on the case’s sides.

“Do you understand what you have here?”

“Of course I do.” He didn’t have a single fucking clue. “So don’t think about trying to undersell me.”

TheBith glanced down, then back up.

“8,000 credits.”

He stared at xem. Xe glanced again.

“Of course, just starting low. 10,000 should be fine.”

“15,000 credits.”

TheBiff scoffed. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

He stayed silent.

“You can't be serious. I’m not paying that.”

N-8 thought for a second, before shrugging. Gambling had worked out for him so far. He pulled the case back towards him, starting to shut the lid, when a hand shot out.

“I can give you 13,500.”

N-8 tipped his head to the side, a facsimile of how some organics smiled, ignoring how the helmet rattled on his head.

“That’s a deal!”

TheBith sighed in relief for a second, before reaching into xyr pocket, and pulling out some kind of pad.

“I can transfer the money right into your account before you hand it over, of course.”

N-8 stared. “I don’t have one of those.”

“A credit pad? That’s fine, give me the account number and I’ll-”

“An account,” he interrupted.

“What?”

“I don’t have an account.”

TheBith stared at him. “For… credits? What currency do you-”

“For money. At all.”

TheBith opened xyr mouth. N-8 shifted, unclear on what was happening. TheBith closed xyr mouth.

“Alright.” Xe said. “Alright. We’re going to the bank.”

TheBith led N-8 out of the bar, leading the way down winding streets. It occurred to N-8 he was potentially handing himself over to be kidnapped. Or worse.

“Is this something I could just wait for you to get back wi-”

TheBith gave him the most exasperated look N-8 had ever seen, and he used to work with people that worked with B1s.

“You’re not leaving my sight.”

Well. Alright then.

They finally came to a stop outside a nice looking building that, to N-8s relief, did seem to actually be a ‘bank’.

“Do you have an ID on you?”

He probably had some sort of identification attached to him, now that he thought of it. He should probably get rid of that. TheBith managed to somehow look even more tired than before as he didn’t respond.

“Just. Just wait in here, okay?”

Xe gestured to a place advertising food for “pets” as well as containment bins of many kinds. Confusing, but he went in regardless. As he stared at various displays of creatures all labeled as “pet” but surely could not be the same species, he wondered if this is how questionably legal deals tended to normally go.

There was a ring at the door, and TheBith entered, arms filled with small boxes of credits, before dragging him deep into the back of the shop nestled between bags of feed and what he was certain was a bird. It was very loud.

“Let’s just get this over with quickly, alright?” said TheBith, glancing around before dumping xyr boxes into his lap.

N-8 nodded, quickly opening the briefcase, taking the contents in handfuls and passing them to TheBiff.

“Whatareyoudoingjustpassmethecase,” xe hissed.

N-8 looked at xyr incredulously. “I sold you the contents, not the case.”

“Who cares about the case??”

“How else do you expect me to carry all this money?”

“Stars alive, just fucking hurry.”

He didn’t understand why xe was acting like he was the one being unreasonable here.

Finally, they settled out who was taking what, and in what, all without anyone wandering into the aisle they were in. TheBiff gave him a small wave, before rushing away from his general vicinity, and he was left alone, thousands of credits in hand, to figure out what to do next.

There were a lot of options here. Literally overnight his situation had improved more than he thought was possible. With this amount of money he could get papers, a better helmet, maybe even a place to stay with it. But first, he had a main priority, and he hauled himself out to the streets to hurry to a place burning bright in his mind.

N-8 walked into a space bus station, briefcase in hand. He was getting off this fucking planet.

#my art #my writing #N-8 #< my starwars5e character #tw death #tw drug mention #tw gambling #none of these are that bad #heyyyyyyyyy guys #some part of me feels tempted to apologize but I suspect that would get me yelled at #I was trying to decide if I'd show this or not but I've gone off about it here so much I figured I might as well #none of this is anything not already established about him I just colored in the lines a little #the most important thing to realize about the last part is no matter the medium he is a ttrpg character played by someone that likes bits #he’s also currently a baby #'sgwr where's the grindr'#well you see #this got out of hand (long) and I didn't reach the grindr #there might be further parts I'm just not making promises because the hyperfocus is waning now but! we'll see

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