Rytthik flinched at the first crack of gunfire. He hadn't said a word since reaching the platform, standing in silence in the pouring rain for the best part of an hour now. He had brought a jacket with a thin hood to protect him from the acid rain, but with every passing minute he was growing increasingly concerned that it would be burning into his scalp in the very near future. The air smelt rotten, as it always did on this cursed little slimehole of a moon, and the rising mists from the rainfall were so thick they threatened to choke him. He was eager to get on board their ship, an ugly and beaten looking thing with 'The Bounty' painted on the side of its hull. The second he heard the shot Rytthik knew it was about to get messy, and he was proved right when Mus Rosh, their crimson-skinned leader, dragged a screaming quarren from the shack they'd been arguing in. He was bleeding from the stump of his right ankle where he foot used to be, so much so that when she finally put a second shot through his chest it was almost a mercy killing.

He wasn't sure quite what it was meant to mean. Dragging him out here in the rain, it was like she was trying to make an example of him. Was it some sort of demonstration of power? Was she trying to exercise her authority over them, to intimidate them? Why was he even questioning it, that was exactly what she was trying to do. Like she needed to do it; she already had control over enough explosives inside Rytthik's body to turn him into a puddle. Anyone who had that kind of power could ask Rytthik to do anything and there was a very good chance, depending on the day of course, that he would at least try to do it. It seemed a somewhat needless burst of violence in his eyes. Yet it seemed to work on some. Xymone, the enormous Khil, bust forward and grabbed two crates. She comfortably had at least half a foot in height on him, and god only knows how much weight. At least someone was putting themselves out there, and it wasn't Rytthik.

He followed, admittedly somewhat sluggish for a man who'd just been told if he doesn't load the ship in five minutes he'll explode. But to be honest, he was beginning to doubt if that was even a bad thing. The situation he'd found himself in was far from ideal, and now that he'd seen his life was in the hands of a Zabrak woman with an itchy trigger finger his survival chances were looking far from encouraging. Nevertheless, he grabbed a sizeable crate and wrestled it up the ramp, following Xymone into the starboard cargo bay and securing it. it was nice to be out of the rain, even for a few seconds, and he contemplated waiting and letting the others finish the work, but decided he wasn't ready to explode just yet. Instead he stepped back out, down the ramp and into the falling acid, and grabbed another crate, as well as slinging the bag personal belongings over his shoulder. After securing the second crate, he made for the crew quarters.

He still hadn't said a word to anyone since arriving, and that didn't change when he ducked into the first room on the left. Inside was strange. It smelt damp, the walls were a blank white with hardly any noticeable features. There were two hammocks in the room, and two small footlockers, which meant he would be sharing a room with someone else. He let out a defeated sigh. He hoped, at least, for his own quarters on the ship. Aside from that, the room was bare, apart from the modest layer of dust and grime that coated it. Ironically, it was making him start missing the last week he spent in a Hutt prison; their cells were marginally more comforting than the ones on this ship. He had been so glad to be rid of the place, knowing not that he would end up somewhere arguably worse. Rytthik left to look for a different room, but by now the rest of the crew were staking their claims. Cursing his luck, he turned back inside, launched his possessions onto the left hammock, and left to find the kitchen, not waiting to see who his roommate for this ordeal would be.