The "boy with the abilities" was in a similar predicament himself. That being bored out of his skull. On his long meander back to the Nova he found himself become increasingly distracted, mostly by the gnawing hunger. Both literally and metaphorically. Nick chewed on the filter of his cancer stick as his stomach howled in starvation, he hadn't filched enough food from the troupe at [i]Pan'Zel Cabra[/i] to even warrant the trouble... almost. He had stolen two things while present: a multi-pass from one of the unlucky Na'greth and the genetic makeup of the same. Technically three things if you counted the beer-battered... whatever it was. Something crunchy and savory, Nick didn't ask too many questions. But it was enough to procure more. Food, resources, it didn't matter. This was his way. Start small and worm your way to the top of the heap, leapfrogging faces and credentials until you sat in a seat [i]waaaaaay[/i] outside of your paygrade. Even that didn't matter, of course. The higher echelon had granted him a blank check to enjoy what he would on landfall as incentive to keep him in check, because he knew to them he was a simple creature. A beast, something that enjoys being rewarded and remained docile as long as you feed it a steady stream of treats. Some creature that would stand on its hind legs and hop about when you told it to dance. But that was the problem. Nick was a beast alright, and they'd be stupid to think that they could control him. That was the [i]other[/i] hunger.

The shapeshifter sucked in a lungful of smoke as he could feel his skin bubble and bleed beneath his clothing. It felt as if someone had poured acid over his dermis and the man grimaced and hunched as he walked, allowing the sensation of agony to wash over him as the blood began to scab and calcify. Stoneskin, a rough exoskeletonous hide that the Na'greth had evolved to grow. It wasn't nearly as painful as what came next, as his muscle compacted with rivets of pain and his bone melted to reform thicker and squatter. He had become one of them, the poor soul who's passport he had stolen back at the restaurant and he hadn't even stopped walking. The crowd either didn't notice or didn't care, the change was gradual enough to take place over minutes and no one got a good look at him twice. Nor would they. Nick rarely took a face other than "his own" twice.

He ducked into another restaurant, this one called [i]Drakma's Buffet[/i] purely because of the B-word involved. Assuming a swaggering walk, the shapeshifter strut himself up to the counter of the vaguely multi-cultural joint.
[color=2e3192]"Fixin' ta get my hands on one of them buffet passes,"[/color] the Na'greth greeted with a jolly tone, beaming at the lanky green lass with pointed ears.
"Excellent, table for one?" she inquired. Nick nodded in affirmation, and soon was following the long-legged vixen to a single booth next to the wall. The air was ablaze with all manner of scents intoxicating. Simmered seafood, fried greens, pan-seared meat of questionable origin... Nick's mouth was salivating at the thought of it. If he played his cards right he wouldn't even need to pay at all, but for the moment he was shown his seat which he promptly vacated to grab a plate stacked two hands high with all manners of caloric sin. And went for seconds. And thirds. And beyond.

As he choked down the smorgasbord Nick began to do a very dangerous thing to anyone involved: he began to plan. Nick had been a [b]good boy[/b] for a scant few weeks, which might as well have been decades. He hadn't tried anything funny, no biting the security personnel, not even an escape attempt. Boy was [i]that[/i] about to change. The Endovans were still very much psychologically primitive, and as such he still had a prey drive. The basic need to chase and be chased, the thrill of the hunt that wasn't being fulfilled. Which was why he was about to shake things up as soon as he stepped aboard. The gears began to turn as he polished off another plate, feeling the pangs of starvation faster than he could wolf down more sustenance. He was getting looks at this point but it's not as if he cared. Nick had larger matters to attend to. More important matters. Seeds of chaos to sow.

[center]___________[/center]

Nick was back to his old self as he entered the spaceport hours later, the one instance where he needed to specifically be himself to gain access somewhere. His face was on his own passport. Pity, that. It'd be so much more engaging to fake someone else and just filch theirs than to arrive as himself, yet this was the path of least resistance. Nick patiently stood through all the scanners and monitors and gate checks as he prepared to board... and quickly got sidetracked. All part of the plan. The buzzing hub of activity was just like any other, full of diversions and activity to take advantage of. The shapeshifter made certain to hit up the shops for a few key items before attempting to board the Nova: a glass bottle of perfume from the duty free gained through subversion and clever fast-talk, a handful of exotic hair pins from the gift shop, a nice pair of shoes from the clothing pavilion, a commcorder from the tech exchange, and as many condiment packets as he could get a hold of. It wasn't much, but it'd be a start. Something more metal and spiky would help, but good luck finding that in intergalactic jurisdiction. Nick would need to make due.

The anticipation was immense as Nick prepared to board, nonchalantly walking toward the crewman and raising his arms in a non-threatening gesture.
[color=8dc73f]"Biological freak, reporting as ordered,"[/color] he joked as the two soulless homunculi approached him with a steady gait. One took his bag, the other patted him down with a rough hand on his collar, controlling his escape and momentum. As they should. The guard aboard the Nova were trained to regard Nick as a threat when alone.
"Business," the handsy one stated through a distorted filter in an aggressive tone.
[color=8dc73f]"Boss says I'm free to board the ship, we've got nothin' left here for me. You should really spend some landfall down here, there's a good steak place down on Val'culla."[/color] As the shapeshifter made small talk the other goon had apparently finished rifling through his bag, finding nothing that could be weaponized or made harmful. To an untrained eye, that is. It nodded toward the other one, which pushed Nick toward the hatch. Its partner chucked his bag behind him.

As Nick gathered his belongings he couldn't help but notice that the grunts weren't preparing for takeoff. Oh, this was [i]perfect[/i]. Nick flicked his commlink into hands-free mode once more to send out another message to his crewmates/employers/slavers.

[color=8dc73f][i]dont tell me im the first one here where is every1?[/i][/color]

The question was innocuous enough, but everything was riding on its answer. It was either going to be the perfect sendoff from this rock or a spoiled afternoon. Or a bloodbath, anything was possible. A grin began to tug at the creature's lips as Nick awaited his answer.

[hider=Details]Nick has sent a message to [@Hekazu], [@Gordian Nought], [@JBRam2002], [@Big Dread], and [@Zverda].

Nick has borrowed Stone Skin, and NPC genetic predisposition toward a tough, scabby hide resistant to physical harm by mundane means such as punches or blunt weapons.[/hider]