[right][h3]Kid - Beck's Skiff, Jundland Wastes[/h3][/right] [hr] As he sat near the stern of the skiff, the Kid had heard talk of brutal sandstorm headed their way, one that could not be avoided nor held out. And on top of the sandstorm, there were bound to others with their eyes on the prize, on the cargo Beck and his team were transporting. The danger of the job never really bothered Kid. Despite being young, he really had nothing to lose. He had gone through hell and back before Beck plucked him out of the hellholes of Tatooine. He worked hard to impress, because most of the people he looked up to were members of the crew, Beck especially. Kid wasn't sure if he seemed like a father, uncle, or even brother, but the boy cared about Beck. The man had taken Kid under his wing after all, fed him, cared for him. So in return Kid worked hard, tirelessly, in order to show his gratitude and thanks. It wasn't exactly the safest life to be pulled into, but it sure as hell beat living on the streets, drowning in sand, and stealing to survive. Weapons had been cleaned, examined, double cleaned and then triple cleaned. For something that might've been a chore for most, Kid always enjoyed sitting in silence and polishing the weapons. Functions checks were something he could do with his eyes closed, something he had done for nearly every day in the last two years. Once most of his tasks were complete, Kid moved from the back of the skiff towards the front, his personal Cycler Rifle strapped over his shoulders and hanging off his back. Many of the crew had come to respect the kid, he held up his end of the deal at least. Sure he was young, but he had proven himself capable many a time during all the jobs Beck put his crew on. "Better hold onto something Kid, wouldn't want ye to get blown of this 'ere skiff when the storm comes 'round," said an older male Weequay, Bonvo. "Heh, don' worry Bo, no storm'll get me. Besides, who's gonna save yer skin if I'm not here?" Kid joked, to which the pirate just chuckled and rolled his eyes as he resumed his watch on the horizon. As Kid got to the bow of the ship, he leaned up against the guardrail next to Beck and looked out across the wasteland as the skiff moved. Dirty goggles resting on his head, he subconsciously reached up to adjust them in his unkempt hair. "Y'know those cigarra's 'er pretty bag for ya, Beck. I heard they rot ya' lungs out eventually." Kid said, turning his head slightly as he looked up at the older man next to him.