Bespin captured beauty, grace and eloquence. It's lone remote city was a place of diversity and unique, oblique elements. An interweave of wealth and scum keep the floating metropolis at a stark contrast. Nothing across the Outer or Inner Rims could align itself in romantic distinction. The grand luxury of the clouds supported the claims above, but the dark pink stained as the levels trailed deeper into the depths of turmoil.

Rich groupings coil at the concept of meddling with such delinquents below. The hierarchy of the planet scowed into the very essence of Bespin, supplying promotion of classicism throughout the world. Everyone was envelop in the sickened endeavors. Even tourist were subjected to the behavior. None did it purposely, it just came natural. It was just the way things ran, it was culture.

Some frowned, meanwhile others smiled. Elijawn was simply fine. The young pirate took his mind to other indulges since his arrival on that faithful day. A month had passed, and since his Gungan mentor did not give him a comm. or visit. The operation had been disbanded for the Gungan's own ventures, so that he could bring him a long shortly there after. Time swallowed the hope whole, supplying the near-human adoloscent with a focus elsewhere.

Cloud City, a metropolis of a diverse array carried a substantial amount of possibilities. Over the month the spacer successor had been pasted to the floor amidst the heavens abound. In the triumphant wheeze of the winds, channeling through from windows, he watched and observed. Artistry fester in his mind, but so did many other things. Contemplation was a poison without an antidote, and with the bustle of the metropolis, he managed to stand out.

There was no specific job to employee him, so he simply thought. A clarity occurred occasionally, but much of it was a salvage in the desert of his soul. He searched for himself, with only a spare experiences in his memory bank allowing shards of a mirror to scrutinize. No one in the chaos of the moving, luxurious city could provide a reflection to his growing pains. The men and women of Bespin were a people of life, that did not think, and only moved.

Pleasure took to the strings, and puppet-ed the people about. In the bounds of feet, chase and haste, Elijawn stood motionless. The youthful honey orbs of his stare in the sheer atrocity of civilization. People had advanced too far, too much, and forgot their soul behind. Clothes and other classically extravagant clothes draped the citizens,while some were attire in rags and forgotten garments. Even the corridors, walkways and streets drew a stylish division.

Despite it all, Elijawn was poor. There was not much more than a credit here and there for him to pinch at, and most of his time was occupied with street working. Trade sent him from the Administrative quarters to the landing bays of Port Town. All the facets of glory that the spacer had gather lead him astray in a world of merchandise. Treasures had been taken away at a bargain, while only a few straggling items remained in his shelter down in the Factory levels.

Another day at the job, and it was time for him to clock in. Esric had become his name around here, just as it was with Raurn, and it was a nice idenity to switch to when at labor. There were a few things he needed to take out of the bank before he started saling though, so he drifted off toward the closest antique shop. Certainly there they would have the required goods for him to sale about Port Town.

Smugglers didn't commonly drift up levels. Sticking to familiar grounds just was smart.