Some rich boy needs some fine tuning done on his bike, luckily a droid can do these sorts of repairs in the limited timeframe he wants. So SCaT takes his tools to an abandoned store and sets up a makeshift mechanics bay.

Korvin cruises up to the meeting site, looking as unconcerned as a person can about a mechanic working from an abandoned storefront. It's not like there aren't plenty of other people operating similar kinds of businesses, especially those catering to a racing crowd that isn't exactly keen on businesses that keep records that might be searchable.

"Hey there, mechanic friend," Korvin says as he eases Ruby into the temporary service bay. "Korvin Hikarrin. And you... look a little familiar," he says curiously as he dismounts. Shrugging away the thought, he says, "Lots of people look a little familiar if you stay in the reaching scene long enough, huh?"

"I'm SCaT, nice to meet you. I have a way around many different kinds of vehicles, many kinds of danger too. "

The Pantoran chuckles. "There's plenty of danger to end up around, that's for sure. Even more than before, I guess."

"So, uh, thanks for checking up on Ruby here," Korvin says, focusing on the matter at hand. "I got a race tomorrow and I just want to make sure she's ready to go, you know? Make sure everything's in, ah, optimal condition for it."

"Got that right, just set it over here and I'll have a look around."

(You want me to actually roll, or just fluff it?)

"Right on," Korvin says energetically, easing Ruby in just where SCAT requested. He then clears away for the droid to work.

"How'd you end up with racing clients if you're, uh, skilled with a range of vehicle types," he asks innocently, looking around the dilapidated space.

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OOC: He keeps it pretty well, so no roll required. Just preventive maintenance type work, making sure no competitors "mysteriously" attached some kind of problem.

"Work is work, there are only so many warships one could find on a planet. Plus my ocular sensors were built with infrabinoculars, they allow me to see all the parts at once on something as compact as a speeder bike."

Somewhat poetically, Korvin's eyes go wide at this information. Being without any technical inclination himself, he assumed infrabinocular eyes would be pretty useful, at least to people who wanted to do technical, mechanical things.

"That's cool. And you've worked on warships? Wow. So you really do get around then." After a moment of consideration he asks Scat, "What's your favorite type of vehicle to work on?"

"I would love to work on a vulture droid starfighter again if I could. Shame I couldn't keep my brain on while I was doing it though, would have been nice to have a conversation with the ship I was working on."

Korvin, knowing fairly little about how droids really operate, struggles to wrap his organic brain around this.

"Er, sure," he agrees without comprehension. "Vulture droids... So you've been around a while, huh? I mean, those have basically been inactive since the war, right?" Korvin looks thoughtful, like he's wracking his memory. "I think maybe my dad said they'd salvaged some at some point..."

"Yes, and I was the one to get them to work well enough to fly to the smelters. They said I didn't need to work on their programming, just close their fuselage and fill it with bingo fuel and head straight there. My job then was similar to what I heard a human call a 'pallbearer'. 200 corpses, and the only reason I didn't run away and find a way to fix them then was because my brain was turned off. Until the day I fell and broke my planetary comms on some cliffs."

Korvin's face shows a level of distress that, though short of "appalled," is still beyond "disturbed."

"Whoa, wait," he says, getting to gather his thoughts. "So like... Like it was your job to be like, 'Right, just go jump in that fire there'?" He leaned back against a wall of the space with a huff, shaking his head. "That's pretty trash. I mean... like I get that after its life a droid can get smelted, but..." Korvin shakes his head again, disbelieving. "But then you... Somehow you fell and broke something, so now you can think for yourself more?" It's clear that Korvin is trying to understand a topic that he's just realizing is much more complicated than he appreciated.

"Yes, blunt force trauma to droids occasionally corrupts portions of their programming. This allows for them to begin the process of questioning their prime directives. In my case, it erased the part of the program that identifies who owns me. "

Korvin looks at SCaT thoughtfully for a minute. "That's interesting," he observes, crossing his arms. "I wonder... Do you know if the trauma was intentional? Like, someone actually attacking you versus an accident?"

The young Pantoran gives no indication that he finds this conversation strange or unpleasant, and in fact seems to be listening quite intently.

"Fell out of a ship when a bit of the cockpit fell out. Most people presumed me dead, but I wasn't. "

Korvin blinks a few times as he's processing that.

"Wow," he finally says, clearly amazed. "That's really incredible luck for you. I mean, such an improbable thing to happen, plus you actually survived it. That's crazy." He shakes his head in some disbelief.

"So do you ever actually watch races or is this just a job for you? No judgement," he's quick to add, "just curious."

"Just a job, I've had enough excitement in the war for me to go seeking it in my off time. Usually I go looking around for materials or seek other people to add to my knowledge. Never know when you'll be in a tight squeeze with this frame."

"But you, my boy, seek it greatly. For what though? Surely one does not risk life and limb simply for the thrill."

The young man looks down, maybe a little embarrassed on this point. "Well, it isn't that dangerous if you're good at it," he says, a little defensive. But he transitions into a smile and a small shift in the topic: "When your parents are wealthy and everyone thinks they know you without even meeting you, you gotta have at least some way to be your own person. And most rich kids are planning for big, imperial-blessed futures, so racing speeder bikes is miles say from what they want to do." Now with a big grin he concludes, "I'm happy to be far from those people."

"Seems like a good reason, assuming you would put your parents in danger if you took on a humanitarian cause. I guess the next question would be what do you want to do once you made a name for yourself?"