"What do you mean, your insurance doesn't cover it?"

A gabbled reply came from the whatever-it-was on the other end of the comlink channel, and Amos swore loudly. With a snarl, he ripped the earpiece from his head and hurled it across the cockpit, sending it clattering noisily along the deck plates. Remarkably the device survived, and the channel remained open, the voice still talking away to no one. Amos didn't care. Bastard shipping company. Bastard red tape. Three of the twelve bottles of Corellian Brandy he'd picked up at the Cloud City market for resale off-planet were currently soaking into the superstructure of the former mining outpost because some brainless moron had dropped the shipping container. So help him: he wanted his money back.

At least nine were still left, he supposed with a heartfelt sigh, ceasing the continual pacing that had kept his legs occupied for the last hour, and wandered out into the landing bay itself in search of purpose. It was probably wise to get the remains of his cargo safely stowed on the ship, before more idiocy among the Cloud City personnel ate further into his expected profits.

Things seemed eerily quiet as he left the ship. His passenger was - well, he didn't really know where his passenger was, but frankly he didn't really care right now. He'd fulfilled his contract in delivering the guy to Cloud City, and his credit count was a little higher because of it. All in all, not a bad day, as things go. There was another notable absense as well. He frowned as he stepped out into the slightly brighter lights of the landing bay. "Where the hell is that droid?"

Surprisingly, the droid was waiting patiently beside the damaged cargo container. While Trip wasn't exactly designed for heavy lifting, the fact that he had positioned himself somewhere not just out of the way but also in a theoretically helpful place seemed strangely uncharacteristic for the annoying hunk of metal.

His fingers scratched at the nest of a beard that descende from his chin. The droid didn't seem to be alone, either: a young boy seemed to be with him, standing a little too close for his presense there to be entirely cooincidental. Probably some kid passenger from one of the ships landed in a neighbouring bay, snooping around to keep himself entertained while his parents got on with other things.

Amos frowned, not really in the mood to be dealing with small children right now. He drew to a halt on the far side of the brandy pond, and folded his arms across his chest. His voice was a mix of stern and growling. "Can I help you, kid?"