“You’re fired! I never want to see your sorry ass in here again,” the angry Bothan shouted at the lanky Balosar standing in front of his immaculate durastreel-effect desk. “I just can’t have people like you working for me, Ramani,” Felo’net continued. “I need reliable people. People who get results. I know, I know. You do get results, but it's all the bloody trouble you get yourself into in the process. Is it true what my sources say about the Twi’lek escort and the drunken bet? And about hiring that man to splash paint on the dutchess just to create a diversion? I don't need this kind of trouble. Get out of here before I shoot you.”
Other employees of the angry Bothan, the head of a small security firm many suspected of having close ties with the Bothan Spy Network, would have packed their stuff and been escorted out of the office by security goons. But Ramani Fenn was not other people.
Twenty minutes after being fired for the sixth time by his boss for hardly any reason what so ever, he was back on the payroll (had he ever left?). He did get a bit of suspension without pay but that was why he moonlighted to get a little extra cash anyway. They would never fire him. They needed people like Ramani Fenn. And there were no other people like Remani Fenn. Only the real thing was good enough.
Feeling rather pleased with himself, Ramani headed back to the little hole in the wall he called his apartment, snatched a death stick from his stash and snapped the end off, lighting it up. Sucking on the mild narcotic, an import from his homeworld of Balosar, his mood improved even further. He could use a few days of RnR.
Ramani Fen was one of the endless supply of disillusioned young people produced by the poverty, pollution and lack of an education system on the planet Balosar. His parents were poor and got what little money they could from harvesting balo-mushrooms and working in the factories extracting the narcotic used to produce death sticks from the mushrooms.
With both his parents working long hours, and his older siblings being more interested in other things than to keep their little brother out of trouble, Ramani was only seven when he started running errands for a local gang. As he grew older he started peddling narcotics. He was never much of a fighter, but was known for his silver tongue and his ability to talk himself out of mostly any situation.
As was common with young gang-members who display any noteworthy talent, Ramani eventually got noticed by more powerful people. As a result, he moved up in the world, soon having more income in a month than his parents had in years. He was generous with his credits, getting his parents a better home, and paying for private education for his younger sister, Emeny.
Ramani became a great fixer, able to negotiate deals and act as an envoy for his bosses on an ever expanding scale. In the end he had started negotiating deals for the sale of death sticks to off-worlders, working directly for Tero the Fist, a mid-level operative in the Black Sun.
For a while, life was good. Ramani paid for his sister’s education in full, bought his parents a shiny speeder and owned homes on Balosar, Coruscant and Corellia. But then it all came to a bloody end. Ramani was off-world when it happened, and only heard the stories after the fact, but he understood that an Imperial task force had been assembled to tackle the Black Sun. The operation Ramani had been part of on Balosar was exposed by raiding offices on other worlds, and soon after the Imperials arrived at Balosar and cleaned house.
Ramani took what funds he had left and ran. He didn’t know if he was a wanted being or not at first, but found out soon enough that he was too small a fish to be caught in that net. He had a sizable stash of credits with him, and for a while he was able to maintain his habit of spice-taking and spending in casinos and on women that he had become accustomed to.
When the credits started to dry out Ramani tried to get some work for associates of his former bosses, linked to the Black Sun, but was told he had a black mark for being conveniently off-world when the raid took place. In the end he had to borrow credits from a local loan-shark, connected to the Black Sun, to maintain his expensive lifestyle. He rationalized it to himself by saying that he needed to live like this to get a suitable job and maintain his connections, but in reality it was the spice he was addicted to that cost him the most.
And when the credit line from the loan-shark stopped, so did the lifestyle. And in short order he lost everything. His friends, his limited income, his single remaining home on Coruscant and his lovely red airspeeder. And he still owed a lot of credits.
This was when he met Felo’net. A clever Bothan who needed information about the Black Sun. Information Ramani didn’t have. So the Bothan gave him a job. It was only temporary. But when Ramani impressed Felo’net with his ability to get information from people who really shouldn’t be telling him secrets, the Bothan offered him a job, on the condition that Ramani got clean and sober. He had to stop taking spice. Only by bargaining extra hard was he allowed to continue using his beloved death sticks. They had always been his drug of choice.
Ramani continued working for the Bothan for several months. He usually got results. That was good for the company. But there were always so many complications. Collateral damage here, angry husbands there. So when a friend of the Bothan’s needed an operative with Ramani’s skillset, Felo’net took the opportunity and let Ramani go. He would get a large favor in return and would be spared all the endless complications Ramani tended to bring home after each mission.
Unfortunately, Ramani found that he didn't like the change. The new organization, another privater firm, worked mostly for mercenary companies providing intelligence for black operations. Operations where people died for no reason and cities got firebombed to conceal evidence. At the earliest convenient moment Ramani quit.
He planned the whole thing, making a mess of couple of missions, enough to make his boss feel the Balosar was more trouble than he was worth. And so, Ramani is, for the first time in his short life, an independent being looking for gainful employment or an opportunity to get rich quick, hardly any questions asked.
Ramani is very interested in credits. He got used to a rather luxurious lifestyle and wouldn't mind terribly going back to the life of penthouse parties with pretty girls in skimpy clothing on Coruscant and Corellia. He is not titillated by low sums, but anything substantial will get his full attention.
Specific Relationship: Sister
Ramani has several older siblings he couldn't care less about, and he feels he's done all he can for his parents. Only his younger sister, Emeny, has a special place in his heart. He payed for her education up front, in cash, with one of the finer education programs on Coruscant. The fees covered her education from her 10th year until she had finished a post-graduate degree. He has been careful not to contact her, so as not to bring the filth that is part of his life to her, but occasionally gets a holo from her telling him about life in the university.
Addiction (Death Sticks) - 5
Like so many Balosar, Ramani has tried most types of spice he can get his hands on. His spice of choice has always been Death Sticks. Sweet, hallucinogenic Death Sticks.
Debt - 10
Back in the day when Ramani's spice habit was out of control he borrowed credits from people he probably shouldn't have. He owes a loan-shark with connections to the Black Sun a substantial amount of credits. He has been careful for the past years to stay far away from his creditor.
Ramani Rann is tall for a Balosar at 172 cm, but is rather lanky and nonathletic. He has sandy skin and brown hair which he currently wears in a dreadlock-style. He tends to wear spacer-cargo-pants and a synth-leather coat, hiding his blaster pistol in a holster under his left arm. The holdout blaster is hidden in a holster on his right ankle.