Chalmun's Cantina

"Ha!" Chortled Tarfang, slapping his knee. He turned and looked at the man beside him. "See now that would be a decent joke." He jerked a furry thumb over his shoulder at the corpse getting dragged out the doors by a couple of the bouncers. "That fella back there had no sense of humour. He thinks...well, he thought, that he could take cheap shots at wookiees for the sake of a punchline. Rude, I says. It's not their fault they're ugly. Plus I got one in the family and my sister Kneesa would never forgive me if I just let it go."

The barkeep slid the ewok captain a thin stemmed glass full of orangish brown liquid. Tarfang took the drink and raised it to the gentlemen beside him who had introduced himself as Fel and was kind enough to spot the first of what would probably be many glasses. "Cap'n Tarfang, at your service. I just stopped by to gather a few more unsavory characters for my crew before heading to the Inner Rim for the only sort of work suited for a wok of my..." He eyed Fel up and down, noting he was in the company of another soul weathered by time and likely a fair amount of sorrow....or rather, our, advanced age. Revenge."

He chuckled mirthfully after that last part, before taking a sip of his drink and then grimacing. "Eck. And uh, Fel, was it? What brings a hard on his luck amateur comedian to these parts? I know it's not for this reactor coolant they serve as booze. They must be letting the banthas take a piss in the barrel before serving it to the customers." He made sure to say that last part loud enough for the bartender to hear.

The surly ewok took another sip, cringing but forcing down a mouthful. Actually it was starting to grow on him a bit. Ya know, like a fungus. "In my experience crews are a lot like fleas. Best not to get too attached because the next time you scratch, they've already moved on to the next 'wok." Just talking about it caused Tarfang to scratch at his rump. "Take mine for example, left me high and dry for some pig named Bacon. The way I hears it he's not a bad lad, but still, stings a bit."

Just then an idea hit him.

"Pilot, eh?" He said, rubbing his furry chin. "Just so happens I'm in need of one, at least temporarily. For that bit of revenge I spoke of I need to get to Zeltros. Thing is, small as I am it is a bit hard to be discreet when you're an ewok of my disposition. The fella I'm planning on doing in is gunna be looking for me, I'm sure of it. But, I don't see no reason why he'd be looking for you or your rig. Maybe we can work something out. You get me to Zeltros, along with a small suitcase, I'll pay ya handsomely. Spice or credits, your choice. Maybe a bit of both if ya like to party."

These days, it was quite rare to see a Mandalorian on Tatooine - those who remained were often considered to be dar'manda, or unofficially exiled; needless to say, they were easy to spot as they more often than not wore mismatching armor sets. That was what made the Mandalorian who walked into Chalmun's Cantina stand out. Walking into the cantina with slow, deliberate steps, the Mandalorian looked beyond out of place - to the point here many patrons took pause from drinking and talking to stare at him. Ironically, that was a better welcome than he would have received had he come in without the beskar'gam. The Mandalorian was taller than most, and clearly muscular beneath his armor - which was a rather abnormal to see among their ranks.

The armor was polished white, with accents of red. Bulkier and more angular than traditional beskar'gam, the only thing that truly gave away the nature of the armor was the iconic T-visor on his helmet. He wore a lose white shawl with a hood that was drawn over the back of his head. The armor looked high-tech, almost foreign, which added to its menace. After a few moments, the patrons returned to their drinks. The Mandalorian slowly made his way to a less crowded section of the bar, laying down some currency which caught the attention of the barkeep. He approached the mandalorian with caution.

=Barkeep=
"Uh, what can I get ya?"

=Mandalorian=
"A bottle of something large, and strong."

The barkeep may have been annoyed had someone else put in such a vague order, but few were so callous to mess with a Mandalorian, especially one as heavily armed as he was. As the barkeep walked into the storage room to get the bottle, the Mandalorian pulled a data pad and layed it on the bar, waiting patiently for the man to return. After a few moments, he returned, handing a bottle of alarmingly luminescent neon pink to the Mandalorian. If the color bothered the Mando, he did not express it. Instead, he took the bottle, then tapped on the data pad in front of him to draw his attention to it. On the datapad was a wanted broadcast from the holonet, showing a picture of none other than the gentleman who was in the back room. The barkeep paused for a few seconds too long, before stammering.

=Barkeep=
"Oh, uh. Whose that then? Friend of yours? You look a bit too polished to be a bounty hunter."

The Mandalorian remained silent, though he did tap the datapad once more, clearly conveying that he was not satisfied with the bar keeps response. The bar keep broke out in a visible sweat, taking a step back from the bar.

=Barkeep=
"Hey, look. I don't want any trouble, but I don't know anything about the guy in that picture. I am new to this place, so I don't exactly remember faces unless they owe me money. Maybe you can try the guild - they might have better intel for ya."

=Mandalorian=
"I don't need the guilds intel. Pay someone enough, and they will tell you what you need to hear. Someone says that this man frequents your establishment. I am not here looking to collect - I would just like to speak to him about something."

It was a bluff of course, the Mandalorian had used far less...savory...methods to acquire the information regarding Arkan's where abouts - but he did not want to start a bar fight, as it would draw unwanted attention. Much to his chagrin, he would have to charm his way if he wanted to achieve his goal. The thought alone annoyed the Mandalorian, as he preferred the direct approach of brute force in most scenarios. Things were simpler like that. He removed his hand from the datapad, leaving it on the bar.

=Mandalorian=
"Let him know I will make it worth his while."

Malakaii watched the barkeep disappear in silence, only to be interrupted by Ve'lur. This could easily turn into a 'wrong place, wrong time' scenario -  the Mandalorian did not like to be interrupted whilst doing business, yet Ve'lur, being an Aqualish on Tatooine, probably had a knack for stepping into poodoo too big for his boots. He sat in silence as Ve'lur asked his questions, looking at the bottle of luminescent pink liquid in front of him. Then he tilted his head towards the Aqualish, looking at his holster, before turning his head back forward. He spoke, in his usual slow and deep cadence.

"Cute gun."

That was all he said; he was not going to answer the strangers questions - his questions already revealed all that he needed to know. He was a friend, or more likely, an employee of Arkan. After a few moments of allowing the silence to linger in the air, Malakaii turned his head to face Ve'lur, then looked towards one of the security cameras in the Cantina, then back at Ve'lur.

"Why don't you be a good boy and smile for the camera?"

The last four words of the sentence came out in a voice that was not his own - it was discordant, like an echo of an echo. Suddenly Ve'lur leaned away from the bar, and turned towards the security camera - while Aqualish cannot smile, per say, his face conveyed their species equivalent. All the while, Malakaii did not move from his seat, simply keeping his head facing forward - but the speaker on Ve'lur's person could pick up the words he said.

"Now put that cute gun to your head..."

As though commanded as a puppet on strings, Ve'lur unholstered his RSKF-44 and pressed the barrel against his temple. There was a notable whine as the blaster primed itself when the safety was deactivated. This caught everyone in the Cantina's attention. While citizens of Tatooine were accustomed to seeing strange things, this was too much for them. First an ACTUAL Mandalorian walked into the cantina, now there is a crazy Aquilish that is going to blow his brains out after speaking to said Mandalorian? Even the most hardened of drinkers knew when it was time to leave - some fights were just not fun to watch.

Within seconds, the entire cantina had left, leaving only Malakaii, Ve'lur, and the men in the backroom. The aqualish did not pull the trigger, but instead stood, facing the camera, with the blaster to his head. It was Malakaii who moved, rotating to face the camera himself. His expression was impossible to read behind his helmet, though his body seemed rather relaxed given the circumstances. He spoke out once more - his voice had returned to its usual cadence.

"Well, I trust I have your attention now. No audience, just you and me. Come out, I just want to talk - I would hate to sully these walls with the brains of your compatriot."

A wry smirk crept over the Mandalorian's lips - not that anyone could see it beneath his helmet. All they could see was the armored man, and the Aqualish pressing the blaster to his temple. The irony of the situation was not lost on him; it had turned into a negotiation, an activity that Malakaii was keen on, however he admired Arkan's courage, given that he had seen what Malakaii was capable of. The Manalorian looked towards Vel'ur for a few moments, relishing in the panic radiating from the aqualish. While the Mandalorian held the leverage, he saw fit to humor the pirate - mostly out of curiosity.

"Put down the gun and slide it across the room, along with any other weapons you might be hiding, then run off to your master."

His voice was discordant again - this was not a request, but the power of the force compelling his body to respond at the behest of Malakaii. It was an extremely unpleasant experience - after all, this was not the jedi mind trick that many knew, but rather another technique known to those who walked the darker paths of the force. The aqualish would grunt in pain, should he attempt to resist, but the will of the man in Besk'ar was as strong as the armor he wore, and Vel'ur would find himself casting aside his weapons and turning to the door. Then he was suddenly released from the invisible grasp. At this point, any further actions were on his own accord. Malakaii had agreed with that condition.

"You had better move fast, before I change my mind..."

The Mandalorian's voice had returned to normal - it only had the most subtle of an accent, yet there was something in its tone that suggested that he was not joking.

Turning his attention back to the security cameras, he did not reach up to remove his helmet, but rather spoke to the camera.

"I will not remove my helmet - what I look like beneath is irrelevant. Know this, my name is Malakaii, of Clan Fett; I am here on behalf of an employer who seeks to utilize your services. I am assuming you and the Blood Rage Pirates are still open to employment..."

The Mandalorian spoke no further - he was not going to divulge further information. He showed a sign of good faith in allowing Vel'ur to walk free. He did not remove his helmet, but he did identify himself and his intent. It was up to Arkan to decide whether or not to further the negotiation.

The Mandalorian not only saw the approach of Arkan, but also felt it in the force. He felt the man's pain, though they were dulled through time and the pirate lord showed no indication of feeling pain. As Arkan entered his line of sight, Malakaii, who had yet to unholster his weapons, made no movements save for the slow, languid shift of his head, turning to face the pirate lord. He nodded his head slightly, indicating a greeting towards the armed man.

"You may rest assured, had I intended anything of ill intent, you would not have known I was coming. After all, why would I walk in the front door asking after you if that were the case?"

Malakaii let off a slight chuckle, before shifting his stance. He looked towards the bottle of glowing pink liquor, then back at Arkan.

"Care for a drink?"

Without waiting for an answer, yet still moving in slow, languid movements to convey his relaxed demeanor around the pirate, he reached for two tumblers, pouring them each a fair serving of the mysterious beverage - once poured, set the tumblers onto the bar and corked the decanter and turned his attention back to Arkan. He made no move to reach for his drink - he simply poured the drinks as a gesture of open hospitality.

"My employers are a collective of various factions unified by a common goal; we wish to capture the planet of Byss from the current occupants. To do that, we need an army and fleets - and while we have both at hand, we wish to bolster our numbers. I am told that it is a service that you can provide. You would be rewarded handsomely for it in both credits and a share of any treasures we reclaim from the occupants."

At this, the Mandalorian grabbed both tumblers, offering one towards Arkan.

"I am sure I don't need to tell you that it is a risky job - but we have an intel packet that will help inform you on the enemy's strengths and weaknesses. Assuming that you are interested, that is."

Malakaii lifted his glass by way of a toast when Arkan took his tumbler. The Mandalorian watched as the Pirate Lord drank - he did not remark upon the nature of how he drank, as it was clear to him. He waited as the man expressed his concerns, diligently listening. After he spoke, there were a few seconds of silence. Then, with the same slow, deliberate movement, he set his tumbler down on the bar and reached up to his helmet, lifting it free from his head. There was a subtle hiss as cables disconnected when the helmet came loose. He sat the helmet directly next to his tumbler, then reached for the glass, and took a full swig, though his eyes remained locked on Arkan.

His eyes were probably the most notable of his features, as they were a unique shade of pale blue, and had an intensity that conveyed more than any weapon or armor could. The man was older, appearing to be in his mid, to late 40s. With a square jaw, and a nose that looked as though it had been broken one too many times, he was not handsome. His hair was silver, though given how thick and vibrant it was, it was obviously not from age. Upon that same square jaw were sharp, blade like tattoos that made his lower jaw appear to be the jagged maw of some ancient evil beast. To those who knew, these were clearly Sith tattoos. The man blinked once, then reached over to the bottle of that strange pink drink, pouring himself another glass, before offering the bottle to Arkan.

Even without the helmet, the mans voice had a deep gravitas about it when he spoke.

"I am no stranger to the Deep Core - it was my home long before the First Order stole it from me...I know ways into it that they would never expect - rest assured, I can guarantee your fleet safe passage. As for who we are, forgive my initial deception. My name is Darth Nexus, a lord from factions that have been long since forgotten. With me are fellow lords of the Dark Tide, as well as the Mandalorian clan of Australis."

He paused, taking a sip from his glass; his eyes remained locked onto Arkan, waiting for his reaction before continuing.

"We have a plan of approach that I will fully disclose to you once we are in a secured area...We may continue discussing it there."

The Dark Lord nodded as the Pirate Lord responded. Upon releasing the bottle, he replaced his helmet - while Arkan needed assurance, the rest of the galaxy did not need to know of his return. With a whine and hiss, the helmet re-pressurized. Malakaii (or rather, Nexus) looked around the bar, scanning with his HUD while also reaching out with the force. He sensed the Pirates men, but no one else. Even so, he was weary to talk business in such an exposed position.

"I suggest we discuss further upon your ship, for time is short and war is coming."

And with that, the Dark Lord, clad as a Mandalorian straightened himself from his casual position to stand at his full height, and made his way to the front door. He and the Pirate would discuss details, strategy and pay on the safety of Arkan's ship, not granting any unwanted ears privy to their plans.