Kent
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Post by Kent on Mar 31, 2015 11:08:45 GMT -8
Paleki's, Kent knew the place. Kinda a dive, but nice enough. One of the cooks had given her food before. She felt like she should follow. It wasn't like she had anything left here. Kent made her was out of the sector. Quickly she scurries off.
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Karana Malora
The Unfair Advantage
I don't believe in a no-win scenario.
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Affiliation: The Fel Crew (Unfair Advantage)
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Post by Karana Malora on Mar 31, 2015 11:49:18 GMT -8
A little game of follow-the-Aajax, and Malora and Kol arrived at the other end of the alley (finally, after like, three kriffing weeks? 01-Anyone Who Ever Said Lor Can't Post On Time, 00-Lor). The battle raged on behind them, and somewhere between dodging blaster bolts and jumping over greasy puddles of who knows what, they'd lost DrRoninMatango with the pretty blue eyes. Oh well. Something told Malora it wouldn't be the last time she'd run into him. "Okay," she heaved, a little out of breath as she knelt, taking cover behind the corner wall and casting another look down the alley to make sure they weren't followed. Mal pointed at Kol. "Next time I wanna take the 'alley way' home? Don't let me." Her blaster remained out and ready, just in case, although after seeing Aajax expertly wipe the floor with pirate face, she probably didn't need it. Speaking of Aajax… "Hey." She nodded at him. "Nice work back there. I'd ask about your training but I don't think I'd get an answer anyway." A tiny smile. She studied him for a moment, eyes sharp, trying to gauge his motives. He seemed to get prickly when humans were mentioned, but aside from that, he was hard to read. Like, really hard. Or maybe she just wasn't that good at analyzing people. …Or maybe she was a little distracted with the alley full of gangs and Force wizards and flying trash. Yeah. That was probably it. "Look, I know 'hunted down massive army of mutant creatures' sounds like a great thing to add to the resume, but… you don't wanna get caught up in this. The Jekk might not be that hard to kill, but they're impossible to track, as is Galen. Try to fight them solo, and you either end up dead or another one of Galen's science experiments." She paused, watching the alley, brow furrowed. "I mean, what's your stake in this anyway, Aajax?" Malora sent a look up and over her shoulder at him. "Why is the mutated human part so important?" |
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Caoimhin Shan
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Affiliation: Jedi Praxeum of Yavin IV
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Post by Caoimhin Shan on Mar 31, 2015 19:54:35 GMT -8
The .. festivities seemed to be at their end. Cao looked around at the assortment of downed bodies, nodding once to himself before powering down the lightwhip. If anyone wanted to catch him off-guard, he always had the ace up his sleeve. But for now, he snapped his lightwhip back, the cord curling around automatically -- aided by a touch of the Force -- and hooked it onto his belt again.
It had been an .. interesting .. sort of day so far. He had definitely not expected to see Na'an here, nor Leigh. The last time he had seen Leigh was on Yavin, after his injury.. and that had been received the last time he had seen Na'an. When Vilus had been in control, when he had challenged her to a duel to the death for what he perceived she had done to Elly.
He had almost killed her, in fact. Part of him had wanted to, but the part of him that was dominant now had been strong enough to stop his body from committing murder. His unlit lightsaber had been at her chest, and a flick of the button would have ended her life.
The darkness within him stirred at the memory, roiling in equal parts glee and frustration. Long had it imagined a continuity where it had dealt the killing blow and managed to escape the inevitable subsequent capture by the Jedi Praxeum forces. It would have overpowered Cao's will after that, shutting him out completely. It was waiting, now, waiting for the right moment. It knew that he was aware of it, but eventually he would let his guard down.
For all the Jedi virtues it hated, it was exhibiting remarkable patience, for it knew the reward..
Cao rolled his eyes. Vilus had been quiet lately, and for that he was thankful. But he knew better than to trust him after what he had done.
Leigh and Na'an were off doing Force knows what with the other girl that everyone had been fussing over, though Cao hadn't seen her. And there was the sound of shouting from that way, so he headed off in their direction. But it seemed that they were already on their way back.
"Everything alright over there?" he asked as the pair of them rounded the corner.
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Kent
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Post by Kent on Apr 1, 2015 20:06:49 GMT -8
Kent didn't know why, but she trusted Na'an. What was going on with her! There was no logical reason to trust this woman, they had just met. Her super brain was all but screaming this to her instincts but the feeling wouldn't go away. Kent was supposed to trust her. She made a deal with herself, she new the city better than anyone, she could follow Na'an there without being seen. Keeping to the roofs and hiding spots she began following Na'an, never more that 20 feet away. Her skills, agility, and knowledge of the area would insure that she not be seen. She noticed a man from earlier begin talking with Na'an. It was clear they knew each other, and if nothing else there was a trust between them. She listened and observed.
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Post by Vidalu Na'an on Apr 1, 2015 21:24:32 GMT -8
Leigh and Na'an had been walking in near-silence back to the alley, both of them aware of the moment Kent's indecision turned into resolve. Leigh's visual array kept darting about, catching flashes of her on rooftops and various holes, always close but just out of sight. Between glimpses, she'd check on her friend. Now that the fight was over, the bright, sharp cheerfulness had ebbed somewhat, replaced with that familiar vague solemnity of someone whose mind had turned toward the Force, rather than quantifiable thought.
It was all very well, the droid supposed. They'd lost the child that they had originally barged in on this incident to help, and this one seemed...delicate. It would be hard for Na'an to relax until they'd gotten entirely clear of this escapade, and if she let herself think too hard she'd brood over it.
Of course, there were other cures for an ill mood...and it was one of her friend's odder traits, that her entire emotional atmosphere could shift at something as small as the sound of a voice.
"Everything alright over there?" he asked as the pair of them rounded the corner.
At the sound of Cao's voice, Na'an's expression brightened fully. She broke into a trot, turning the last corner to see her friend waiting for them. "Yeah, we got this. No big deal." She bounced on her heels, bounding to close the gap between the two and grinning as widely as a child. If she took another step, she could embrace her friend without having to reach too far. Without a break, she reached for Cao through the Force for a private message.
Don't be alarmed. We've got a little rabbit following us. Her eye flicked upward, to where she could feel Kent's eyes watching the scene. We're going to meet her in the next sector. Drinks are on me, if you want to catch up and run with an old friend a while.
She looked all the way up at Cao, noting with a pleasant jolt that she'd forgotten the color of her friend's eyes. It had been a while since she'd seen them so clear, the blue so distinct from the brown..."It's good to see you whole, Cao. I've missed you."
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Gavin Phoenix
The Dark Jedi Order
"See first with your mind, then with your eyes, and finally with your body"
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Post by Gavin Phoenix on Apr 2, 2015 0:03:53 GMT -8
*Only a short time passed before Gavin realized he wasn't getting to sleep. Getting up from the bed he left the ship, trench coat and weapons left behind.*
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Caoimhin Shan
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Post by Caoimhin Shan on Apr 2, 2015 17:26:35 GMT -8
There was the slightest raise of an eyebrow in response to her private message. Of course she had to know that he had already sensed her; she knew that he couldn't block anything out.
At least, he thought she did. He honestly couldn't recall if the topic had ever come up in conversation. Ah well, it'd get mentioned eventually. He was a shining beacon in the Force, after all, unable to shut anything out or shut his own presence down. It was unfortunate that a simple brush of his mind would reveal his surface thoughts, no matter what he did. Made it impossible to flirt with another Force-sensitive, that was for sure. At least that was handy in that it made his telepathy stronger. Hell, he could just think and the message would get across without any effort.
You are good with the little ones, huh..
He took the initiative and took a step forward, wrapping his arms around her in a tight embrace.
"Seems I can't say quite the same in return, Nanii. You seem to be missing a piece. But I've missed you too. It's been.. a long while on my own."
He stepped back and, after a second, issued a single laugh, running his natural right hand through his tussled hair. "Well, I can't quite say that last bit, either. I haven't been entirely on my own.. Isn't that right?"
The darkness inside swirled around, enough to radiate slightly in the Force, in an emotional response approximate to a sneer.
Shut up.
He laughed again, a sound of actual enjoyment, a sound that should have sounded just as unfamiliar to her as it sometimes struck him as being. Sure, he had his mood swings, but at least he had learned to look for the good things. He was finally healing..
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Post by Vidalu Na'an on Apr 2, 2015 18:17:52 GMT -8
Make me.
Her laugh mixed with his in a way that made the alley, filled with groaning, injured pirates, seem almost cheerful. He had a good laugh, a deep throaty sound that neither Na'an nor Leigh had ever heard come naturally from a Shan. It made the moment pass too quickly, and left the good healthy sensation of a sore stomach.
Well, less sore than some. When the moment ended, Na'an appraised the alley, her mouth momentarily setting in a grim line. They had been standing in a clear spot, but both behind Cao and to the left there were men clutching their stomachs in pain. The man near Na'an's left foot had passed out, his breath feverish against her boot. "Yeah, I think we're done here." She looked to Leigh, who was watching their reunion with clearly-drawn affection. "There are an awful lot of guys in this alley, I'm not sure we want to be around when someone comes to get them."
The droid nodded. "Which will be in approximately fourteen and one-quarter minutes. I took the liberty of calling the authorities into the area, and since I have no fingerprints and you didn't fight this bunch, I doubt they'll be looking for us." She arched one blonde eyebrow at her friend, loaded with meaning.
"That's my girl. C'mon, let's get going." Without waiting, Na'an linked her arm to Cao's, and began leading him out of the alley. Three blocks away, past a tall black-haired woman and her friends, she could see a turn that would lead them into the Corellian sector. She pulled him gently, walking as smoothly as if the last half hour had been little more than a pleasant walk through the park. "In the meantime, I don't think I've properly introduced you to Leigh?"
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Kent
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Be nice to me or I will drop 100 pounds of trash on you!
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Post by Kent on Apr 2, 2015 22:58:10 GMT -8
Kent continues to follow, out of site. Not even really hiding from Na'an, the droid, and Cao. But this was where the pirate had been last. This was where she actually had felt vulnerable, for the first time in a long time. She got a little closer to the group in hiding then she had been holding. It was worth the risk of being seen.
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Post by Mack Revette on Apr 29, 2015 22:23:16 GMT -8
After a long, quiet jump, The Unfair Advantage left hyperspace behind and made for the surface of Nar Shaddaa with purpose. They landed without event. It took Malora and Oz Griffin ten minutes to drag the sleeping Mack Revette into the taxi, along with all of his weapons and Oz’s massive amount of tech. She’d left Oz with enough credits to last him for a long while, and instructions to drop Mack off at Asinia’s Way House. He’d wake up surrounded by beautiful women and booze. If she had to dump him somewhere without a goodbye, well, she figured it was the least she could do. There was a holorecording in his pocket saying she’d see him again, along with a brief explanation, but she was careful not to tell him where she was going. Oz, on the other hand, knew everything, but she didn't need to worry about the genius following her. Charging into the unknown with a high probability of death wasn't really his cup o’ caf. He kept staring at her though, all excited, like she was under a microscope and he was waiting for her to spontaneously morph into another species or something. It was weird. But Oz was weird. …So, not that weird, actually. Mal waited until they disappeared into the flashing neon lights and stinky smog, gave a last wave, and headed back on board the UA without another backward glance. Ship primed, coordinates set, Malora and her Astromech companion took to the skies once more, opened hyperspace, and were back in the swirlin’ blue before long. Onwards, to Myrkr. Onwards, to Wade."And she left me, man," Mack sniffed, wiping his face on his grimy wrist. "Just like that, woke up with this fuckin' tail-head tryin' to suck a tip outta my dick." He dabbed at his eyes affectedly with a scrap of rag. "No goodbye, no kiss, nothin' man. Left some wimp-ass recording about traveling the stars and finding herself or some shit. I dunno." Rocking forward, Mack hugged his knees and buried his head between them. "I just don't get it man, y'know? Like, she was special as fuck. Kinda special makes you think about wearing condoms with the other chicks, y'feel me? So like, I dunno, ever since then it's just been 'shoot this guy, make money.' Boring as fuck." Glancing back up, Mack's mismatched eyes met a staring brown, wide and uncomprehending. "You hearing a fuckin' word I'm sayin', Lefty?" The other man made no response, unblinkingly staring at Mack. "Don't ya get it, dude? Me, Mack Revette, got dumped by this ho! Nothing to say to that at all?" Lefty still said nothing, his eyes unmoving. Mack stood and blew a long sigh, exasperated. "Fine, fine," he grumbled, reaching down and ripping away the thin metal gag he'd tacked down. Blood spattered, and Lefty moaned, his teary eyes finally turning away from his tormentor. The gunslinger flicked gore and teeth from his fingers, waiting for Lefty to catch his breath. "So, yeah. No thoughts, here? I'm really lost here, man." The other fellow moaned and collapsed to the crete floor, chains clanking. Mack rolled his eyes and kicked at shattered ribs. Blood spattered his boots. "Whatever, man," Mack sighed, fishing a pack of fruit snacks from his pocket and tearing it open. He crammed a few into his mouth and spoke around them. "Anyway, made you a promise, so I'll get to that bit now." Chewing, he grabbed Lefty's ankle and dragged him to a shackle loop fixed into the floor. "Took me fuckin' hours to set this up, y'know. Fuck these things are good." Lazily, the gunslinger shackled one ankle to the floor. Bleary eyes looked up at him dumbly. "Fuckin' cold in here, y'know? But hey, you know all about cold, Lefty." Another kick, thrown with almost good-natured ease. "'cause hey, sellin' out the boys like that, pretty fuckin' cold, right?" Mack emptied the fruit snacks into his mouth and moaned. "So fuckin' good. But yeah, the big fuck-up was gettin' Caiva killed, 'cause I really liked that kid, but you KNEW THAT DIDN'T YOU YOU TAIL-HEAD COCKSORE?!" Mack was on all fours, teeth bared and spittle flying as he screamed into Lefty's face. The twi'lek cowered mutely, lekku long since mangled and body mutilated into hideous malformity. "You motherFUCKER! YOU ASS-LICKING SON OF A BITCH BASTARD BACKSTABBER! YOU SHITLICK!" The gunslinger snarled, hurling himself to his feet and writhing in fury. "Getting a better offer I understand, but you sold the fuck out and got a good kid killed back there! Do you know what Sunteeth do to kids like that? They break 'em, use 'em 'til they're meat-holes and ain't good for shit and then they just fuckin' tear 'em to bits! I seen it done, Lefty! You threw Caiva to those motherfuckers and didn't BAT A FUCKING EYE! You sick PISS-STAIN!" Howling wordlessly, Mack unloaded merciless kick after kick into the criminal. Then he stopped, breathing hard. "... but whatever, man," he finally said dully. "They're all dead now anyway, 'cept you and me." Stiffly, Mack turned and picked up a small can sitting nearby, opened it, and proceeded to douse Lefty with the contents. Even as the green liquid settled into the mass of open wounds covering his body, the Twi'lek didn't make a sound beyond a dull moan. All the fire had gone out of the gunslinger's movements as he dug a flicklight from his pocket. The flame spat to life, casting his wild features in a light almost fiendish. "Told you, Lefty. Gonna watch you burn." The flicklight tumbled through the air and landed on the Twi'leks bared thigh. As the fire caught, Mack pulled up a chair. The screams that finally greeted the fire struck him almost more sweetly than the candystick laying on his tongue. "Sunteeth are next, I reckon," he mumbled to nobody. |
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Moth Emon
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Post by Moth Emon on May 19, 2015 9:07:38 GMT -8
A shuttle slowly pulls in and docked at one of the meager landing pads. Moth Emon took his time in powering down the ship. From the canopy's window he could still see the poverty of the place. Steam rose from exposed vents, the dirt was as permeating as air, as the smell, as the grey light that covered every inch of the place.
The engines died in a quiet grumble, and the holo displays flickered off. Moth flicked the cabin lights off. In the darkness, he sat and meditated, drawing himself inwards.
I must move like the light. he told himself. I must be dim and unnoticed until the time is right.
As he drew his force presence in, he expanded his mind out, reaching around the port, both the familiar and - mostly - unfamiliar.
When he was ready, Moth hid his lightsaber within the folds of his robes and hit the shuttle doors. The ramp dropped with a hiss and a metallic clank; the grey light of Nar Shaddaa rushed up the ramp to meet him.
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Post by Mack Revette on Jun 11, 2015 11:20:08 GMT -8
"All I'm askin' is to gimme a hint where they hang."
"No."
"C'mon Tass- "
"No, y'don't get it, I gotta say no."
"Tass, just-"
"No! Look, I can't tell ya what I don't know, Mack."
"... wha-? But you're Tassek, you know fuckin' everything -"
"Don't know where to track down a nest o' Sunteeth, Mack. Make a point not to. Those fuckers are bent, scary shits."
"... then why the fuck'd you charge me for the full -"
"'cause I'm a bastard, and 'cause I know who you need to talk to."
Mack leaned back and drained his glass, narrowing his eyes and letting his other hand stroke one of his gun hilts.
"Really hate you sometimes Tass."
"Heh, yeah."
"So?"
Tassek sat up, brushing one of his lekku back from his shoulders. "Cain Drisgan. Real mean fucker. Ex-Republic spec ops, is the story. Nobody's actually sure."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. Might be the only guy I've seen who could tussle you."
"Geez."
"So, if you wanna meet with him, he might have something more for ya."
"...fine. Pain in my ass." Tassek grinned.
"Have a nice day, gunhand."
"Fuck off, gabmouth."
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Post by Mack Revette on Jul 4, 2015 16:52:46 GMT -8
"...so. Cain Drisgan."
"Mack Revette."
"Heard a lot about you."
"Same."
"Oh yeah?" Mack sat forward eagerly. "Like what?" Cain smirked. The scar across his lip made him uglier.
"Like you think you're real hot shit." Mack grinned.
"And I heard you're a real scary fuck." Cain quirked his lips again. "You hear what I'm looking for?"
"Sunteeth."
"Yeah. And?"
"And you're fucking insane."
"Yeah. And?" Cain squinted. He was a huge guy, really - burly and hairy as a Wookiee, with mean eyes like knifepoints. Looked like a genetic holdover from the clone days; black hair, thick features, olive skin. Dressed with all the cheer and glitz of a Coruscant slum, but he made sure to leave his ink and his guns visible. Mack especially liked the spec ops mark on his neck. Maybe I should get some ink on my neck. The pistol grip poking up from his waistband was a nice touch too - what was that, a DL-44? Old, but trusty. Mack had used those before; of course, his current duds were custom.
Cain sipped at his juice - the fuck kinda hardass drinks juice? Mack wondered - and set the glass down with an authoritative clunk.
"Fine," the other man said. "You wanna hunt Sunteeth?" Cain pulled a pad from his shirt somewhere, and scribbled on it. Mack scoffed.
"The fuck is that?" Cain looked up and scowled - more than he usually scowled, that is.
"Pencil and paper."
"The fuck is that?!"
"Writing implements, you shithead."
"Can't you just drop it to my pad?"
"Sure, and people can hack it out whenever they want." Cain shook his head, still writing. "If you wanna hunt Sunteeth, you don't want to give people a chance to know that you're coming. Gotta hit hard and fast."
"That's the only way I do hit it." Mack winked. Cain scowled again, and pushed a scrap of paper across the table.
"Go there. Sunteeth buy weapons and ammo there every other day around o-four hundred, no fail." Mack made a face, but took it anyway and drained his liquor, washing down a handful of fruit snacks he fished from his pocket.
"Obliged. How much do I owe ya?" Cain grinned for the first time.
"A ride-along." Mack stared at him, lips curling in confusion.
"Say what?"
"How did you think I knew where to find them? I've been watching, waiting for a shot to go after those sick fucks. With a hot shit gunslinger like you coming too, I'd say my shot's here." Mack stared for a moment longer, then shrugged.
"A'ight. When?"
"Tomorrow. I have to dust off my old kit." Mack stood.
"A'ight. Meet here?" Cain shook his head.
"No, meet there at o-three hundred hours. I'll find you when you get there." Mack made another face.
"...ooookay." Cain scowled.
Sure enough, Cain found Mack the next day. The soldier dragged the gunslinger into a doorway as he passed by.
"Where are you going?" he hissed.
"In there, to buy- heyyyy, we match!" Mack grinned, pointing at the long black coat Cain wore, then to his own. Cain scowled. Mack grinned and dug a fruit snack from his pocket, popping it into his mouth and talking around it. "Anyhoo, I was gonna go in there and buy some heat." Cain's left eye twitched.
"...why would you-"
"We're hunting Sunteeth! I might want more heat!" Wordlessly, Cain turned to a large case set just inside the door, and flipped the lid open. Mack's eyes went wide.
"That ... is a lot of guns." He looked at Cain and smiled lovingly. "I like you." Cain also smiled, with polite sterility. "Can I just ... any?" The soldier nodded. Mack whooped and, waggling his fingers, clawed through Cain's cache of firearms. It was a solid twenty minutes before he settled on a scatter-blaster and a sprayer, which he slung under his coat. Cain had gone upstairs. Mack followed, and found the soldier staring through the sight of a shatter-rifle at the storefront opposite. Mack whistled.
"Shiiiiiiit, that one of them shatter-guns?"
"Yes."
"Can I shoot it?"
"...no."
"Got any more?"
"No."
"You lying?"
"Doesn't matter." Mack grinned and twirled one of his pistols.
"Cool." Cain said nothing more. Eventually, Mack stop twirling his weapon and sat down on the floor, alternating between twiddling his thumbs, munching fruit snacks, and sneaking sips from a flask in his coat pocket when he thought Cain wouldn't notice. He lasted about fifteen minutes.
"So ... what's the plan?
"Grab one when they show up, kill the rest."
"Oh, cool. ...what are you doing?"
"Recon."
"Of what? Y'said they don't show up until 'o-five hundred.'"
"Four hundred, and I'm watching to see who else shows up. Irregularities are bad."
"Same dif. Irregu-what? I'm going down there."
"No you're not," Cain growled, but Mack was already gone. Cain swore after him, but stayed where he was and watched as Mack sauntered into the shop. "The fuck is that shithead do- shit." Three Sunteeth stepped in after him. "Shiiiiiit."
Mack turned at the opening tone, glancing at the new arrivals but masking it with a wheel towards a wall-rack of military grade rifles.
"What about these, eh?" The shopkeeper, sweating, nodded nervously.
"Take anyfuckingthing you want, just get out!"
"Nawwww..." Mack drawled.
"Get out," a new voice barked. Mack wheeled again, grinning blankly.
"Heeeey," he slurred, swaying as he fished out his flask again, and noted the weapons each gangster reached for. "Y'all seem nice." The apparent leader reached for his collar and dragged him in close. His breath smelled bad, and his teeth were gold.
"Get out," he hissed again, and Mack felt his heart-rate skyrocket like it always did before some killing. He sighed.
"Nooooo, I won't," Mack whined, lazily drawing a pistol and sending a bolt through the man's left knee, while his other hand killed the other two, and the shopkeeper. Twisting a suddenly-empty hand in the man's collar, Mack brained him with his pistol butt and dragged him back towards Cain's hideout, waving cheerily at the lookout window.
When the gunslinger arrived in the upper room, gangster in tow, Cain stared at him askance. Mack grinned. "I like workin' with you, Cain."
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Diath Skirata
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Post by Diath Skirata on Oct 27, 2015 12:35:39 GMT -8
Diath returns from his usual sojourn to the nearby cantina. He strips off his armor and weapons, nonchalantly throwing them on the cot that was supposed to pass as a bed. The hotel was less than ideal. Luxury existed on Nar Shaddaa...at least, for those who could afford that luxury regularly. Diath had found it most simple and profitable to take one of the cheapest rooms. He didn't need much more than a bed, a light and a refresher, and this room gave him that. It didn't place an unnecessary strain on his accounts, and the management didn't mind the regular flow of income, especially being in the poorer than poor Refugee Sector. Being on the top floor also afforded him privacy, a precious commodity both to him personally and to his career. The door swishes shut behind him as X-LOM enters, leaning his rifle against the doorframe. Diath chuckles. "Him" he called it. The droid was obviously genderless, but the voice was definitely male, and Loamy certainly acted the part. More than once, his vocabulator had taken on a lecherous tone when he and Diath "admired" the local female populace. If there was anyone in this forsaken galaxy who Diath regarded as a friend, it was the droid. He'd found him a while back at a junk dealer over in the slums. He'd been barely functioning; his serial number worn away. The dealer, an incredibly stupid Aqualish, didn't even know he had a working droid. He thought he'd ripped Diath off by only asking for 70 credits. As Diath stood the droid up, he promptly switched it on in front of the dealer. The Aqualish, suffice to say, was incredibly angry and tried to force the bounty hunter into paying more. A quick blaster bolt to the forehead solved that dispute, and Diath and the droid had made off with as much as they could before anyone arrived. Diath is startled out of the past by the droid staring into his face.
=X-LOM=
:: Master, I am becoming quite worried about you. First your eye ducts leaking in the cantina today, and now your mind is unable to retain focus on the present world. You really should seek maintenance. ::
Diath tries not to laugh and shakes his head, causing his companion a bit of irritability
=X-LOM=
:: frustrated sigh Fine, then. Honestly, you meatsacks confound my logic processors to no end. Operate in a damaged state if you must, but do not come sobbing to me when you die on our next mission. ::
This all too human response causes Diath to completely lose his composure, laughing so hard that his eyes water. Loamy merely stares at his master, confused as to what could have caused him to be in such a state. Twice, the hunter tries to regain his previously somber state, only to begin laughing again the moment he glances at his droid's confused stance. He finally manages to get his laughter under control, and the two stare at each other for a minute or so. Then, Loamy tilts his head to the side.
=X-LOM=
:: Master, you are indeed the most confusing meatsack I have ever known. ::
IC: "Well, thanks Loamy. You're not too bad yourself."
This only causes another look of confusion on the droid's face, causing Diath to chuckle again. Exchanges like this were common between the two of them on nights they weren't working (or running from the crime syndicates they had ticked off doing said work) and it was the closest thing Diath had to a familial exchange. The last person he would have even considered calling family was Gaff, the elderly retired smuggler who had raised him. Diath rises and goes to the window, staring out toward the docks where he'd been raised. Supposedly, he had another father out there somewhere. A Mandalorian father. For all he knew, his mother had been delirious as she lay dying. Some people were like that; they'd spout out their dreams and delusions as they slipped from this world to whatever awaited. But, he thinks to himself, he had no reason as of now to distrust his mother...and the pendant with the clan crest of Skirata on it seemed genuine enough. It had certainly helped him in his work. People seemed to fear Mandalorians more than other bounty hunters. He had always wondered why. The one Mandalorian he had encoutered was a dying pilot of a crashed ship. He really didn't know anything about his heritage. A few times he had entertained the idea of trying to find his other family, but something always had held him back.
=X-LOM=
:: Maybe it is finally time, Master. ::
Diath is startled. He looks at the droid, confused. He didn't think he had been speaking out loud.
IC: "I'm sorry you had to hear those ramblings, Loams."
=X-LOM=
:: Oh, you said nothing, Master. You simply have that pensive wondering-about-your-Mandalorian-family look on your face. ::
IC: "I have a look?"
=X-LOM=
:: Oh, yes indeed, Master! A far off gaze, filled with secret desire for love, acceptance and a place called home... ::
IC: "...Really?"
=X-LOM=
:: Of course not, Master. But after all these years working together, I find you to be very predictable. ::
Diath laughs, shaking his head as he returns his gaze to the outside world. He is silent for sometime before turning back to his partner.
IC: "I don't think we could anyway, Loams. We just got the Talon repaired with the money from the last contract, but you and I both know that hyperdrive is temperamental. I doubt it would last a trip to the Mando homeworld. And that is even if I was serious about going to find them. I mean...what have they ever given me? When I was dying...starving on the streets...did they come from the sky to help me? No. Did they take me in...teach me to survive? No. I owe them nothing, and they've given me no reason to want to owe them something. I am a Skirata in name only."
The droid merely nods his head. Diath is more than content to spend yet another day sitting in his room watching the city. Business had been slow lately, anyway. He takes apart his guns to clean them for the 17th time just today, not counting the last two days. X-LOM watches, then finally shakes his head, uttering a noise of disgust. Diath looks up at his partner.
IC: "Yes, Prince Loamy, what can we do for you?"
=X-LOM=
:: This is no time for levity, Master. In fact, this entire ridiculous affair has has gone on too long. We must get out of here. Work cannot always be found here; sometimes we must go to seek it out instead of waiting for it to find us. And I have an idea where we can look first. ::
He hands Diath information on work on several planets, some legitimate government-sponsored, others from a more seedy clientele. One name stands out: Naboo. It catches his attention. He begins gathering his things; just the armor and weapons and enough food to last him a few days. He leaves the hotel with Loamy within the hour and heads to the docks.
They make their way to the abandoned landing pad they use. It was out of the way and looked unstable; its true owners having abandoned it long ago. What most people didn't know was Diath had spent time reinforcing it. It was much cheaper than paying for a spot to dock regularly. But then, 'free' was cheaper than anywhere...he gets aboard his ship, a heavily modified YT-2000. He could still remember when he'd gotten it from the old smuggler who'd raised him; the last gift of a dying man. He checks everything, then warms up the engines. He then cuts in the thrusters and takes off, rocketing toward the upper atmosphere and planetary orbit.
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Chloro
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Post by Chloro on May 11, 2016 11:59:04 GMT -8
The refugee sector wasn't a place where you could think straight. It was a mass of tents and creatures, large and small. Life didn't get much lower, beneath crumbling New Vertica dark side, where food, prospects and overall lighting was at an all time low.
Vaalia wanted to straighten things out. Put the tents into parallel lines. Put the beings into ascending order. Have everyone equally deprived. Equality for all!
She spat the foamy paste into a small basin and ran her tongue over her freshly cleaned pearly incisors. Well, maybe not equality for all. She'd want to keep her toothbrush. She stroked the hard bristles. Shk-shk-shk. What a beautiful sound. It made everything better. The refugee sector didn't bother that much anymore. If she squinted up, she could even see the reflection of the dockyards from a skyhook the city above. Broad sodium lights stretching ever onwards!
"Oi! Gettit!"
Vaalia's current boss, a Hutt enforcer that called himself "Tonsils". Actually it probably was closer to Tonzs, but Vaalia managed to get around that problem by calling him "sir". He liked being called sir. Right now, Sir Tonsils was pointing at something that he wanted her to grab. Even Vaalia didn't know what that was but in the bag it went. Vaalia was starting to think that she wasn't going to be paid particularly well for this job. Tonsils probably wouldn't shoot her - blaster cartridges are expensive - but he might clout her one and rob her.
But it sounded like someone was coming and judging by the shouts, it wasn't any of Tonsils friends…
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Post by Ernest Maslanka on May 11, 2016 12:17:06 GMT -8
"And so I tol' to him, I tol' to him I weren't that sort o' girl..."
Ernest Maslanka wrinkled his nose. The supposedly "best good quality air filter breathe clean" gadget he'd bought in the simulacrum of a pharmacy might or might not be blocking out the noxious fumes of Nar Shaddaa, but it was certainly blocking his body heat. His breath was condensing on his nose and dribbling around the corners of his mouth. He had his doubts that the suffering was worth the so-called protection.
Then again, he could do without the smell. It interfered with his focus.
He had been working his way down one of the major ancient loading docks that formed the spine of one vast city tower. The glitz and glamour of the upper levels, with its dizzying temptations and distractions, was far behind him. As was the light. On the dark side of Nar Shaddaa, safely away from prying eyes, where smugglers could come and go even, at times, without being noticed by the Hutts themselves, the light from the distant sun faded fast. This far down, the artificial lights available were buzzing neons and sputtering, blinking lamps.
The girl was still talking. "My ol' mum used to tell me I wasn't worth baay shfat..." Her rounded features seemed even more childish in the blue wash of the nearest neon, smoothing out the dirt and heavy makeup. Her lips pouted petulantly as she rambled, leaning on the wall with automatic allure, crucial to her trade.
Ernest's stomach clenched in disgust, but his face remained impassive. "How did that make you feel?" He listened with half a mind and murmured his questions and calm responses. This poor young thing was as common in this twisted galaxy as muck itself, her poverty stricken and abusive childhood indistinguishable from any other.
He couldn't stop to provide free therapy to every street "saleswoman" or troubled refugee, but his pack had been weighing heavily on his shoulder and he'd stopped for a moment's respite from his trek, only to be accosted by this desperate girl. He'd managed to talk her into simply talking to him about her troubles, for a coin, and after some wariness the girl had quickly embraced the moment to unburden her troubles. She'd told him she didn't usually "do head doctors" and had seemed amused. They always did.
It wasn't her story that turned his stomach. Rather, it was a creeping chill in the corner of his mind, the sense that the world around him was distorting, a vision seen in a warped mirror, the stars stretching out of joint in hyperspace. Here on Nar Shaddaa, it seemed, he had much work to get done.
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Chloro
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Post by Chloro on May 12, 2016 2:57:25 GMT -8
Smash
Tinkle-Crash
Vaalia did a window drive exit, spilling into street behind the house. She scored a three out of ten - battered and bleeding but no breakages. She even managed to hold on to her swag bag. Tonsils probably didn't score any better. It looked like he was due for a bit of mob justice with a bit of rebar. The desperate weren't the best marks for a smash and grab - the rich wouldn't risk their lives for a bit of bed linen but the poor would fight, to the death, for all three of their possessions. And they'd have friends helping them, who knew that robbers who'd tried to score a bit of scrap metal off their friends would be likely to do the same to their houses.
She scarpered as quickly as she could from the scene. For a wry scrap of human, Vaalia could leg it through a crowd, bowling over, climbing over or running over the large and small. Again, if only they were in ascending order - it would be like running up a living staircase.
"Ni choto squeena!" "'ey! Mind the face!" "Utinni!"
She lost traction for a moment and tumbled into a street. Hovercars roared overhead as she crawled to the opposite side, skinning her elbows on the wind-blasted street, until she pulled herself onto the sidewalk. No-one tried following her across, meaning she had got away for now. The street was mostly empty except for a couple of streetwalkers and a up-worlder trying to chat one of them up. Or was she trying chat him up? Vaalia gravitated toward him, sensing an easy mark. He was wearing a face mask and seemed a little too clean, too straight for a local. Slum tourist? Well, time for the full experience.
Walking up to him, she balled her hand and swung for his nose.
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Post by Ernest Maslanka on May 12, 2016 9:24:46 GMT -8
It all happened very quickly. Ernest saw the girl flinch back, seeing something over his shoulder. At the same time, he felt the sharp tingle of someone invading his space, and fast. He turned, to get a glimpse of scrawny female with a toothbrush ( a toothbrush?) clenched in her mouth, and a small, but alarmingly boney, knuckle flying at his face.
He jerked his head back, and the blow connected with his cheek, knocking him to the ground.
Then she was gone.
As was his pack.
Ernest felt the shameful sting of tears in his eyes as he sat on the grubby ground, clutching his face. What was that for? He'd been hit before, but only by a distressed and flailing patient - then it was to be expected. This random violence hurt more for it's casual nature than the actual physical pain.
The prostitute had shrunk back into the shadows, but stepped forward cautiously to help him to his feet. "There there." she cooed. "Go back up where you are safer, ok, sweetheart?"
"I've got to get my pack." he grumbled, dusting off his clothes. He nodded to the girl, distractedly. "You take care. I need to go now."
He loped off after his assailant, deeper into the darkness.
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Chloro
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Post by Chloro on May 12, 2016 15:21:07 GMT -8
The slum tourist went down like cookie dough, falling flat and looking gormless. Clearly, he didn't have the self-protection instinct to assume the fetal position or the grit take the blow and get up again. Vaalia was no glacier, but she wasn't one to go down easily in a scrap. Her thin frame was tough, as was her scarred and pockmarked face and arms, which were still bleeding from her recent escape. It wasn't that it didn't hurt, she just knew her biological limits. She'd been at the extreme ends, knowing that if she didn't run a little harder or fight harder, she wouldn't be alive much longer. What did this pretty boy know about his limits? What was there that he was capable or incapable of - or rather - did he know what he was or wasn't capable of?
Clip-clop, clip-clop
The prostitute sounded like she was coming over to stop her. Vaalia pulled toothbrush from her mouth and brandished the sharpened edge and leered at the prostitute.
"Nice smile, but I can improve…" The streetwalker smoothly changed from running over to help to simply running away "…or not?'
Shrugging, Vaalia deftly used her toothbrushknife to cut the straps off Maslanka's pack and heft it over her shoulder. Unlike Ms Company-for-hire, Vaalia's shoes were knee high boots, with a thick, cladded sole that was designed for protecting your toes when something heavy fell on it. It was also useful for kicking, but that's a story for another time. Right now, they were doing more running.
Vaalia was puffed. This life of mean mugging was by no means easy. She could go into politics, she had the right mentality, after all, just not the money to get started. But picking through Manslank's backpack, she was actually reconsidering her prospects. She could flog his… whatever it was in the bag… for a neat figure and then hopefully ransom the empty pack back to him. She scribbled the name of nearby bar inside the pack, a personal favourite of hers - "the Lumpen Follicle". If the tourist had any sense he'd look for her there.
Now, to stash the loot and get ready for a date…
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Post by Ernest Maslanka on May 13, 2016 7:31:38 GMT -8
Ernest Maslanka was not having a great day. His feet were tired, his eyes were watering from the smog and now his face was sporting a throbbing purple bruise. It would heal quickly, but for the time being it was a nasty reminder. It was humiliating to have been laid low within hours of arriving. To add insult to injury, the face mask was now chafing the bridge of his nose.
He couldn't help but compare this dismal world to where he had come from. On his homeworld, such an attack would be unthinkable. The calming presence of the indigenous civilisation had seen to that.
If it wasn't for his mission, he would be tempted to go back home, but to turn back now would bring him no peace. The Galaxy needed to be healed, and there was no more needy a patient than this cesspit of a moon.
The moon's inhabitants pressed him from every side, murmurs of their conversations catching and flowing past like the rushing of waves, and deep pushes and pulls twisted his vision into a nauseating sway. Every step took him deeper into the stench of decay.
A huddle of black fabric caught his eye at last. His pack, discarded on the ground and looking ominously deflated. He prodded it cautiously with the toe of his boot before scooping it from the ground. The trace of the strange girl's touch met his with an unpleasant lurch.
Sure enough, the bag was empty. Empty, that is, apart from a childish scrawl within. The Lumpen Follicle The things inside the bag would be difficult to sell, so it figured that his assailant would try to get some actual money from him. He would have to meet her, and presumably this was some sort of instruction. "Such a waste of my time." He sighed.
He wandered onwards, following the ebbs and flows of this place, asking any passersby who lacked the stench for directions, until finally he was gruffly told, with a jerk of reptilian head in the direction: "'sis riiiight verrre, ousssssworrrlder."
The Lumpen Follicle.
His stomach turned as he felt the world twisting and swaying all the more. The Disease was here.
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