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Post by Deleted on Feb 12, 2020 8:20:25 GMT -8
The YX-1980 made its way quickly down to the landing area of the Refugee Sector, going just slow enough as to not have security come after them as well as making sure they could actually land without crashing. Any who were watching would believe them to be reckless punks or in some sort of a hurry. But the freighter settled down well enough, the landing gear only facing a little strain as the landing thrusters fired in heavy bursts.
The moment the ship shook and signified they had touched down, the captain began searching through the comm channels, hoping to find someone they could drop their stores on. There was no telling if they'd be able to keep up with their job. If the person they were meant to handoff to hadn't arrived yet, they'd have no choice but to drop everything now. As he went through the channels, he gave a sigh of relief to find the message sent. Opening up the comms to the rest of the ship, he called out to his partners.
Our contact for the handoff is in place. Get the supplies ready to be unloaded. Kaine, prepare the ship for sale and find us another ship. If the First Order comes looking, I want to end their trail looking for us.
With the orders passed, the captain headed out. It was a bit of a walk, but he eventually arrived at the rendezvous. He glanced up at the sign that read Rusty Tap. Taking a deep breath, he pressed inward at a casual pace, pushing away any sense of panic so as to not cause any issues moving forward. He moved along until he reached the table specified. He stopped before the pair of women, looking between them before finally settling his gaze at the one sitting in the booth.
"Captain Kolga of the Mangler, at your service."
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Dread Lord Havok
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Post by Dread Lord Havok on Mar 23, 2020 14:03:01 GMT -8
*continued from orbit.*
Teh passenger ship lands on a dock in the refugee quarter.
A young man disembarks.
he is dressed in the clothes an onderonian soldier, but with all insignia removed. he is traveling light with a pack of food and a guilty conscience.
He disappears in to the crowded streets adn byways of the quarter.
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Dread Lord Havok
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Post by Dread Lord Havok on Mar 23, 2020 14:42:53 GMT -8
In his desire to get lost the young man winds through the passage ways. conscious of his military style cloths and their likelihood of attracting attention, he obtains a new change of mis-matched but functional clothing. How? by bartering, selling, or stealing. Functional? Yes, in that it did not limit his range of motion or slow him down.
By chance, the young man ducked into the RUSTY TAP. He gave the place a sidelong glance as he headed for the bar.
While there were various patrons of interesting types, ... the sort of types that you might expect in a joint called "THE RUSTY TAP." He saw an individual standing talking to two seated women.
The young man thought nothing of it and sat at the bar for a drink.
"What'll it be?" The disinterested bartender looked up from her datapad she was incessantly texting someone on. She didn't even stop texting as she used one hand to pull a glass from under the bar.
"i, er. I will have a...." He hemmed. "Do you have any specials?"
The bartender rolled her eyes. "we have a rusty marjerita, a rusty ale, and rusty juice."
"Do you have rusty water?" he hah-ed.
"the rust is actually extra for the water." she ironically drolled.
"wow, who'd have thought it?"
"The Rusty Tea is actually rusty... from the pipes. So its not extra. Cheapest tea in the refugee quarter."
He hemmed and hah-ed "I'll have the Tea."
"We only have the Rusty tea, so it will have to be rusty."
"Fine, I will have the rusty tea."
"Coming up."
The bartender reluctantly put her datapad down and SPOONED a GLOMP of something chunky into the glass. The young man hoped there would be additional liquid poured in to water it down, or thin it out... but his hopes were dashed.
"Here you go"
He lifted the glass and it seemed to have the consistency of pudding. He tried to swirl it and it just jiggled. The young man hoped there was a health and safety authority that ensured that drinks wouldn't give patrons tetnis.
Another patron at the bar had watched the exchange and slid over to the man. "New in this quarter?"
"What makes you say that?" The young man responded not looking at the speaker, hoping that it would make him seem less out of place and possibly casual and cool.
"You don't smell like shit, and you don't know that everything here is rusty, and not because of the marketing."
"I can't help that my BO smells good, or that I don't know everything about everything." He lifted his glass to take a sip of the rusty tea... it was surpisingly good, with an after taste of copper.
"Lots of people come here. They want to get lost. Tickets to nar shaddaa are cheap. But if they don't know their way, they are liable to get hurt. Its tough running away and not wanting to be found."
The yougn man's heart sank. but not quite. This was likely a con-man tryign to set up a protection racket on a mark he perceived to be weak and naive, or at worse, a prelude to attempted slavery or abduction for.... whatever they might want a strapping young man for. He had been told he was good looking before, but he didn't see it when he looked in the mirror, but oh well. He steeled himself for possible conflict.
The young man turned to inspect the patron for the first time. It was a middle aged man wearing a gold neck chain, chest hair and a blue fuzzy two-piece body suit. He smelled like space marinara sauce.
"What are you proposing?"
"I think that, uh, for a little something, I might be able to help you out and uh, avoid any troubles. I was once a young man myself, and I wanted to get away from troubles but I couldn't. someone stepped in for me and I just want to pay my way forward. Here's my card."
The young man took the card. it read. "Johan DeMoto, Therapist for troubled youth."
"You're a Therapist???"
"Social worker. non-profit, alot of people need help in the refugee quarter. I need to head back to my clinic, but If you need to talk, contact me." Johan got up and walked out of the RUSTY TAP.
The young man blinked and put the card in his pocket. He turned his attention back to his Rusty Tea. "That was unexpected."
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Dread Lord Havok
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Post by Dread Lord Havok on Mar 30, 2020 6:34:59 GMT -8
The young man gulped the rusty tea down. It left a dull red-brown mustache on his hairless upper lip. He wiped his face with his sleave and asked to use the refresher.
There was no way he could pay for the tea, crappy as it was, and he wasn't about to advertise that fact to the bartender.
In the back, with the door securely fastened, he pulled out the light saber from his pack and ignited it.
It snap-hissed to life casting a green glow.
"Why do only jedi get the fun toys?" he half smiled as he cut a hole in the wall of the commode that allowed him to slide into the back ally behind the Rusty Tap.
Putting the lightsaber away, he strolled through the garbage receptacles in the shadows until the ally opened into a wider passage. The young man melted into the crowd, not knowing where his next meal would come from. The food in his pack might last him a couple of days, but he wanted to save that. Military quality rations are not something to be squandered. They were lightweight and calorie dense. they would keep for a long time, but he wouldn't. No, he needed to find work!
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Dread Lord Havok
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Post by Dread Lord Havok on Apr 11, 2020 8:28:59 GMT -8
A month passes.
The young man was unable to find work. In a refugee quarter, everyone was looking for work, dreaming up schemes, and living off of expectancies.
"I will be coming in to my own soon. Wait til my starship comes in to port" they would say.
In the meantime he had to beg.
He first tried to stand with a sign with a pathetic phrase on it, outside of a shop, and then actively soliciting those who went in and out. They had to have money, at least on the way in, or else, why were they at the shop?
This proved unsustainable. The patrons complained to the merchant and the merchant had a strong man throw him into a garbage pit.
Ironically, the rotting garbage as it dried, did much for people's sympathy. It only smelled bad when moist, and people would assume he was far worse-off than he really was. He had to try to find another begging spot- which was hard since there were so many beggars already there. Most were very territorial, some formed unions or guilds, with their own private rules on how, when and were to beg. They were close knit communities and wary of outsiders. They refused to accept to teach newcommers. The young man did alot of running rather than allow himself to get beaten.
There were great numbers of child urchins, who would transgress the rules, invade territory, but they were treated differently, mostly because they were so good at seeing and reporting what they had seen.
It really gave the young man a sense that there was no place in this quarter that generally wasn't being watched. He couldn't accumulate anything; a stock pile would be stolen. No good shelter- shelters had pecking orders, doorways and allys were "reserved." The only places not inhabited were garbage dumpsters that were about to be emptied. The young man heard of at least one man that was crushed in a compactor for failing to wake up and get out of a dump in time.
So he slept in the street, ate from rubbish piles, begged, stole, and was generally miserable.
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Dread Lord Havok
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Post by Dread Lord Havok on Apr 11, 2020 8:45:53 GMT -8
After the passage of more time, the young man finally had a stroke of luck.
He climbed up a wall in an alley and onto a narrow ledge. The ledge ran around the upper floor a building to a small front patio above a storefront overlooking an open market square. There was no access to the patio from the building and it was high enough up that children could not follow the path he took, and positioned that few could look down on him. He had a small measure of privacy behind the sign. For the first time he actually felt safe. He suddenly felt like a weight was lifted from his shoulders and he could relax. after countless weeks on alert in the streets, snatching sleep in a few minutes and hours at a time, his body demanded sleep.
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Dread Lord Havok
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Post by Dread Lord Havok on Apr 18, 2020 18:09:59 GMT -8
The young man awoke refreshed. He hadn't realized how much stress and strain the uncertainties of the street imposed on him. in contrast to the relative safety he felt just sitting on the patio roof, he realized how alert his body and mind was forced to be. Sleeping on the street required him to be constantly vigilant, both of malicious persons seeking to inflict cruelty, or the stealth of thieves willing to steal his pack, his clothes, his organs...
Oh yes, there were organ thieves on Nar Shaddaa. There was, and would always be a market for fresh body parts on the black market. Some for medical purposes, and depending on the species, some for pleasurable enhancement, supplementation, or delicacies. One of the advantages of homeless guilds and unions was safety in numbers. It was harder for Black Organists to kidnap a hobo gang sleeping together for protection. Not that regular refugees were any safer, but they were more likely to have the protection of families, clans and tribes. Solitary loners like the young man were at greatest risk.
It surprised him that he hadn't fallen prey in the prior month. He had been blissfully ignorant most of that time of the Black Organists. it was just dumb luck that he overheard a hushed conversation about them, and equally dumb luck that he hadn't been found when he had been sleeping on his own in the streets.
From his perch over the market square, the young man could watch the goings-on of the inhabitants. The merchants. refugees, residents, the beggars. the thieves, the thugs, and persons-not-falling-into-any-of-the-afore-mentioned-categories. These were the most interesting. Some people just stuck out.
The person that looked too clean, like their clothes hadn't been forced to be repeatedly worn for days. these people had to be more wealthy. Their appearance indicated they had access to a washer, or multiple changes of day clothes, or they never slept in their clothes or had nightclothes. they also likely had access to refreshers, and secure storage for everything they used to maintain their appearance.
There were people that people avoided brushing against. The crowd seemed to know them and stay out of their way. thieves did not approach them, and beggars did not shout too loud for alms, lest they annoy the personage. Perhaps they were criminals, or crime bosses, or local strong men that had built a reputation.
These types varied in ways from other "avoided" persons. the diseased. the smelly. the crazy. they had their own tells and characteristics.
The young man kept his perch and continued his people watching...
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Dread Lord Havok
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Post by Dread Lord Havok on Apr 19, 2020 11:34:09 GMT -8
The young man wished he had kept his rifle when he left the Onderon military. It might have helped him find work. As it were, the reason he ditched the rifle was to avoid attracting attention. The Onderon military police had an office that investigated and tracked higher profile soldiers, and the young man had killed a colonel. He would likely remain one of their priorities even though he fled offworld. Further the military intelligence independently had an interest in him since he had gone AWAL, an independant capital offense.
He probably needed to think up an alias. Authorities would inevitably come looking for Anaximander Fremden of Onderon, with holoimages of his likeness, if they were not already here...
He slumped with is face in his hands. He really needed to find a way to find work...
He stared at the market, closing his eyes.
The market faded. In its place he saw shadowy figures. He couldn't explain it. In his dreams as a boy, he dreamed of shadows in his sleep, in the twighlight with his eyes closed, just before he fell asleep. But as he grew he had been able to see those shadows with his eyes closed.
He sat and watched the shadows move and dance as if mirages on a hot day. the resembled beings as much as clouds might, but obviously animated in a way clouds could not move. He traced the outlines of the shadows with his mind's eye and this time found threads connecting each figure. Tiny threads of light running between the shadows, through them; running through the bustling market, through the buildings...
The young man felt like he was on the verge of something, he felt like if he just pushed his sight a little farther, he might be able to-
He felt pressure building in his mind, like a pimple, slowly becoming more painful, begging him to let up. But like a sudden lancet and a squirt of pus brings instant relief, he felt the pressure abate and his sight suddenly expand!
As if he had stepped outside of himself, he could see his own form, sitting on the patio roof. He saw the threads of light streaming in river-lets to and from his sitting form, pouring into his figure's eyes.
He instantly knew that his ability to see with his eyes closed was intimately related to these threads of energy. He couldn't explain how he knew. everything that the threads touched, he could see.
He could see the market, its features sharper than before, the shadows became recognizable people. He could see through walls into buildings, he could see streets beyond the market place. he was entirely unprepared for the sheer extent of his view... as if his head wasn't big enough to contain and comprehend everything he could see!
He felt a pulsing pain begin to build in his temple, and yet he still didn't want to open his eyes and end this vision! He felt, if he let the threads of energy carry him away there wasn't anything that could escape his sight! As if he could take a point of view, imagining himself take off running, and then soar over the refugee quarter-
His head began to throb, shocks of pain in the backs of his eye sockets brought him down to earth.
He opened his eyes and everything vanished. He struggled to hold onto the images in his head as he saw the mundane market below, with its mundane people. The pain in his head started to fade, and he wondered if everything he saw was just his imagination.
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Dread Lord Havok
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Post by Dread Lord Havok on Apr 25, 2020 14:11:37 GMT -8
The young man's thoughts shifted back to how to make ends meet. He had a jedi's energy sword in his pack, but such things were exceedingly rare. He could use it to commit petty theft, but... Well it was hard to see the downside, what with him feeling the pangs of starvation. The problem is with such a rare weapon, if it was discovered and taken from him, he might get killed for no other reason than having such a valuable item. What a pickle.
Well, maybe he could use it. Alittle.
But what to steal? Food? Money? Equipment? Gems? And where to sell it? And would he be able to drag items up to the top of the patio and store anything?
"Priorities. First things first. Food, then anything else."
The young man had had his eye on a shop with particularly good supplies of imperial rations- likely stolen from a transport. He had seen other rations that were damaged or too old, and they likely were scavenged from abandoned military installations. The shop was called "Slop'n'Slots." It sold food, rations as well as had an area for gambling machines. The proprietor was was an unpleasant man. The young man's choosing of SnS as his target was DEFINATELY NOT related to his hatred of the shop owner. Well, maybe it was... alittle.
He stood up and put his pack on. In the perpetual twilight and tireless clockwork of Nar Shaddaa, any time for a crime was as good as any other.
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Dread Lord Havok
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Post by Dread Lord Havok on May 2, 2020 7:14:09 GMT -8
The young man left his perch on the patio and struck off for Slop'n'Slots. It was about 1km away, but the most direct path to get there was through the haphazard and winding network of streets. The young man had spent time trying to beg in front of Slop'n'Slots- long enough to be familiar with the area and surrounding buildings. Slop'n'Slots, like most other 'buildings' here didn't necessarily have a roof per se- because most buildings were one continuous superstructure within the whole of the Nar Shaddaa complex extending miles above the planet surface. Also like other shops in the Refugee sector, it had blast doors that closed over the door and windows on all the floors to prevent theft.
Slop'n'Slots did have, however, a 3rd floor balcony. It jutted out above the street, and connected with a two story shanty across the street.
He arrived to see the familiar faded red and blue paint of the storefront with "Slop'n'Slots" in faded lettering. The neighboring shanty- a hastily constructed structure of scrap metal, leaned against the Slop'n'Slots balcony, likely to prevent the dangerously unstable shanty from falling over into the street. Passersby could literally hear the shanty metal bend and moan as the winds passed through the area. it was only a matter of time before the shanty collapsed under its own weight, due to a wind or to scavengers depriving it of internal structural support by stealing metal off the building. say what you like, in comparison to the shanty, Slop'n'Slots was of superior construction in comparison.
The young man headed into the shanty that he assumed was abandoned... It was dangerous enough for him to go inside to try to get to the top of the second floor, to access the roof from inside. So, no one would be stupid enough to live there... right?
He looked around quickly, and entered the shanty.
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Dread Lord Havok
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Post by Dread Lord Havok on May 10, 2020 6:50:11 GMT -8
nothing so far. Teh first floor of the shanty looked like it had been picked clean. Anything that could have been unscrewed, moved, or ripped off for scrap was missing. he could only really make out that the Shanty must have been a machinists shed from the glint of oil and chemical-fuel smell.
The young man briefly explored to ensure he was alone and found stairs to the second level. he felt his way down a dark hall until he found a door frame and control. He prayed the door still had power, so he wouldn't have to cut through it with the lightsaber.
He thumbed the switch and the door slid open with a hiss and a blast of light.
The young man was temporarily blinded as he walked into the room amid a flood of angry squeaks. He looked around him to see a room full of chadra-fan! Like a whole freaking clan of them! Though he couldn't understand their language, he could tell they were bothered by his intrusion.
"Uh, um, Sorry for the intrusion." He stumbled, nearly stepping on a grey elderly creature laying on the floor.
"SQUEE-SQUEEKUM!" A Chadra-fan, larger than the rest, pointed at the young man, and furiously waved his arms to get out.
"I, uh, I have to fix, er, inspect the roof. A safety inspection. Routine, you know,... one of those... things." As he spoke he tiptoed his way through the sea of angry bat-faces towards a ladder leading to a ceiling hatch that he spied in the back.
They were not happy, He was sure they had choice things to say about his parentage. One of them waved what looked like a blaster as the young man reached the ladder.
The young man pointed to the ladder. "Mind if I just see myself out?Cool!Thanks!" he asked the question without any space to wait for an answer. He was up the ladder, popping the hatch and on the roof closing the hatch before they got off a shot at him.
The young man thought about sitting on the hatch a moment to prevent them from following him, but then again, he wasn't sure if the material that the hatch was made of would stop a blaster bolt. He decided he needed to get on with the plan.
He dashed across the roof and jumped over the railing of the 3rd floor balcony of the Slop'n'Slots. He paused for a moment to pull out the light saber and checked to see if any of the Chadra-fan family were following him. He could barely hear some of their angry squeeking from the shanty, and he wasn't sure what they were going to do about his intrusion, so he decided he needed to press on quickly.
He activated the lightsaber and pressed it into the wall of the Slop'n'Slots, cutting a roughly circular hole. The metal plug fell away, its heated edges smelling of ozone. The sound of the lightsbaer prevented him from hearing what was inside the room. The young man deactivated the sword and put it on his belt (so he could reach it quicker, just in case.) and listened. Hearing no sound from inside the room, the young man took a peek inside. With nothing but darkness inside, he entered.
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Dread Lord Havok
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Post by Dread Lord Havok on May 25, 2020 7:40:32 GMT -8
The room was dark and humid. The young man had entered onto a carpeted floor. His heard a blast of asthmatic snoring that could wake the dead. He looked around as his eyes adjusted to the dark and he spied a lump in a bed. He waited until the red-edges of the metal "door" he cut in the wall cooled before leveraging the metal up and plugging the hole again.
A bad feeling swelled in his chest.
He crept forward on his hands and knees- suddenly, before he could react, a door in the room slid opened. Fortunately the young man was in one of the many shadows cast from the low red light emanating from the adjacent room. A female entered and climbed into the bed with a sigh. She did not seem to want to get cozy with the snoring one. The door automatically closed, dropping the room into darkness.
The young man froze. Even as a military sniper, he had never been in such a close proximity situation, out of cover. He didn't know how acute the female's hearing was, or how loud his clothes, his pack and their buckles might be. So he froze until he could move freely while the loud snores covered him. But leaving the room would be problematic, especially if a door opened into an adjacent lighted area.
He crawled to the side of the bed with the large snoring lump, (the side away from the female) to avoid detection if she decided to turn on the lights in the room. He contemplated his next move. He hadn't come there prepared to kill. He only wanted to steal. But on the other hand, killing would simplify the situation, and he was no stranger to ending lives. Just not in a civilian theater, not without just cause. Was his hunger or desire to steal more easily just cause enough?
He could also wait. Perhaps an hour or two, and the female might fall asleep, allowing him to proceed with his plan.
What to do?
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Dread Lord Havok
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Post by Dread Lord Havok on May 30, 2020 10:51:22 GMT -8
The young man considered himself a good person. Or, that, at least he tried. He had killed men in the military. The civil war had required him to complete objectives no mater the cost. He recalled the woman he killed, and her light sword that he stole from her in order to escape the POW camp he had been placed in after he had been captured. He was sure she was a good person, but she made outrageous claims about his past and future... how could anyone possibly know the things she said!?
The young man felt anger rising in him. The same anger that propelled him to kill her.
Why should he just wait here? Why not kill these two people and get on with his life? He began to grow impatient, uncertain how much time elapsed. This was just like rotting in that orphanage all over, and then just like boot camp, and just like the POW camp. Thinking back to those times in his life pissed him off so dam much!
"Frack." He hissed, absorbed in his own thoughts.
His eyes widened. He didn't mean to speak that outloud! The response was immediate.
"Who's there!?" the female voice called out, and the blankets rustled as she sat up. The young man could hear her fumbling for the light.
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Dread Lord Havok
The First Order
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Post by Dread Lord Havok on Jun 13, 2020 5:47:10 GMT -8
Dosi, a female Weequay, finally reached the light switch. The dark room was lit up. She squinted and shielded her eyes. The fat lump next to her in bed grumbled.
"zzzWhats going on?"
"Nothing my love," She looked around the room from her bed, "I thought I heard something."
She got out of bed and stood up. Something didn't feel right.
"Its nothing Dosi. Probably just a winner downstairs. Get your choobies back in bed."
Dosi felt conflicted, she was certain that she had heard a voice. But She was also tired. Maybe she just imagined it?
...
No. She felt a draft. Moving air where there shouldn't be. Looking around for the source, her gaze rested on a circular gash in the wall...
She walked over to it and knelt to touched it. The circular hole in the metal wall fell outwards with a CLANK, revealing a 75cm hole.
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Dread Lord Havok
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Post by Dread Lord Havok on Jul 7, 2020 4:21:45 GMT -8
Dosi heard a *SNAP HISS, VOOOOON* behind her. She turned to see a young man with glowing green blade slicing through the bed, cleaving her bed mate, and the bed, in twain.
She screamed.
*Vnnnnn VOOOOOOON!* It was cut short as the young man lunged and ran her through with the energy sword. She fell to the ground, gasping.
The anger drained from the young man's face, and suddenly he looked surprised and scared.
Before her vision faded to black, Dosi saw the young man fleeing the room from the hole cut in the wall.
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Dread Lord Havok
The First Order
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Post by Dread Lord Havok on Jul 24, 2020 5:10:01 GMT -8
Anaximander didn't bother replacing the metal slab in the wall. He just ran. Over the balcony to the neighboring rooftop, to an overhang. He lowered himself from the 2nd level, until he was hanging by his arms, and let go, dropping to the street below. He landed into a roll, that brought him to his feet again.
He had killed people in the military, but other than the jedi he killed, he only saw it through a scope, from 500 meters or more. He just wasn't used to killing people at such close range. Seeing their faces; being able to see their surprise, fear, and despair... He could hear a commotion in the Slop-n-Slots, and some patrons, sensing something amiss, were streaming out of the building. He ran down the street.
He made it half a block before four hands reached from the darkness of an ally and yanked him in.
"Whats the big hurry, sport? Too much excitement at the Slop-n-slots?" Anaximander found himself pinned to the ally wall by two arms of a large Besalisk. One of the other arms was holding a blaster.
"Uh, I don't have any money..." *which was true.*
The alien's other hand patted Anaximander down for weapons, coming up only with the shiny metal cylinder of the lightsaber.
"Eh, Whats that?"
"Its, a light saber." *Also true*
"HA! Light saber my ass." The Alien was amused. "Well, keep your 'lightsaber,' boy." *He clipped it back on Anaximander's belt, his tone sarcastic.* "I'm talking about how I saw you use that plasma-cutter to break in, then I see you run out, and hear on my comlink that some one's been killed."
In the dim light, he could make out that the alien was wearing a chestplate, and armor. The Besalisk seemed to have a headpiece that looked like a military grade communications interceptor.
"I wouldn't know anything about that." That was a lie.
"Well, you better not. That bounty was MINE. We don't need kid-freelancers like you, getting in the guild's way. If you know what's good for you, you'll say nothin', let me take the credit, and then everything will be ok-" Anaximander was happy to leave it at that, but the alien continued. "If everything isn't ok, then I can just crush your head right now and sell your organs to the Black Organists. We have a deal, kid?"
Anaximander nodded.
"Just one more thing, how did you kill them, so my report will match the corner's?"
"Uh, I, uh, used the plasma torch."
"Plasma torch, or plasma cutter? Kid, those are two separate things and leave different marks."
"Uh, the cutter."
"Who did you kill?"
"A man and a Weequay, female, i think." Anaximander couldn't stop seeing her face in his mind.
"Where did you strike?"
"A bedroom."
"No, I mean where did you cut 'em, kid."
"Uh, The man," He blinked seeing the murder again in his head. "I cut him in half. The Weequay, stabbed in the chest."
The alien put his blaster away.
"I already knew that, kid, I just wanted to see if you was playin' straight with me." One of his hands lifted and tapped the comlink intercepter, as he winked. He let go of Anaximander.
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Dread Lord Havok
The First Order
Posts: 945
Affiliation: Sith, darkside, Adventists of the Eye, Imperial Remnant
Traffic Light: Green
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Post by Dread Lord Havok on Aug 16, 2020 10:03:43 GMT -8
There was a flash of green light, and the large Besalisk bounty hunter collapsed, bisected diagonally.
"Don't touch me!"
The alien silently blubbered on the ground in surprise, and the young man bent over him with hatred in his voice."Keep your hands off me."
The alien looked angry, before his face relaxed and his eyes clouded over.
The young man deactivated the lightsaber and looked around, to see if he was observed. He didn't think he was. He began field stripping supplies from the bounty hunter's body. Armor, weapons, clothes, gadgets, alot of supplies that a bounty hunter might have had used to kill the owner of Slop-n-slots.
As one might imagine, the armor of a Besalisk was large and heavy. There was too much here for the young man to carry. With some difficulty, he carefully dragged the supplies he gathered further into the ally. He concealed it by piling garbage on top of it.
He dragged the dead body halves so they would be less conspicuous, because he didn't have the upper-body strength to lift it and put it in a dumpster, or garbage chute, so he stacked garbage on the alien as well.
With that taken care of, the young man loaded himself up to go back to his "hideout." The first trip, he took the alien's weapons, comlink, comlink interceptor, macrobinoculars, rations, datapad, grappling hook, etc. He even found a bounty chit which he planned to try to collect later. He hustled these items back to his perch on the patio roof overlooking the market square.
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Dread Lord Havok
The First Order
Posts: 945
Affiliation: Sith, darkside, Adventists of the Eye, Imperial Remnant
Traffic Light: Green
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Post by Dread Lord Havok on Aug 16, 2020 13:00:03 GMT -8
As the young man ferried his newly acquired supplied back to his hideout, his thoughts bothered him. He could still see the weequay's face in his mind. It bothered him. It surprised him how much it bothered him that he killed her. That he felt like he had to kill her. It wasn't that he killed her, it bothered him that the situation got out of hand and he had no control- and as a result he over reacted and killed her too. He wracked his brain for a way he might have avoided it, and all he could come up with was to spend more time gathering information and planning better. He didn't know that the room he entered at the Slop-n-slots was a bedroom, let alone an occupied one. He just wasn't prepared for what was there and what ultimately occurred in that room.
Likewise he was struck by how much he felt nothing about killing the bounty hunter. The bounty hunter made him angry, yes. But also, the Young man knew that he could have easily just walked away, without killing. But killing him felt... right.
The young man reached the ally again and grabbed the larger parts of the Baselisk armor.
The young man had to think of a name if he was going to try to claim the bounty. He couldn't go around telling people he was Anaximander Fremden. Or his alias that he used in the Onderon military.
As he pondered, he saw an illumindated holo advertisment for "JAXON's Juma Juice."
Jaxon was as good a name as any. Jaxon it is!
Jaxon headed to the merchant quarter to see what he could sell or barter for the four-armed armor.
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Dread Lord Havok
The First Order
Posts: 945
Affiliation: Sith, darkside, Adventists of the Eye, Imperial Remnant
Traffic Light: Green
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Post by Dread Lord Havok on Oct 3, 2020 12:24:00 GMT -8
The Bounty Hunter's Guild on Nar Shaddaa was several levels below the refugee area. Being deeper inside the towering superstructure of the Nar Shaddaa complex was exactly as depressing as one would think. Things were darker, cramped, and the ventilation felt non-existent. The stench was over-powering at times.
Within these confines the guild had set up shop and opened an "office." The guild hall was more like a lounge. It had tables and chairs, benches, couches, a Bar, first aid area, and vending machine droids. The place was lit with orange and red lights, as a tradition to not affect the night vision of hunter species that only used the visual spectrum to see. In the background of the hall, they had the low hum of a comscanner, picking up the chatter from local law enforcement, or what passed as police in the area.
At the far end of the guild hall, Bilbend, the acting guild master, sat at a counter drinking a fresh cup of Caf. Beside him at the counter, was Retchy, the barman. He puttered around, cleaning the place. Bilbend was dealing with a headache born of too much celebrating the previous night with some Transhodans, and Retchy was dealing with some stains on the floor from previously said Transhodans.
As Bilbend set his Caf down, he saw a young man enter the far end of the room, and start look around. There was currently no one there except for the newcomer, Retchy, and Bilbend.
The young man was wearing obviously newly acquired armor and equipment. He wore olive tan military uniform style clothes, with armored boots and a plastoid breastplate. He wore an open-faced helmet with an adjustable visor with optical zoom and lowlight or night vision. It was pretty hi-tech. On a sling over his shoulder, he had some kind of bolt-action sniper rig. At his hip was an imperial repeater. Bilbend would not be surprised if there was a concealed holdout blaster too. It was nothing unusual for a bounty hunter to wear, except that everything looked brand-new and this kid was way too young to have the experience his outfit and equipment seemed to project.
"Lost, kid?"
"This is the Hunter's Guild, right?" The young man looked up and around, inspecting the place.
"Yes." Bilbend's rising tone seemed to add 'But, you're not a hunter and don't belong here.'
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Dread Lord Havok
The First Order
Posts: 945
Affiliation: Sith, darkside, Adventists of the Eye, Imperial Remnant
Traffic Light: Green
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Post by Dread Lord Havok on Oct 3, 2020 12:32:52 GMT -8
"Then I am in the right place." The young man ignored the man's tone.
"For what, kid?" Bilbend looked back to his cup and sipped his drink.
"I have a bounty to collect." Jaxon reached into his satchel and pulled out a chit.
Bilbend, sighed and rolled his eyes. "Let's see it kid."
The young man slid the puck shaped chit across the counter to Bilbend.
Bilbend examined it. It was genuine. He looked up at the young man. "I don't recall ever meeting you, kid."
"I'm new."
"No doubt." Bilbend made a show of looking him over. "What's your name, son?"
"Jaxon."
"Jazzon?" He mispronounced the name.
"No, Jaxon, as in Jakkson."
"Well JakKkxson," Bilbend over emphasized the K sound. "I'm acting guild master and I don't remember giving you a bounty chit."
"I found it."
"I know everyone here, and last I could recollect, I gave this bounty chit to another hunter." He looked over at Jaxon. "And you don't have four arms. So why don't you tell me where you found this. And no stories about being partners. Jester worked alone."
Jester? What a ridiculous name for a Besalisk that was very un-funny. At least during Jaxon's interaction with him no jokes were told. "Look, sir. I did the work. I killed the owner of the Slop'n'slots. An annoying Besalisk tried to steal the credit. So I killed him too, and then took the chit off his body." Jaxon scowled at the memory, but at the same time expected repercussions from killing a guild member.
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