Miranda
Blasterfire crackled in the distance, painting the dusk sky over the shipyard in streaks of amber. Somewhere between the half scrapped haulers and the smell of coolant, Drifter leaned against a stack of crates, arms crossed, watching the lunatic in front of him with the sort of expression one reserved for malfunctioning droids and bad ideas.
Captain Ezekiel "Zeke" Dashiell stood there with his hands on his hips, hair wind tossed, grin bright enough to belong on a recruitment poster for 'Poor Decisions Anonymous.' His coat was too clean, too pretty with the velvet pizazz, his swagger too confident for a man who currently had a fifty-thousand-credit bounty on his head.
"Alright,"
Ezekiel Dashiell
began, pacing like a man who'd thought this through far too much. "Picture it, mate. You, fearsome bounty hunter, all smolder and swagger, drag me into the Guild office, roughed up, bloodied, but alive. You get the full payout. Then later, I escape. Boom. We split the profits fifty-fifty. Everyone wins, saavy?!"Drifter blinked slowly behind the polarized helm. Then the faint buzz of his voice modulator broke the silence.
[ You want me to beat you up ], he said flatly.
"Exactly!" Zeke pointed at him like that was the smartest thing anyone had ever said.
[ Like… hit you? ]
"Preferably yes, though not in the face too much. The face sells, you know? But enough to make it convincing."
Drifter's helm tilted, reflecting the rather hilarious and excited and pleased expression from Zeke as he was trying to sell this to him.
[ And this helps you how? ]
"Well, it clears my name...Temporarily." Zeke's grin faltered only slightly. "And gives me travel money... Temporarily. And buys me time before the next bounty hunter arrives, which, surprise, isn't temporary."
[ You realize, that's the dumbest plan I've heard all week. And yesterday, I met a Rodian who tried to rob a bank with a hydrospanner. ]
"See, but this one works!" Zeke gestured wildly, pointing to Drifter and then to himself "You get paid. I get plausible deniability. Everyone's pockets jingle."
Drifter rubbed a gloved hand down the front of his helmet.
[ Let me get this straight. You want me to rough you up. Not too bad -- just bad enough. Maybe break something -- but not too broken. ]
"Exactly!" Zeke snapped his fingers at Drifter with two finger guns "A broken leg, perhaps. Or an arm, mate -- whichever looks more dramatic."
[ Uh-huh. ] Drifter's modulated tone carried dry amusement, then he shook his head. [ You sure you don't want a concussion to go with that? Maybe I throw in a few scorch marks for style. ]
"Perfect! Just keep it symmetrical. I've got an image to maintain. Chicks dig scars and the like and I can sell the story to my crew that I survived a Hunter and they'll praise me all the more!"
There was a long pause. The wind stirred through the scaffolding above them.
Finally, Drifter said, [ You know, for a man wanted by half the Rim, you sound awfully eager to get punched. ]
Zeke puffed out his chest. "It's all part of the performance, my good man. Pain builds character --and profit."
[ You're serious about this? ]
"As serious as a hyperdrive malfunction in mid-jump."
[ Alright then. ] Drifter rolled his shoulders. [ Just remember, you asked for this. ]
Zeke grinned, spreading his arms like he was welcoming the chaos. "Do your worst!"
A single blasterbutt cracked across Zeek's jaw before he could even blink.
The Blue Star Pirate Captain hit the ground hard, groaning. "Ow! Alright, maybe… maybe start smaller next time."
Drifter crouched beside him, shaking his head with a low chuckle from behind the modulator.
[ You wanted it to look good, remember? ]
"Not that good," Zeke wheezed. "Let's call that the dress rehearsal."
[ Sure, Captain, ] Drifter said, grabbing him by the collar. [ But when we're done, you're buying the drinks. And the medpacs. ]
Zeke spat a tooth, grinning through the blood and said cheerfully, "Deal!"
