“Howdy,” Alaric responded, accepting the man’s hand with a firm grip. A smirk crossed his face, “partner, you can’t demand perfect punctuality in this line of work. Mynock here,” he gestured to the girl, pointed ignoring her request to be called anything else, “got us into a gun fight on the way over. Hell, half the inn we were staying at ain’t standing no more.” He shrugged, “but that’s part of the life. Always a good way to get the blood pumping, a bona fide shoot out.”
“I can assure you,” the girl added, “we have the credentials. We’ve worked with Batwell Security and Arms on a commission basis for several years. We’re well armed and highly qualified. Our service record includes infiltrating and liberating a highly secured compound for political prisoners maintained by the Galactic Empire. We’ve also provided security and reprisals for the Nova family in the Core. And most impressively,” she threw a look at the older man beside her, “he’s managed to survive this long with that personality.”
“Mynock here is a little insecure,” Alaric said in a feigned whisper. “You’re a competent man, if you’re worth your salt—or my time—you would have already pulled my file from the glory days of the One Sith Wars. Were you even alive back then? Anyways, that would tell you all you need to know.” Though that had been a long time ago, Alaric still recalled with fondness the dangerous days and wild nights, living off rations stolen from ambushed Sith convoys, smuggling enough components and random pieces of technology to assemble makeshift explosives, and killing as many of those Sith bastards as he could. He’d made a lot of enemies back during those years. And he’d lost a lot of friends. But he’d do it all again in a heartbeat. Alaric thanked the man for the offer and approached the bar, ordering a few bottles on the gentleman and then a fair few more on himself, before turning to follow the man. “Mynock,” he said quiet, muted. She gave a slight nod, they’d spotted the alien exiting behind them, communicator on hand. But it wasn’t enough to bother their patron over, still, in a smooth motion expertly hidden as a stretch and yawn—because it was also a stretch and yawn—Alaric unclipped his holster, offering rapid access to his weapon.
The two of them listened, the girl especially intently, as the man spoke. Alaric kept his attention reasonably focused on Tarjik, but also scanned the streets for anything, or anyone, of interest. He was a very difficult man to surprise despite his seeming obliviousness.
“Bothawui?” Alaric grunted, “whole planet smells terrible. Like fur that’s soaked up swamp water. That’s where that Empire compound was.” The plan seemed sensible enough, besides, it had been a long day since he was a smuggler. Always more of a buccaneer, in truth. But then the man said something that actually surprised him. “Oh, you got yourself a ‘need to know basis’ have ya?” His smile was warmer than his tone. “Look partner,” he said, his tone refreshingly straight forward, “you’re paying me—and Mynock there—good money to make sure that you and your product, whatever it might be, I don’t care, get to where it is you’re going. And preferably, we’d like to get you there in one piece. But I don’t work under no kinda restraints. Especially not of the information variety. I’ll tell ya what, I’ll keep the questions to a minimum, and you keep the answers flowing.” He nodded, “that sound like a deal? ‘Cause if not, it’s not too late for you to hire a pair of lizards to protect ya. They’re cheaper than us. More likely to eat ya when you ain’t looking, but you get what you pay for.”
He permitted the man to go visit with his associates and make the final preparations to leave. When the man was firmly out of ear shot, he looked to the girl and shrugged, as if to say, ‘well?’
“It’s a good route. I don’t know that you’re going to pass for a merchant in any sector, but we can just stick to the story that we’re hired guns. Even merchants need security.” Alaric nodded, unconcerned with point. After all, if anyone actually proved troublesome, he had brought enough weapons to rectify the situation on short notice.
“You see that damned Hutt-slave back at the cantina?” He asked, lighting up a cigarette and inhaling. The girl nodded. “What would you put our over-under on that thing giving us trouble down the road?”
“They’re not all Hutt agents.”
“Yeah,” he said, puffing, “not all.” He sighed. “I reckon that boy might have himself a serving of trouble, Mynock.”
“Well let’s hope so, otherwise you’ll get bored.”
“Indeed I would, Mynock. Indeed I would.”
[member="Tarjik Darkin"]