Private Ash and Sand

[Rolcor Wildstar]

Location: Mos Eisley Cantina — Tatooine
Time: Late Afternoon
Scene: Waiting for Ann Lyn Vex

The cantina hadn't changed much. Still smelled like hot breath, burnt circuits, and the kind of poor decisions that got you killed slow. The usual mix of scoundrels, spiceheads, and syndicate bottom-feeders milled about, the noise thick with off-world dialects and thumping jizz music trying too hard to drown out the tension.

In a dim corner alcove, Rolcor Wildstar lounged like a man who'd been here a hundred times before—and probably had. The booth was half-swallowed in shadow, lit just enough to catch the slow curl of smoke rising from the shento cigar resting between his fingers. It hissed softly as he tapped the ash into a tray already full of other bad habits.

His coat was open, scarred armor underneath, and his boots were kicked up on the table with all the grace of a man who didn't care who took issue with it. A half-drained glass of Corellian whiskey sat beside a small holopuck and an old knife that had seen more than one barfight settled the hard way.

He looked relaxed, but the sharp-eyed would notice the weight of his hand near his blaster and the way his eyes tracked every silhouette that passed the cantina entrance.

They said she was new. Young. Some kind of street rat turned hunter—or hunter in training, anyway. Not the kind of gig he normally signed on for, but credits talked, and the message was clear: keep her alive, keep her learning, and make sure the job got done.

He could work with that. For the right price, he could work with just about anything.

Rolcor exhaled a slow stream of smoke, the scent of spice and heat trailing with it. The twin suns outside were starting to dip, casting gold and blood across the floor. He didn't know what she looked like, but she'd know him when she saw him.

They always did.

 

[Ann Lyn Vex]

She was late. Again.

Sweat clung to her neck as she moved through the streets of Mos Eisley. The people around her most have sensed her urgency, as the throng seemingly parted to let her pass through. Either that or some sixth sense was telling them she was some sort of unjust individual and that they should stay away.

She presumed, given she didn't believe she was remotely dangerous, it was the former.

Due to shipyard traffic, she'd had a hard time getting out of the docking bay. People had been everywhere, the place had been clustered and crammed and crowded. It'd been downright awful.

And naturally, since the fates were apparently against her today, the second she stepped outside, her eyes were attacked by a million pieces of sand. The very last thing she'd needed. A sandstorm. And now she was running late, and if this Rolcor dude was like any other person she'd worked with, tardiness would not be tolerated.

A small sigh of relief escaped her lips as the cantina came into sight. She slipped inside the building, keeping as much of a low profile that she could without seeming suspicious. She sent a sidelong glance at an old battered clock at one side of the room.

She was not that late then. Only by five minutes. Five minutes would be fine. Right?

 

[Rolcor Wildstar]

The door creaked.

Not the kind that screamed for attention—just enough to make a trained ear twitch. Rolcor didn't look up right away. He let the rim of the whiskey glass brush his lips, eyes fixed on the amber liquid as it caught the light. But his focus had already shifted.

Bootsteps. Light. Quick. Urgent, but trying not to be.

He took another drag off the shento, letting the smoke roll slow from his nostrils like a lazy predator sizing up something smaller than itself. Yeah. That had to be her.

Five minutes late. Not bad, considering the storm outside had turned the streets into a war zone of blind drunks and bad tempers.

He set the cigar down in the tray, took his time with the last sip of whiskey, then finally glanced up through the haze.

There she was.

Young. Fresh-faced. Trying to blend in, but the edges didn't quite fit. She looked like someone still figuring out how to wear the armor life had thrown at her. Not soft, not stupid—just... green. The kind of green that hadn't been sandblasted off yet.

He let the silence stretch just a little as she caught sight of him—eyes locking across the cantina like a scene straight out of some old holodrama, if holodramas ever smelled like rust and regret.

Then he gave her a nod. Just the one. Low. Casual.

"Five minutes," he said, voice gravel and smoke. "Not bad. I was takin' bets you'd get eaten by the crowd or buried in a sand dune."

He motioned to the seat across from him with two fingers, then reached for the bottle.

"You look like hell. Drink?"
Ann Lyn Vex

 

[Ann Lyn Vex]

Her eyes met with his. Through the dark and grime of the place, it was hard to pick out his expression. But he didn't seem annoyed. Which was something.

She weaved her way across the room, joining him in his corner. As she did, she ran her hand through her hair, sweeping it to one side. Nervous habit. One she hadn't had the time to kill yet.

His voice was deep as he spoke to her. It all but commanded her attention. Whether he was aware of it or not.

He was definitely not annoyed that she was late, by the sounds of it. That's good. Meant she would be saved from that ordeal today.

He certainly wasn't what she'd been expecting. Obviously she'd been expecting some lowlife who lived of the street like herself. But not this. Her instincts, that feeling deep down in her gut, told her that this was a man she shouldn't be associating with.

And yet here she was. Taking the seat across from him.

She eyed the bottle as he picked it up, watching his motions carefully. She knew enough that it wasn't wise to accept drinks from someone you don't know. Especially someone you have a bad feeling about.

"I feel it. Never realised the sandstorms got so bad around here." She'd experienced a few small ones during her time on Tatooine. Nothing compared to the one she'd just experienced.

"And no thanks. I prefer not to drink on duty." She replied, politely declining the offer. It wasn't strictly true - she had drunk on duty before. But that was only when she operated alone. She had no way of knowing what's in that bottle. So she wasn't willing to risk it.

 

[Rolcor Wildstar]

Rolcor watched her sit.

Not like he was studying her. No—he did that the moment she walked through the door. This was different. This was the kind of look a man gave a new weapon: curious if it would fire true or blow up in his hand.

She had the look most rookies had. Tension in the shoulders, hand in the hair, eyes that flicked too much but landed just enough. Sharp instincts. Cautious, but not stupid. That was a start.

He poured himself another finger of whiskey anyway, slow and easy. Let it splash against the side of the glass like it owed him something.

"No one realizes how bad the sand gets 'til it's peeling skin off their face," he said, leaning back with a creak of leather and armor. "Tatooine don't teach—it punishes. You learn or you burn."

The whiskey hit his throat like fire and memory. He let the burn sit a moment before continuing.

"Smart not takin' the drink," he said, voice low, just above the din of the cantina. "Shows you've still got that survival instinct. Not a lot of that left in this galaxy. Especially in kids tryin' to prove somethin'."

He gave her a sidelong glance, pale green eyes narrowing just slightly beneath the haze of cigar smoke.

"You here to prove somethin', Vex?" A pause. "Or are you here to learn how not to die stupid?"

He wasn't smiling. Not really. But there was a flicker at the corner of his mouth—something between amusement and warning.
Ann Lyn Vex

 

[Ann Lyn Vex]

Ann leaned back ever so slightly in the seat she'd taken, in an effort to disperse some of the tension. Her mind was on full alert at the moment, hyperaware of everything around her. At the smallest sign of trouble, she'd be ready to get out of there.

If you want to stay out of trouble, don't be present in the first place when it shows. That's what her father used to tell her.

Ironically, it just so happened to be the reason he got dragged away. Wrong place, wrong time. Wrong people. Whenever he'd said it, he'd been talking about the mines. Far too many people had been lost to their depths. People she had known, all those years ago.

Rolcors question was a difficult one to answer. Obviously it layed well within her interests to not die. That layed within most people's interests. But it technically wasn't why she was here.

If Ann was trying not to die stupid, she'd likely be steering well and truely clear of the man sitting across from her. Or perhaps it was better to be on his side. He seemed like a pretty damn scary opponent. It did not look ideal to get on his bad side.

With that being said, she wasn't here to prove something either. Not really. She had much in this world that she did want to prove. But this job did not fall within that precipitant. This was just a side hustle whilst she firgured out how the hell she was going to prove what she wanted to prove.

She instead decided to go with a much more neutral response.

"I'm just here for the pay." Her voice was even, giving no reason for conflict. "Much as I'm sure you are."

In fact, she was fairly certain he was their employer's reassurance that even if she stuffed everything up, the job would still get done. And that she'd be kept in line. It was real supportive to know how much faith they held in her ability.

Rolcor Wildstar​

 

[Rolcor Wildstar]

She leaned back, just a hair.

Rolcor didn't miss it. Never did. The little shifts—tells that someone was doing the math in their head. Exit routes, weapon reach, who dies first if things go sideways. She was wound tight, but not brittle. Good. He dragged slow on the shento, the tip flaring orange as he watched her behind a veil of smoke. There was something old in his stare, like a storm that never quite stopped brewing.

Just here for the pay, she said.

He let the silence settle between them, stretching long enough to test her patience. Then he gave a short, dry chuckle—one that didn't quite reach his eyes.

"Yeah," he said, tapping ash into the tray. "That's what we all say at first."

His gaze flicked out across the cantina floor. A couple of Jawas were bartering loud near the bar, a Weequay dozing with a bottle in his lap, and a pair of off-duty sector rangers playing cards in the back, helmets off but pistols close.

"You think the credits make it easier. That you can keep it clean—professional. Do the job, get paid, move on." He looked back at her, voice lower now. "But the jobs pile up. The bodies, too. And eventually, you'll be staring down the barrel of somethin' real ugly, wonderin' if the pay was ever worth it."

He swirled the glass, watching the whiskey catch light before tossing the rest back.

"But," he said, setting it down with a soft clink, "you're not wrong. I am here for the pay."

His eyes locked with hers again—more intent this time, heavier.

"But I also finish the job. That's the difference. Some folks run when things get complicated. You look like someone still figurin' out which kind you are."

He leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on the table, voice calm but firm.

"So here's the deal, Vex. You keep your head down, your blaster up, and your mouth smart—and this'll go smooth. You try to freelance it, get fancy, or pull some holodrama hero act? You'll be back on Tatooine in a box."

Another beat passed. Then he grinned—crooked, dangerous, but not without a flicker of humor.

"Now. Want to hear the job, or should we keep measuring how much we don't trust each other?"
Ann Lyn Vex

 

[Ann Lyn Vex]

Ann watched the man take a drag on the shento, resisting the urge to cover her nose. She hated the damn things. The constant stench, the smoky haze that came from them. She found them suffocating. And that was coming from someone who'd never had one. And why would she want one? They seemed vile.

She pushed the discomfort aside. Even if she was going to smell of it for the next few days, she could tolerate it. Which was good, as she didn't exactly have the choice.

She listened to him without interupting, letting him finish what he was saying before giving her own response.

And what he said was true. Credits didn't make it better. Not for her conscience. They weren't some miraculous cure for all her problems. But they certainly made life a hell lot easier.

"You make a lot of assumptions for someone who's only just met me." She commented once he was finished. She knew there were people in this galaxy who were extremely proficient at reading people.

As it was, most of his assumptions were true. Ann usually did prefer to just do the job without thinking about it too much. If she thought about it too much, her self morals would get in the way. Especially if in her eyes, her bounty was the one in the right. But this was the only way for her to get to the place she needed to be at to do what she wanted to do. So she'd keep pushing through.

"It doesn't matter how much I trust you if I have no choice but to trust you either way." She replied simply.

"But, just for the record, I don't." She added. Only a fool would trust someone who looked like him -scary, and not afraid to be so - without good reason.

A small sigh escaped her lips. She was not really looking forward to this.

"Go on then. What's the job?"

Rolcor Wildstar​