It was downright ironic is what it was. It was almost like when she'd been first locked up all over again. Then it had been over something she hadn't even done. At least this time the crime really was hers, but instead of getting her for all the executions she'd pulled off, or murders as the law thought of them, it was for theft.
Some assassins made a lot of credits. Were rolling in it. Nan didn't. Because she didn't kill for other people. She killed for the people. She took out the scum other people turned a blind eye to. The ones who preyed on the weak, who paid off the law. So sometimes she didn't have the credits for necessities. For food or clothes. Ammo. Apparently, her light fingers hadn't been light enough, and she'd worn her own face often enough that they'd caught on to her. Had started building a portfolio. A case. And eventually she'd been nabbed.
In broad daylight an official law enforcement speeder had pulled up, she'd not run because she didn't think she had any reason to, two burly officers had come barrelling out and the next thing she knew she was being handcuffed and bodily thrown into the speeder.
Now here she was, cuffed to a table and watching a harried looking officer enter with a very thick folder and a cup of caf. Good cop.
"Don't bother, ain't talkin' t'you bizzie, might as well send in th'bad cop."
He ignored that, sitting down and opening the folder, he looked at her over the top of it. "Shinnan Moreno, aka Nan, aka Wight, aka the Red Death, aka-"
"Ain't none of them AKA's other'n Nan. Ain't m'names and I ain't answerin' t'em. I didn't do nothin' so you can't prove nothin'."
"Oh we can't prove most of what we suspect, that's true, but we can get you for the theft of several thousand credits worth of goods over the last several months. Enough to put someone like you back in jail. Did you enjoy it the first time? And I bet you've made a few enemies who'd love to have you locked up in one place where they can find you, haven't you? Sound like fun?"
"What've you got me in this room for then bizzie? If you got me so dead to rights, then lock me away. Don't gotta gloat about it."
"We know you're force sensitive Ms Moreno."
"Don't know nothin' about that."
"Well we know more than enough. And while the things we suspect you of are entirely illegal and we do not approve.. Some of us worked our way up and remember where we come from, and what it's like there. So. I've arranged something a little.. non-standard."
"A-yuh? Y'got such a hard-on for me, don't mean I got one fer you. What d'y'want bizzie. Spit it out."
"I've spoken to the Green Jedi. We've arranged for you to become a probationary member."
"It's not optional."
"Fine I'm a Green Jedi, uncuff me."
"Lip service isn't enough Ms Moreno. We've arranged for you to have a mentor. Think of him as your parole officer. You don't check in with and spend enough time with him, we come after you and there's no more second chances. It's straight to jail with you, no parole, no favours, no special treatment."
"Fine send me to jail."
"Here's his info. We'll drop you off at the temple." He pushed a card across to her, ignoring her obstinate words and the glare she was sending his way. Rising he left the room. Big and Burly who'd nabbed her earlier returned not long after and manhandled her to a speeder once more. Not long after, she was dumped unceremoniously on the Green Jedis front steps.
Making a rather rude gesture at the two officers, Nan looked grudgingly at the card she had in fact pocketed, and made her way into the Temple. Best to play along for a bit. Give it a week or two and their focus would waver. They had more to pay attention to than just her. With a scowl, she got directions and headed for the indicated room.
Finding it, she knocked on the door, waiting impatiently. This provoked no response, so she knocked again, harder. After a few minutes, and several rather inventive curses, Nan tried the door. Unlocked. With an internal shrug, she let herself in.
And very nearly let herself back out again.
It stank like a Limmie team had been hanging out her post game and hadn't been acquainted with a refresher in some time. And vomit. And an underlying smell of spilled alcohol. That was just the least offensive scent. Oh, and was that some spoiled food adding it's own scent to the disgusting choir? It would be just her luck if her 'parole officer' was in here dead and no one had noticed.
Looking over all the empty bottle and cans, it would likely be from liver failure.
"This's gotta be some kinda joke."