Bleating and Babbling We Fell On His Neck With a Scream

[Darth Osano]

NAR SHADDA
LOWER LEVELS

Malvin was a two-eyed gran. He had to wear an eye patch over his center-most eye after he lost it in a knife fight with some gang whose name he couldn't remember, since they had also hit him pretty hard over the head. But they didn't hit him hard enough for him to forget that the reason he was getting beaten up by gangs was because he kept getting involved in drug smuggling. So from that day forward, Malvin decided he was going to go straight. A clean cut. And what better way to do so than to simply pursue his passion for cooking? Yes, even back when he was snorting raw Gandish UltraDream Spice off of the thighs of Quarren hookers and lighting up cigarettes of Dantooine Splitzer Leaves (otherwise known as the Devil's Lettuce), he had enjoyed cooking.

So he took what little money he had and bought a food vendor's cart. Then he borrowed some money and bought some ingredients. And low and behold, Malvin's Meatlumps was founded. The problem arose when Malvin realized his passion for cooking did not equate to being good at cooking. His meatlumps were abysmal. Largely because the money he had borrowed had been whittled away from bribing gangs not to loot his cart, so he had to catch rats and pidgeons for their meat. All in all it made for a disgusting meal, but it was cheap and it was the only food cart on this level. If there's one thing Malvin knew about the poor people of Nar Shadda, it was that they were hungry. He would know since he technically was still one of them.

In any event, he was making money... But between all the bribes, it wasn't enough to pay off his mounting debts. It was a particularly busy day for meatlumps ([member="Aver Brand"] was third in line) when Pollux and two members the Guavian Death Gang showed up to remind Malvin of his obligations. Malvin handed off one meatlump, got the credit chip, but before he could put it in his register he was harshly grabbed by the two Guavians. They smashed his head on the cart once, opening a forehead laceration, before dragging him a few feet away, at which point Pollux started talking. The Givin squatted down to Malvin's level, regarding him with vacant eyes.

"You're behind on your debt." Pollux said. "Why?"

Meanwhile, the person in front of Brand took the abandoned credit chip and two meatlumps before fleeing the scene. It was better not to hang around nearby when Guavian Security Soldiers were in town.

 

[Aver Brand]

Aver Brand was a lifelong subscriber to the adage of ‘If you want something done right, do it yourself’. It was one of her many charming qualities, along with her propensity for violent problem-solving and a pathological lack of moral fiber.

Where others would send delegates, subordinates, mooks, or any variation thereof, the mercenary went herself. Her reasoning was manifold. Aver was an experienced leader, and dare she say, quite good at it. Mostly because she spent less time talking and more time doing things. The sort of people she led preferred actions to words. It was simple.

She would not have someone negotiate with the representatives of the Smuggler’s Moon in her stead. The situation was too fragile, the circumstances too precarious. And nobody stood a better chance of getting out of a trap than her. The next few hours were important for the financial – was there any other? – prosperity of Nadir.

And as everyone knew, no good deal can be made on an empty stomach.

Though, now that she was closer to the stall and could smell the meat, Aver had begun to reconsider her decision to grab a lunch at Malvin’s. Things that looked suspiciously like feathers and tails stuck out of the formless meatlump mass in the countertop bucket. Not a great testament to their quality.

And then the commotion began.

“You’re shivvin’ kiddin’ me.”

They weren’t.

A humorless skeleton and two burly apes of undetermined species showed up. They brought with them violence and threats, along with a helping of blood. Made Aver feel right at home.

“Hey, Skelly!” No manners, this one. “Give him a minute, will you? I was about to order here.”

Teeth or not, he could still fry those four damned meatlumps.

[member="Pollux"]

 

[Darth Osano]

Malvin was spitting blood and getting ready to answer questions when suddenly a woman's harsh voice reached his ears. Or ear-holes, more accurately, since Givin did not have ears. Maybe he should get himself ears? No, that would just look stupid. Who ever heard of a skeleton with ears? Pollux turned his head to look at [member="Aver Brand"], regarding her with the same expressionless gaze. He was surprised he hadn't noticed her before, given how perfectly the universe was revolving around her. The other two customers were already gone, making off with ill-gotten gains. Pollux decided that he wasn't opposed to some bonus revenue. "Take care of him." He ordered the Guavians, standing up and moving over to the food cart.

Perfectly fluid in their motions, one Guavian released Malvin and moved to stand in front of the Gran. The other remained where he was, now restraining Malvin by himself, while the other kicked Malvin repeatedly. No one ever said collecting overdue debts was a glamorous job, but it paid the bills. Usually. Pollux, meanwhile, was now behind the food cart. He reached down and retrieved a spare of one of those small paper hats food vendors usually wore, placing it on his head, then standing back up to stare at Aver.

"Yes?" He asked.

 

[Aver Brand]

To say that it was difficult to throw Aver off kilter was a severe understatement.

And yet. And yet.

She blinked a few times to make sure she wasn’t seeing things. Nope. This had actually happened. The Givin had actually dropped his extortion job. Then he actually walked over to the cart, actually put that frakking cap on his skull, and actually asked after her order.

Aver burst out laughing. Not a cruel snicker or a dry chuckle, but a heartfelt peal of raucous laughter, suffused with wicked amusement.

“Oh, I like you, Skelly. What’s your name?” The mercenary stepped closer, food all but forgotten. Her gaze flickered over to the owner of the food cart, who was beginning to cough up the money. Not surprising, given that at least four ribs and an arm looked to be broken.

“A sense of humor and a talent for beating people to a pulp,” she smiled, but the warmth was gone. “I’ll go out on a limb here and guess that ain’t your dream job. You wanna move up in the world, come to the Slag Pit in two hours.”

She turned on her heel and gave the enforcer a two-finger salute as she walked out.

“Ask for Aver Brand.”


[member="Pollux"]

 

[Darth Osano]

Pollux didn't appreciate being laughed at. But the Guavians appreciated it for him, and momentarily paused their beating of Malvin just to watch the spectacle of [member="Aver Brand"] laughing. That was until Malvin made a sound that they mistook for a chuckle, which brought the Guavians back to reality. "The hell are you laughin' at, tough guy?" Said one of them, and the fists started to fly once again. Eventually Malvin was coughing up what few credits he had on his person, but only after a solid minute of Pollux staring at her, eyes narrowed. Was she going to order food here or not?

Instead, she asked for his name, which decidedly wasn't on the menu. Pollux remained silent, folding his arms impatiently. These meat lumps were getting cold and Pollux did not know how to cook new ones. Maybe Malvin could walk him through it, but that was going to be difficult once the swelling started. The mercenary woman was going on about his dream job and moving up in the world. Really. She expected him to take career advice from someone whose best dining option for the evening was Malvin's Meat Lumps? In a district of Nar Shadda that was terribly maligned by crime and disease even by Hutt Space standards? Give me a break. Then again, her armor looked pretty spiffy. Maybe she was a lieutenant for a high-profile mercenary outfit.

Pollux decided he couldn't afford to pass up any potential connections. His boss would have his hide if he ever found out he let a juicy relationship with some freebooters float on by. And then, without buying anything, she walked right off, giving him one of those cheesy two-finger salutes on her way out. Malvin was now a gibbering, sobbing mess on the ground with two Guavians standing over him. "What was that about?" One of them called over. Pollux noticed that the Guavian was wearing Malvin's eye-patch over his helmet as a joke. Classy.

"Nothing." Pollux replied, taking several paper bags and napkins from the stand and using them to bag all remaining meat lumps. Malvin didn't have enough money, so they were going to have to start seizing assets. Unfortunately, if they seized the cart, then they would never get their money. Food would suffice. Pollux handed two bags each to the Guavians before departing, offering one last piece of parting advice to the beleaguered Gran. "Get it together, Malv."

 

[Aver Brand]

In the end, Aver had succumbed and picked up a paper wrap full of some fried local thing. Better not to ask. She had a good metabolism. It would hold. It had to hold.

By the time she reached the inconspicuous offices of the Exchange, the meat was gone. She was looking around for something to wipe the grease into. And also what sort of delegation they were sending to their little talk, but that was secondary at the moment. Finally, an oblivious civilian happened by, draped in some ridiculous flowing garbs. She seized the moment and left a few stealthy stains on the shawl. He passed by, none the wiser.

Not a minute later, a group of five emerged through the door. Since the meeting was supposed to be one-on-one, this raised some eyebrows. And an alarm or two. Aver shadowed the group with ease thanks to the HDM, changing it matrix every couple of streets or so. As they neared the rendezvous point, the lieutenant’s escort peeled away, disappearing into the buildings enclosing the square.

The mercenary frowned, weighing her options. Being in Ghorzul’s shoes, she’d have pulled a similar trick, so she could hardly begrudge the man for caution. Force knew it kept you alive in this line of work. Professional respect aside, however, she still needed to talk with the towering Herglic. Preferably without four pairs of eyes and barrels pointed at her.

In the milling crowd, Aver brushed past the contact, slipping a datalogger into his pocket. In an alley close by, she called the planted device. After a few breathless rings, Ghorzul’s rough voice came through.

“Who the frak is this?” Wary, distrustful. Smart man.

“We were supposed to meet alone, Ghorzul,” Aver said, not unkindly. “In five minutes, you’ll receive a new location. I will know if your buddies are with you, so don’t bother. Either we do this my way, or you kiss Nadir goodbye.”

--

One hour and forty-three minutes later, Aver Brand was tucked away in a dark backroom of the Slag Pit, raking in some side cash while she waited for Skelly. The Givin still had seventeen minutes to show, and in that time she could pick the current table dry.

Ghorzul had been reasonable in the end, and the Exchange would get a few private docks on Nadir. For a small fee, of course.

Aver smiled into her cards and set them down to another round of angry yells.

[member="Pollux"]

 

[Darth Osano]

Not too much later, Pollux had arrived outside of the Slag Pit in search of [member="Aver Brand"].

"No spooks in the cantine," the bouncer had said. "Ow! Stop! I give, I give!" The bouncer had also said, after Pollux's Guavian friends corrected his manners with several swats of the stun baton. Was he even a bouncer? Could have just been a shakedown. The response would have been the same either way. Why people insisted on causing problems wherever he went, Pollux would never imagine. That was just the cost of doing business on planets like Nar Shadda: people caused problems. The protestations of the 'bouncer' quickly faded into the background as Pollux entered the infamous Slag Pit, sans his usual escort. The place smelled foul, looked decrepit, and the crowd looked very much at home here. Smugglers, mercenaries, slavers, hookers. The works.

The things I do for money.

He wormed his way to the bar. There were no stools. Sitting was for less manly creatures, apparently. The bartender was a portly Neimoidian, doing a double-take upon seeing a skeleton hovering there. Once the bartender realized what he was looking at he gave a contemptuous huff. "Can you even drink?" He asked incredulously. Since the Guavians weren't here with him (not to mention the ruckus ordering beating up the Neimoidian would have caused), Pollux elected to not exact immediate vengeance for the bartender's rudeness.

"Aver Brand."

The Bartender eyed Pollux skeptically, cleaning out a mug with a cloth as he did so. "Room in the back, bonehead. Knock first."

Pollux had already shoved off from the bar before the bartender had even finished sounding out 'bonehead.' Siddling through a tavern filled with the worst of the scum Nar Shadda had to offer was not how he had intended on spending his evening. Finally, he broke through the crowd and found the fabled backroom. Pollux knocked loudly. One. Twice. Three times. If they asked any more of his knocking, he would invariably just leave. Whatever was being offered could never be worth standing out here any longer.

 

[Aver Brand]

“I don’t care, schutta! I know you’re cheating!”

“I’m cheating? How, exactly?”

“I— doesn’t matter! You’re cheating, don’t you frakking dare deny it!”

“Really now. Clam down, Volk, you’ll hurt yourself.”

“...” “You pretentious cu—”

knock

knock

KNOCK

“Get the door, will you?”

The beet-faced Rodian blinked in disbelief. Then he flung his cards down and shot up from his chair, nearly losing his balance in the process. The rest of the table broke out laughing while the disgraced alien stalked off to the reinforced doors. He threw them open with murder in his eyes, barking at the Givin.

“What?! What do you want, skullface!?”

“Ignore him,” Aver called out from behind, her tone sing-song. “He’s just upset he lost all the credits he made selling Twi’lek hookers on the street. Isn’t that right, Volk?”

“SCREW YOU!”

“Ooh, feisty. Better be careful, Skelly.”

The door slammed shut behind the Givin with a resounding clap. Aver gestured for the enforcer to join them at the table with a cant of the head, grinning all the while.

“You play Sabacc, Skelly?”

Just like that, the grin turned positively wolfish.

[member="Pollux"]

 

[Darth Osano]

“What?! What do you want, skullface!?”

It was difficult to ignore someone who was screaming into your face. But, Pollux did as Aver instructed nonetheless, wiping a fleck of spit from where it had landed just under his eye. Clearly tempers were running high as a result of the illicit gambling operation. Though illicit implied there was a central authority on Nar Shadda to outlaw it, so maybe it wasn't illicit. Just very shady and unregulated. He regarded the Rodian with that same muted expression he always wore for a few moments before sliding further into the room.

The Rodian was a pimp. Considering his sunny disposition, this did not surprise Pollux in the least. Pollux wordlessly took the seat offered and shook his head at Brand's offer to join in on the sabaac game. "Pass." Pollux wasn't adverse to gambling with other people, but gamblers were adverse to gambling with him. Casinos generally did not allow Givin to frequent them. Two guesses as to why. Counting cards only worked if he was certain the other players weren't already cheating, which in settings like this was always. There were better things to waste his money on.

"You had an offer."

More of a statement than a question. Pollux only tolerated small talk from Eugene and [member="Pauul Farrlo"], and only because he was familiar enough with them to tolerate their babble. Maybe after a few conversations with [member="Aver Brand"] and she became more predictable in his eyes, he'd begin to indulge her wolfish grin and uproarious laughter.

 

[Aver Brand]

A couple moments passed where the blank slate of the visor just hovered there, unmoving. Then Aver tilted her head towards the door, a quick, small gesture. The remaining two players grabbed what little remained of their cash and cleared their room in a hurry. If there was one thing you could rely on in people of Nar Shaddaa, it was good instincts.

“To business, then. I knew there was a reason I liked you.”

Without preamble, the merc produced a datapad and threw it into the Givin’s lap. “Took the liberty of looking you up a bit, Skelly. Or do you prefer [member="Pollux"]? Where I come from, it’s generally rude not to introduce yourself. Don’t care if it’s an alias— shivit, most of us use them, don’t we? Elsewise we’d all be corpses at the bottom of a ditch.”

She smiled again behind her helmet, and leaned forward in her seat. There was maybe another inch to spare between the two skullfaces, and that was it.

“Don’t sell yourself short, Skelly. What are you doing out there, shaking down some crapstain street vendor for pocket change like some kinda second-rate enforcer?” She flipped open her palm, and suddenly there was a credit chip in it. “You and I both know you’ve got skills for so much more, Skelly.”

“Nar Shaddaa here? Yesterday’s news. Every two-bit double-crossing son of a Bith who’s looking to turn an illegal profit comes here. Frakking look at it, Skelly! Shivit’s practically crawling with tourists!” Aver shook her head. “Frakking disgrace.”

“Now, Point Nadir? We sing a different tune, Skelly. An efficient one.”

 

[Darth Osano]

Looking him up... A bit? Pollux knew someone had a file on him somewhere, probably rivals of the Guavian Death Gang, but he had not considered that just anyone could run around on the holonet and pluck it out for their own purposes. The file was bare-bones anyway. It listed him as some kind of Enforcer, his dimensions (these were off), and there was a nice picture of himself exiting a brothel on Zeltros. The lady of the house had owed quite a sum of money, but managed to cover her debts by having the hookers seduce the Guavians and Pollux out of a lot of money. Not his finest moment. On the plus side, he looked pretty good in that picture. Definitely Spacebook profile photo worthy.

He was about to remark that he wasn't being paid enough to be called "skelly" by some trollop with skulls adorning each and every inch of her armor, but then she offered him a credit chip and the complaint became void. Pollux took the credit chip without taking his eyes off of Brand . Staring at her helmet was like looking into a mirror. A mirror on some days, anyway, but not all of them. [member="Aver Brand"] had high hopes for him, a low opinion of Nar Shadda, and a high opinion of Point Nadir.

Pollux had heard of the Shadow Port. Heard, but never seen, never bothered to venture near. The higher ups in the Death Gang wanted nothing to do with it, since they were friends with the Hutts and the Hutts were leery towards Point Nadir. "I'm aware." He said. deadpan as usual. "My bosses disagree. It may be time for new bosses."

 

[Aver Brand]

He took the money. Of course he did. They all did. Credits were the only way to buy loyalty in this line of business. If you wanted a solid administration, however, credits were only the first stepping stone. The entry point, so to speak. Then came benefits, insurance, discounts, protection, lodging… little by little, it added up. Fear and intimidation worked well enough, but a good helping of carrots worked even better.

Aver smiled behind her helmet, leaning back in her chair. Their first transaction, credits and words, was complete. She cocked her head, regarding his dispassionate expression.

“Indeed. Apart from shaking down penniless merchants, what else can you do?”

If [member="Pollux"] decided to return with her to Nadir, she would put his skills to a more practical test. For now, an evaluation of his speech would have to suffice. If he tried to lie, chances were good she would catch it. Takes one to know one, after all.

 

[Darth Osano]

She called Malvin penniless, something with which Pollux respectfully disagreed. People like that Gran always had something hidden away, somewhere. Heirlooms, valuables, maybe even just some spare cash. But it was always there. You just had to know the right way to ask- and the right way to ask was by hitting them until they spat out the information, usually with a few teeth as well. "Get your money back from the infochant who gave that to you." He nodded to the datapad and slid it back over to [member="Aver Brand"]. What kind of amateur intelligence gathering job was being done here if they didn't even include his skill set? Insulting. Very insulting. But it also meant he was doing his own job properly. Pollux had been floating around at the bottom rung of leadership in the Guavian Death Gang for the majority of his time with the organization. That had been intentional.

Pollux did not like people knowing who he was or what he wanted.

"Math. Research. Development. I design things. Keep wheels turning." He paused. "I'm also great at parties."

If she wanted his resume, she should have asked him in advance. The printer at the Guavian hideout in this district was jammed. And out of ink. Just another shortcoming of the Guavian Death Gang- no respect for keeping the office equipment in working order.

 

[Aver Brand]

She snatched the datapad mid-air and tucked it back into the slim etui on the table. The info had come free of charge, but then again, [member="Pollux"] didn’t need to know that. Long ago, a woman with a different name and less experience had made a list and checked it twice. These days, she happily consulted the ever-growing document of debts and favors owed, and called on them just as often.

Wit danced at the tip of her tongue, but Aver swallowed the comment. Some play was nice, just to break the ice, but eventually one had to double down and focus. Their business was a cutthroat one, and jokes weren’t always welcome.

“That,” slowly, the mercenary extended a digit and pointed at the credit chip in his hand, “could be your weekly pay.” Weekly because death had the discourteous habit of arriving swiftly and without notice on Nadir.

“Plus whatever you earn by freelancing on the side. We’re all about open relationships.”

 

[Darth Osano]

Somehow the datapad launched into the air for Brand to grab, even though he had only slid it across the table. Clearly this discrepancy among posts about character actions was not going to be addressed, with no small thanks in part to the lukewarm attitude of the writer opposite this one. But in the name of continuing the flow of the narrative without any interruptions or editing of the posts, Pollux would continue to sit there and listen carefully to what [member="Aver Brand"] had to say, giving no more attention to the tragedy of the discrepancy of the movement of the datapad.

He glanced at the credit chip one last time before slipping it into his coat pocket. His weekly pay. That sounded nice, but he couldn't tell how much was on it just by looking at it. Either Brand would have to tell him or he would find out later when he went to deposit it. If it was anything less than double what the Guavians were dolling out, it would be an easy rejection. Maybe one that wouldn't pan out for him in the end, but he would rather be dead than broke. Worse people than Brand had tried to kill him.

Then again, he didn't know Brand.

"What do you want me to do?"

 

[Aver Brand]

“Want you to do? Nothing. I’m a firm believer in freedom of choice.” She smiled behind her mask, a grin mirrored by her conversation partner unbeknownst to him. Skulls had their perks.

“Take, for example, an undervalued talent far too low on the rungs of the food chain. Any food chain, any type of work. They start to resent their bosses, who can’t – or won’t, which is worse – acknowledge their skills and duly reward them. Unfulfilled potential is the only real crime, I always say.” Aver paused here, nodding sagely.

“Anyway, this example of ours, he’s thoroughly fed up with it by now. So when a brilliant opportunity drops into his lap one day, what’s a man to do? Simple questions beget simple solutions.” Leaning forward until they were once again mere hairs apart, the merc finished with a hoarse whisper.

“He exercises his freedom of choice.”

Just as suddenly, the woman pulled away again, draping a lazy arm over the back of the chair. There was an expectant tilt to her head, blue eyes wide with excitement behind the matte glint of her visor. Without moving her gaze away from the givin, Aver produced a sharp blade and slid it across the table towards the motionless man. A small blaster followed suit, unmarked and modified beyond recognition.

Even to the greenest of milkdrinkers, they were obvious tools of traceless death.

[member="Pollux"]

 

[Darth Osano]

Pollux was getting real tired of this 'inches away from your face' trope getting tossed around like it was going out of style, so when [member="Aver Brand"] leaned forward he narrowed his eyes in what might have been a Givin expression of annoyance and leaned back snugly in his chair, folding his arms. The skeleton was probably frightening to humans. Indeed, that was what most of the galaxy seemed to be, so of course that should be her target audience for helmet-art intimidation tactics. But to Pollux all it looked like was someone who could have been his aunt. Maybe an uncle. Give or take a few years of rampant drug abuse.

She was, quite earnestly and also quite bluntly, indicating to Pollux that he should kill his bosses. A course of action he had settled on since the Guavian Death Gang had first been brought to attention. What he had lacked prior to this meeting was sufficient reason to do so. If a power-player on Nadir could be counted on for... An acquaintanceship, Pollux elected to call it, then he could move. Without that, any move on his part would sooner plunge the gang into anarchy than rally them around him. He had to indicate to the remaining Guavians that he had allies and friends outside of the gang, even if it weren't really the case.

Most of this business is all about deception. To that end, Pollux gave no sign of acknowledging or even seeing the weapons slid across to him on the table. Neither was his style. "The ringleaders will be meeting at our headquarters on Rishos II." He said, hand slipping out from the fold briefly to brush something off his sleeve. "It will be their last meeting. You can come, if you'd like."

Rishos II was nowhere. It was a moon in a system few people visited, orbiting a sun most people didn't know the name of. And yet it was also the secret meeting place of the Guavian Death Gang- far away from where anyone outside of the gang would ever find it. If Brand truly wanted she could have taken this information and leveled the Guavian Death Gang, but that was what Pollux was intending to do anyway. It didn't matter to him. If she betrayed him there, he would survive. After all these decades, it was another thing he was just another thing he did quite well.

"Will that be all?"

 

[Aver Brand]

“Rishos? More like the galaxy’s remotest boondocks.” The smile, or whatever was left of it, was gone in an instant. “If you wanted to get me alone, you needed only ask.”

If it looks like a trap, swims like a trap, and quacks like a trap, then it probably damn well is a trap.

Aver retrieved the rejected instruments of destruction, tucking them safely back where they belonged. With a small adjustment, the knife and the snub-nosed blaster disappeared from sight, concealed until their owner might find use for them once more.

“I will see you there.” Though he may not see her, nor the company she intended to bring. Discretion is the better part of valor, after all.

With that, the mercenary rose from the chair, towering over her tentative new associate. Whether her instinct had led her astray remained to be seen, but for now, she kept her expectations low and her guard high. Never could go wrong with a loaded gun.

“Think of the money, [member="Pollux"],” she murmured as she brushed past him, and then was gone.

 

[Darth Osano]

RISHOS II
RISHOS SYSTEM

The Guavian Death Gang's primary hideout was a dingy moon base on a dingy moon in a dingy system.

There were a lot of people angry with Pollux today. Mostly the senior staff of the Guavian Death Gang, who were now holding a hushed meeting inside a room that was too small to really be safe. Inside that room, that room that was too small, they were being doted on by their most loyal guards. Not their best guards. Not their most skilled guards. Not their most decorated guards. Their most loyal guards. Sycophants, every one of them, and Pollux doubted they would be missed. They were calling on Pollux to answer for his most heinous sin of meeting with that Smirking Whore from Nadir Station, otherwise known as [member="Aver Brand"]. Pollux had let it get around within the gang that he had negotiated some kind of spice smuggling contract with shady folks on Nadir, a contract that would have violated their current arrangement with the Kanjiklub.

Not true even a little bit, but the rumor wouldn't get far enough to seriously endanger any deals with the Kanjiklub. It was just something that had to be cooked up so that the seniors would call him in during their big meeting, one of the few times they would all be together, so that they could make a nice example out of Pollux. Maybe gloat and belittle him to his face. They were cruel, and a lot of people in this business mistook cruelty for competence, for leadership. Cruelty had its place, but if you spend too much time gloating over your impending kill instead of just sending someone to kill them... This business isn't going to work out for you in the long run.

Pollux stalked down the hallway. Eugene was behind him, as were a few other Guavian commandos. More than there should have been following him around. If people started seeing him like this, the senior leaders would no doubt complain, they were going to start thinking Pollux was higher up in this Death Gang than he really was. Stop having people follow you around, Pollux. Stop keeping a better grip on our numbers, finances, and logistics than we can, Pollux. We're demoting you again for making us look bad, Pollux. He could already hear them now, that gaggle of old men and women- all human, incidentally. The Guavian Death Gang had never been very richly diversified in terms of species. Maybe that was ultimately why Pollux was having such a hard time. Babbling at him in their raspy voices, barely finishing a sentence without snorting a line of who-even-knows-anymore.

"Uh... You okay, Pollux?" Eugene asked, noticing the vein protruding from the Givin's forehead, a sign of his heightening anger the more he thought about things. That wasn't supposed to be there. No, really, it was not supposed to be there. How was a vein supposed to protrude through exoskeleton? It was physically impossible, and the moment Eugene said something to Pollux, it vanished. Sunk right back in. Very peculiar.

"Never better."

They marched down the corridors, through the hallways. Nobody stopped them. Some were in on it, but the rest knew what was coming and knew well enough to stay out of the way. When they finally ended up outside that room- that stupid, stupid small room -the two guards hanging around the door glanced at each other and moved away. This was going to be the big confrontation. Or so everyone thought. Pollux had other plans. He stopped just in front of the door, then held out an open hand towards one of the Guavians that had been marching alongside them. "Grenade."

He reluctantly unclipped a thermal detonator from his bandoleer and handed it to the Givin.

Pollux glanced over this Guavian and noticed that there were seven more grenades on that bandoleer. Explosives expert, this one. Pollux sighed and forcibly yanked the bandoleer off of this Guavian, sticking the one he had been handed back on the belt. He triggered it, then headed for the door. It parted before him, revealing a small section of the room. Pollux could only see one of the seniors. A weasel of a man with a face so gaunt and pale from drug abuse he looked more like a skeleton than Pollux. Pollux only saw the confused look on his face for a few seconds before he tossed in the bandoleer, turned back around, and shut the door panel.

There was a ruckus. A table getting knocked over. Maybe if they had been expecting it, they might have gotten out in time. Jumped over the table and out the door. But they didn't. There were only a few shouts and startled yells before the sound of a muted explosion gently shook the hallway. Then there was silence. Beautiful, beautiful silence.

 

[Aver Brand]

Talk about a spoilsport.

If only she had it in her to be disappointed. Low expectations will do that to you. Observing the execution unfold was anything but disappointing if she was honest, and Aver Brand was always honest. Except when she wasn’t.

An airlock disengaged with the soft hiss of well-kept mechanisms. Surprising, that such negligent bosses would take such good care of the station. Then again, people who were terrible in every single aspect were rare. Take it from a terrible person.

The mercenary swept on board with a small contingent of other mercenaries in tow. For the moment, she was indistinguishable from the lot; a precaution, if you will. If you survive being a Sith Lord among Sith Lords, you can survive anything. Even the schemes of a information-savvy mechanic with a skull for a face.

“Nice work,” said a mercenary that wasn’t Brand. He was standing two people away from her, leaning on a nearby wall. Force bless helmets.

“Efficient,” Aver added, licking her lips. Was it just her, or was it getting hot in there?

Another of her people strode closer, offering him a datapad. No information this time, but rather a contract. A fool’s errand, perhaps, to offer a contract to a criminal. [member="Pollux"] looked like the anal-retentive type, though. They just adored their numbers and binding legal documentation. Never mind that the very definition of ‘legal’ was fleeting at best in the Outer Rim. Black on white, green on black, call it what you will. When it carried some signatures, they felt safer.

“You gonna keep running these guys?” She jabbed a thumb in the direction of the Guavians. “Or will you dissolve them?”

There was a third option, of course. There always was.

“Give them to me?”

The purr of a Ralltiir tiger. You could almost see her grin through the mask. Almost.