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Bugging People

Renegade Rodian


Cestus was a miserable planet to offworlders, but the natives thought it was just peachy. Largely because they didn't have the luxury to visit more pleasing planets. Zothustro had traveled off-world on several occasions, but that had been a long time ago. Now he was more or less confined to Cestus. Not because of any legal or physical constraints, but because of his own miserly behavior. Such was how Zothustro coped with his slowly depleting finances. There was also the fact that he had also been neglectful of repairs to his estate, which crumbled around him as he hobbled through it with the help of his cane.

Zothustro was the only one living here these days. At its height, this place had been a hive of activity. Servants, businessmen, members of House Quill... Now Zothustro was the only one left. The servants had been dismissed, the businessmen had stopped showing up, and all other members of House Quill- even the far-flung cousins -were dead. The only thing left of their legacy was the estate. And Zothustro, but none of them had been particularly fond of him. In fact, the few on Ord Cestus who knew of the lonely X'ting up in the hills found him disgusting. A diseased, mutated insect with fading noble ties. If he hadn't kept a low profile like he had, they would have probably lynched him.

But now he was tired of living in squalor; in the ruins of his estate. Zothustro had working knowledge of business, he had to do something more meaningful with his life before it was too late. He would show them. He'd show all of them how wrong they were to scorn him as they had. The rest of House Quill would groan if they could, that their legacy was left in the hands of an old, mutant X'ting. He'd show them too. A shame that it was only in the twilight of his life that this passion to show everybody up was ignited, but that was irrelevant.

He heard the roar of a ship's engines, signaling the arrival of a distinguished guest he desperately needed to entertain. Zothustro about-faced, making his way through the rotting interior of the estate's main building and out to the woefully neglected landing pad. Perhaps it was not wise to let the man see the estate in the condition that it was in, but no matter. Soon Zothustro would have it restored to its former glory and then some. Fiendish machinations burned behind his eyes. Plans and schemes that Zothustro would see completed far before he finally died.

All he needed was a little help.

Hannibal Oryen

Slick Fondorian
Hannibal stepped off of the airspeeder, leaving a generous tip. Why wouldn't he? He had more credits than he knew what to do with. That wasn't necessarily true, as he knew exactly what he wanted to do with it. For far too long had he been squandering his true talents- droid engineering -and trapeezing around the galaxy as a lowlife mercenary. It was time to let his true colors shine on through. Ditch the ridiculous accent for a while, do some real work. Make some real money. He could be the next Cade Lee, or Tyri Lsu. It all hinged on this meeting with some pent up, elderly insect who was looking for a kick in the right direction.

Stepping onto the chipped, decaying landing pad, this guy was going to need more than a kick. The estate that stretched around him was in a sorry state of repair. There was no way this was structurally sound. Given the place's remote location, he doubted building inspectors ever got out this far. Maybe they didn't even want to. This guy, Zothustro, implied that the geneal populace of the planet didn't really look favorably upon him. Tragic, but Hannibal didn't care. He was here to do business, not shed tears for the socially exiled X'Ting.

The doors to the mansion burst open, and out came Zothustro Quill.