Capture-fl4g.mov (Ask)

[Jen]

While beer was not the drink she favored the most, it did give a good contrast to all the caffeine and sugar enhanced beverages she had poured into her body all evening to keep her game on top during the tournament. With a last gulp followed by a deep breath to get the taste of controlled decay out of her mouth, she put the still filled can back onto the table and began to scoop up more of the noodles from the box in front of her, first stopping eating once Marcus started talking once again.

It was quite clear that while she perhaps did not look like a person to have ever been a part of a formal high-class gathering -her eyes showing the natural signs of having lived a tough life in the lesser nice parts of the galaxy-, she certainly did not eat like your typical underworld hoodlum. She had through her time in the Ravens to thank for most of her manners, at least those remaining or those she cared about.

“Sort of, us Ryn don’t really like to settle you know. We just move where ever we want to go.” It was not really the truth. Despite the fact she rarely slept the same place more than once a night each week, she rarely left Nar Shaddaa let alone Hutt Space. Having turned her gaze to look at him while she was talking, she finally seemed to have spotted his drink. “Oh what is-…” She stopped mid-sentence, a pale, black inked hand already halfway extended towards the can as if ready to take a sip from it when she had frozen mid motion. The friendly expression that had been visible on her face moments ago had suddenly been washed away, her expression almost cold, disgusted even as she read and re-read the label, looking up towards Marcus afterwards, her hand lazily having shifted from pointing at the can to point at Marcus, her expression almost judging. “Why the kark are you drinking that sort of garbage?”

[member="Marcus Lok"]​

 

[Marcus Lok]

Marcus eyed her mid-sip as her friendly and melodic voice grew silent in the wake of some apparent travesty. For a few moments he worried that he might of done something that offended her, and he wouldn't have been too far off. For a few moments he sat there, quite baffled and confused as to what she might have meant by calling it garbage. Had she choked on some before and it hadn't sat well with her since? Had the company bought out her parents land and sold it off as a parking lot? No... It must have been simpler than that. Then, it came to him. It was a mistake he had seldom made before, but in the presence of such friendly company he must have forgotten the fact that it was in karking Mando'a! While not a crime in itself, the Mandalorian culture could be described as having a... Less than shining reputation. A few crusades over thousands of years had left a sour taste in many mouths in the inner rim... As well as Hutt Space apparently, and he was all too quick to readjust his position. Though she might have noticed his doubtful expression at first, he would be quick to mask it with a nonchalant sort of grin.

"Never seen it before... I thought the name looked sort of funny. Why what's in it?.."

His mistake would have seem innocent enough, but in the back of his mind he felt the cold anxiety that came with being a phony. She was probably had enough wits about her to tell that he was not telling the whole truth, but to disclose that information might well turn this into a shootout he was not prepared to win. It was the constant fear of violent reactions from business partners, colleagues, and bar patrons throughout the galaxy that had taught him to keep his mouth shut and his identity within the Republic, though it was far from the truth. And, as he gazed on at her for a few moments, his fingers clutched the plasteel grip of the blaster pistol that was holstered at his side. Just in case...

[member="Jen"]

 

[Jen]

The story itself was quite long and somewhat complicated, but the rough explanation was that ever since Jennifer had fled to Nar Shaddaa - having escaped prison for the second time in her life- she had out of fear for being recognized by bounty hunters or other scum attempted to change her appearance. At least just enough so the most widely known descriptions of her did not match entirely. For example, her otherwise snow white hair had been dyed black and most importantly the Mandalorian tattoo that would have been seen around her eye had been removed.

She had received it at a young age after helping her father, a Human Mandalorian, on a hunt. She hated the man, despite not even being able to remember his face. Had the tattoo not been removed from her face, Marcus would probably have been able to guess her association with the culture.

Her amber eyes, the expression on her face still cold, stared intently at Marcus as he replied. It was obvious she was not entirely convinced by his lie, having picked up on some of the subtle clues left behind by his hesitation. Nevertheless, neither had she been convinced that he was in fact lying. Her disgust was still clear as she seemed to read the Mandalorian text on the can once more. “I’m not a chemist… But it is a mando drink. You know, Mandalorians? They’re horrible people. Murderers murdering for the sake of murder. Twisted karkers.”

She closed her eyes for a second, rubbing her forehead as her face contorted in an expression that might as well have indicated she had just tasted something really sour. Or as if preparing herself for something.

“So dude, you mentioned you did some private military contracts... For who exactly?” Her voice sounded surprisingly harsh once more, yet it was quieter than ever, a hand still slowly rubbing her forehead: “And… Don’t karking lie.”

[member="Marcus Lok"]​

 

[Marcus Lok]

He had set down the can almost as soon as he had finished talking, not wanting to draw more attention to it than he had to. It was now a liability to his work, a threat to him even surviving the night, and he would likely not touch it again, despite its only being one fourth empty. His innocent and friendly smile had grown cold after the remark, and as she went on about the Mandalorian's supposed atrocities, he only returned a very distant stare. He wouldn't speak out and he definitely wouldn't show any kind of support for the clans right then and there, and as his fingers finally fell away from the grip of the blaster and back onto the cold metallic surface that served as their table, he couldn't believe what she believed about him and the people who had raised him up. The Mandalorians were a harsh people with little room for excuses, let alone weakness, but they had formed him into the man he was today. His father had been a Mandalorian, his grandfather the same, but they had never murdered for the fun of it. The sheer idea of killing for fun was one that he hadn't liked since he had first encountered the young boys of the enclave who had bragged about their supposed 'kills' in the streets of Keldabe. For him, it was a matter of self defence and honor. Kill when you had too, or for profit, but never to gain satisfaction from the last pleas of your enemy.

His people were not a perfect people, but the galaxy as a whole had not been spared from acts of murder and genocide from societies that purportedly served justice. If only she could recall the news reports of the Republic venting civilians into the void at Roche... Or perhaps she didn't care. Either way, his eyes would drift dully into the Styrofoam container as she adopted a face of disgust.

"Yeah..? I've only read about them once or twice... Never seen much about them on the holonet. You know... Besides a few battles..."

He hoped the display of disinterest that he had given off about her final world towards the clans would not be taken as a sign of solidarity... But the conversation wasn't exactly warm at that point anyways. She probably would have stared him back down into the container if he had dared to smile at her accusations towards his vod... It just wouldn't do to say anything to disagree with her about the point. She certainly felt strongly enough about it, and it made him wonder if she had some bad encounter with the armored crusaders as of late... Wouldn't be a real surprise, they were making enemies faster than a baker made donuts.

His hopes that she would not up and walk away were answered, however, when she finally piped up about his previous lines of work, along with a sweet little request for honesty. Though, if she hadn't cleaned his clock in the competition he wouldn't doubt that she was telling him lie after lie across an open table.

"Republic... First Order... Some short stuff with the Alliance, I mean they'll pay top dollar just to know what the enemy is saying over the net."

He quickly shoveled another collection of noodles and chicken into his mouth to mute the need of talking further, hoping only that his answer was satisfactory enough to fool her into believing him. Had he done any work for them? Well... No. But there would be little way for her to find that out!.. Or at least he hoped.

"I'm sure you've had your own contracts with them..?"

[member="Jen"] ​

 

[Jen]

She visibly relaxed as he answered her question, her gaze for a brief moment looking towards one of the nearby walls as she made eye contact with a Karkaradon that had seemingly been silently watching them from a distance, its enormous arms crossed across its swollen chest.

It was the very same Kararadon that had broken up the fight between the punks and drunkards earlier. After Jennifer had lazily and dismissingly shaken her head at it, it turned on its feet with a grunt and trudged off after it had eyed Marcus intently once more. One with keen eyesight would notice as it walked off, that the logo on the back of its leather vest was the very same that could be spotted on the jacket Jennifer had tossed over the backrest of the couch she was sitting in.

Slowly the cold expression that had covered her face disappeared as Marcus continued to talk and by the time he had finished she took another sip from her can of beer and as she brought it back onto the table every trace of a frown was gone. Almost as if it had never even been there in the first place. “You really are a government puppet, huh?” She grinned slightly, almost as if teasing him: “Well, better those type of people than… Anyway…” She went silent, her grin gone for a bit as she ate a few more noodles.

“Hmm, but to answer your question, nah. I rarely take contracts from governments. I don’t really like how any of them run things, you know? Independent contractors is where it is at. And you don’t need them, the governments to hand you credits anyway. You can just take them from them. Everything is digital these days and the big corps don’t give a poodoo about learning how to protect themselves. Like, you can trick some holonet marketplace pages into thinking you’ve already paid them, so they just end up sending you free stuff. It’s a free-world for people like us, Marc.”

Despite being much more open that seconds before, it was obvious that Jennifer was not as friendly as before, her gaze more inquisitive, intrusive whenever she looked at Marcus. As if silently still suspecting him of some unknown crime.

[member="Marcus Lok"]​

 

[Marcus Lok]

In truth, he was nonethewiser that he had almost been gunned down sitting there at the booth during their small period of tension. It had been awkward, the silence, and for a few moments he truly believed that he might well have started a bar fight over ordering the wrong can of booze... You had to love the undercity.

Once her expression had changed into one that eminated a friendlier, forgiving sort of look, he offered an innocent smile in return, but his face would quickly turn back to the same neutral gaze he had given her at the beginning of their conversation. He was skeptical now. The fact that she had taken such a stance on the Mandalorian people was somewhat unexpected, but not overtly surprising. Many beings hated the Mandalorians for their past atrocities, and few were willing to consider the idea that any of their present day kin were any different. The simple truth that most of his people had accepted was that they had to lie in the bed that their forefathers had made, and for most of them it was not too difficult.

He returned to his meal, slightly annoyed but cured of the momentary tension that had nearly made his hand pull the trigger. For now, he pushed aside the can that had gotten him into the mess in the first place and then raised his eyes back to hers as she called him a puppet of the aforementioned governments. He wasn't of course, and she could probably gauge that he had not been brainwashed by any sort of government that held sway over many others. It was a matter of funds, and a bit of protection on the side. He found that a government was much more willing to provide on-call protection to their best assets, and he was all too ready to accept that kind of help if he ever found himself in a firefight. Who wouldn't?

"Most of them try to convert you to their way of thinking while your under contract... First Order kept telling me that they could bring organization to the galaxy through peaceful-... Whatever it was it was all chit.... The real payout comes with the contracts that keep coming, sometimes they put you on a payroll and it just never stops. So long as you're still listed in their registry, they often count you off as an asset and send you full salaries even if your not "Working" for them."

The portions he had been receiving from a few larger companies had kept him alive for much of his first year doing the bit. It was not a lot of money, sure, but it certainly put food on the table and he never found himself living in discomfort after they took him aboard. Perhaps she had some reason to resent the corp's, and there was no reason why he wouldn't agree with what she said other than the fact that the ramifications often didn't seem worth it in his mind. But then again, she had been out here longer... He could learn a thing or two.

"I like the sound of 'free' as much as the next guy... Guess I just never thought about..."

[member="Jen"]​

 

[Jen]

“Bonuses are always a plus…” Jennifer answered with her mouth full of food as she took another bite of noodles, the paper box almost empty by now. The corporations and businesses that ruled Nar Shaddaa had always been ones hungry for power. That was the whole idea with establishing a base of operations on the smuggler’s moon, people could evade tax and pay off officials so they got all sorts of benefits. It was the powerfuls game and those with few credits would never be able to compete.

A hum was heard from her pocket while Marc talked and without much care Jennifer pulled the datapad out, glancing at the screen before tapping it once or twice. She had been send some information over the CryptNet by one of her associates. Apparently, her holonet connection that would direct traffic towards the planet of Commenor had finally been established. It had taken a whole lot of bureaucracy to get that extra amount of speed needed for the rapid data transferring that would happen during the slice she had been contracted to do. Perhaps one of these days she should make her own holonet provider firm. That would be something worthy of making the news.

Slowly she stood from the table, putting her datapad back into a pocket in the same motion. “Hey, Marc. I got to go, but it was nice talking with you dude.” She tossed him a small flimsy plast card: “Just contact me on that com number if you want to, or if you find me in any of the cryptchats.” She smiled at him as she put on her leather jacket, preparing to take her leave, waiting on him to reply.

Truth be told, despite his choice of beverage she had to admit that the man was interesting. He was cleancut, precise and obviously he still despite this knew the business. It was rare for talented slicers to organized beings. He had even made it to the finals of a capture-the-flag tournament. Poor taste in alcohol or not, she respected the fellow slicer in front of her. "Like seriously, contact me whenever you like."

[member="Marcus Lok"]​