Athrun Zala
The Red Knight
(Not sure of the title just yet. If you read this thread and feel like you can participate, send me a PM first.
Participant list:
[member="Coci Sinopi"])
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"So have you seen this girl before?"
The picture waved in front of the bartender's face was one of a little girl, about 6 years old. The bartender, a middle aged human coated in fur with a gruff expression, gave the picture a once over, then shook his head. "Not personally."
"Not personally?" A raised eyebrow lifted on a young face adorned with short brown hair, and curious emerald eyes. The man in question sat down at an empty stool, his back to the rest of the cantina, which was almost empty, save for a few aliens. "Then you know of someone who knows of her, yes?" Upon hearing the silence that followed, the man waggled the picture a little, the flimsiplast making crinkly sounds. "Come on, you know everything that goes on in this city."
"There's a rumor that this girl," the bartender indicated the picture with a stubby finger, "was the daughter of some wealthy folks who lived in some mansion a ways over. Then the girl was kidnapped by a group of thugs, and ransomed for a million credits. When the parents wouldn't pay up," the bartender snapped his fingers in a sudden manner that made the younger flinch. "Dumped her body in the lake bordering the house. Big scandal on the news. Rumor has it that the parents were so grief stricken they upped and moved. Abandoned the mansion. I don't think anyone lives there."
"Oh." The disappointment on the young man's face was evident. Just as he turned to leave, the bartender spoke again.
"But...there have been stories. Now I'm not big on this myself," the bartender waved a hand dismissively. "But there have been tales of a ghost walking the halls of the mansion and by the lake where she was found. People walking by can hear her wailing away...but I don't think there's much volume to these stories."
"You said people..." the young man said slowly. "Do you happen to know anyone?"
"Well..." the bartender began slowly, pondering as he picked up a glass to dry. "There is a guy who comes into my bar. Rodian. They're the big bug-eyed, short, green people if you're not familiar with them. Only one of his kind in this city." The man nodded impatiently and the bartender continued, "His name's Jev. Runs a stall in the marketplace selling guns. He rarely sells anything worthwhile though. Comes in here babbling nonsense about ghosts from the underworld. If there's anyone who can tell you the latest scoop on resident ghosts, it's him."
"Right, thanks," the man said, placing a credit chit on the bar as he stuffed the flimsiplast photo in his pocket.
"By the way," the bartender asked as the man slid off the stool. "Who is this girl to you?"
The man merely stared at the bartender, then shrugged as he left the small cantina. The bartender shrugged too, and went back to cleaning glasses.
The young man, also known as Athrun Zala, approached the marketplace through a winding tirade of streets that seemed to crisscross eachother every which way. He hadn't yet figured out the intricacies of the city, and he could hardly call it a "city" anyway. It was more like a small town, with a few speeders in the garage in case someone needed help from a neighboring town. The "city" was actually a few miles off, its towering skyscrapers in the distance on the horizon. The highest building he could find in this town was four stories; but that didn't really bother him. It actually gave him a change of pace, which, after living his life at the top of an apartment building, he found refreshing. That was not to say that he didn't view himself above the locals, oh no; he had far more money in his account than they ever would have.
After passing many houses, buildings, and the occasional tree, he finally came to the marketplace. It was an open market, located about the center of town, with its durasteel walkways cluttered with sentients of different races, most of which were scraggly humans. The sun was shining brightly overhead, and even with his black clothes, he did an okay job of blending in. Most of the sentients were wearing brown, black, or tan, choosing not to wear bright and fancy colors. Who knows, maybe they couldn't afford anything better. He rubbed a hand over his cleanshaven jaw as his emerald eyes perused the stalls, looking for this bug-eyed alien the bartender described. He didn't see anything resembling a rodian anywhere, and he wondered whether the bartender had lied to him. Frowning, he moved through the stalls, glancing at the items in each basket or crate, and ignoring anyone who tried to sell him anything. When he finally got to a stall with weapons, he noticed its occupant was gone.
Disappointed, Athrun hung around, focusing his gaze on the racks which held different kinds of rifles. They were alright, if one wanted to go hunting for local animals. They were alright, if one wanted to protect their houses from burglars. But they certainly weren't clean, he noted as he ran his finger along the barrel, pulling away a finger full of dirt which he rubbed off on his coat.
Just as he bored of examining low-grade weapons, and turned to leave, a loud commotion arose from somewhere behind the wooden racks. He turned, rose an eyebrow, and before he had even found the source of the disruption, he found himself smack on the floor, with several guns on top of him. A rodian was on the floor nearby, along with several racks of guns and power cells. Subconsciously, Athrun placed a hand to his chest, checking the armor he wore underneath his loose-fitting clothes for dents. Not finding any, he shoved the weapons off of him, and leapt to his feet, just as the Rodian was making way to his. He was terribly excited, and would've run out of the marketplace had Athrun not grabbed him by the collar and his arm.
"What's up with you?" demanded Athrun, far more irritated than he meant to be. "Is this how you treat your customers?"
"Let me go!" the Rodian shrieked in basic, though his "L" was a bit faint, leaning more towards a "T" sound. "I'm being chased!"
As much as Athrun really wanted to let go of the Rodian, who was giving off an overwhelming scent that reminded him way too much of an animal, he didn't. He could always wait until he'd calmed down, but if the Rodian packed up his bags and left, he'd be no closer to his objective than before. So he shoved the Rodian into the seat behind the gun racks, and tapped him on the forehead with a gloved, armored hand. "Relax!"
Amazingly, it worked, and the Rodian slumped down in his chair as if the fight had been knocked out of him. He looked absolutely exhausted, and Athrun stared at him silently until the bug eyes finally looked up at him. Athrun was conscious of quite a few people looking in his direction, but he ignored him as he leaned over to grab a chair and set it in front of the Rodian. "Now I heard you're the local storyteller around here. Tell me, what do you know about a Lisa Trape?"
Participant list:
[member="Coci Sinopi"])
--------
"So have you seen this girl before?"
The picture waved in front of the bartender's face was one of a little girl, about 6 years old. The bartender, a middle aged human coated in fur with a gruff expression, gave the picture a once over, then shook his head. "Not personally."
"Not personally?" A raised eyebrow lifted on a young face adorned with short brown hair, and curious emerald eyes. The man in question sat down at an empty stool, his back to the rest of the cantina, which was almost empty, save for a few aliens. "Then you know of someone who knows of her, yes?" Upon hearing the silence that followed, the man waggled the picture a little, the flimsiplast making crinkly sounds. "Come on, you know everything that goes on in this city."
"There's a rumor that this girl," the bartender indicated the picture with a stubby finger, "was the daughter of some wealthy folks who lived in some mansion a ways over. Then the girl was kidnapped by a group of thugs, and ransomed for a million credits. When the parents wouldn't pay up," the bartender snapped his fingers in a sudden manner that made the younger flinch. "Dumped her body in the lake bordering the house. Big scandal on the news. Rumor has it that the parents were so grief stricken they upped and moved. Abandoned the mansion. I don't think anyone lives there."
"Oh." The disappointment on the young man's face was evident. Just as he turned to leave, the bartender spoke again.
"But...there have been stories. Now I'm not big on this myself," the bartender waved a hand dismissively. "But there have been tales of a ghost walking the halls of the mansion and by the lake where she was found. People walking by can hear her wailing away...but I don't think there's much volume to these stories."
"You said people..." the young man said slowly. "Do you happen to know anyone?"
"Well..." the bartender began slowly, pondering as he picked up a glass to dry. "There is a guy who comes into my bar. Rodian. They're the big bug-eyed, short, green people if you're not familiar with them. Only one of his kind in this city." The man nodded impatiently and the bartender continued, "His name's Jev. Runs a stall in the marketplace selling guns. He rarely sells anything worthwhile though. Comes in here babbling nonsense about ghosts from the underworld. If there's anyone who can tell you the latest scoop on resident ghosts, it's him."
"Right, thanks," the man said, placing a credit chit on the bar as he stuffed the flimsiplast photo in his pocket.
"By the way," the bartender asked as the man slid off the stool. "Who is this girl to you?"
The man merely stared at the bartender, then shrugged as he left the small cantina. The bartender shrugged too, and went back to cleaning glasses.
The young man, also known as Athrun Zala, approached the marketplace through a winding tirade of streets that seemed to crisscross eachother every which way. He hadn't yet figured out the intricacies of the city, and he could hardly call it a "city" anyway. It was more like a small town, with a few speeders in the garage in case someone needed help from a neighboring town. The "city" was actually a few miles off, its towering skyscrapers in the distance on the horizon. The highest building he could find in this town was four stories; but that didn't really bother him. It actually gave him a change of pace, which, after living his life at the top of an apartment building, he found refreshing. That was not to say that he didn't view himself above the locals, oh no; he had far more money in his account than they ever would have.
After passing many houses, buildings, and the occasional tree, he finally came to the marketplace. It was an open market, located about the center of town, with its durasteel walkways cluttered with sentients of different races, most of which were scraggly humans. The sun was shining brightly overhead, and even with his black clothes, he did an okay job of blending in. Most of the sentients were wearing brown, black, or tan, choosing not to wear bright and fancy colors. Who knows, maybe they couldn't afford anything better. He rubbed a hand over his cleanshaven jaw as his emerald eyes perused the stalls, looking for this bug-eyed alien the bartender described. He didn't see anything resembling a rodian anywhere, and he wondered whether the bartender had lied to him. Frowning, he moved through the stalls, glancing at the items in each basket or crate, and ignoring anyone who tried to sell him anything. When he finally got to a stall with weapons, he noticed its occupant was gone.
Disappointed, Athrun hung around, focusing his gaze on the racks which held different kinds of rifles. They were alright, if one wanted to go hunting for local animals. They were alright, if one wanted to protect their houses from burglars. But they certainly weren't clean, he noted as he ran his finger along the barrel, pulling away a finger full of dirt which he rubbed off on his coat.
Just as he bored of examining low-grade weapons, and turned to leave, a loud commotion arose from somewhere behind the wooden racks. He turned, rose an eyebrow, and before he had even found the source of the disruption, he found himself smack on the floor, with several guns on top of him. A rodian was on the floor nearby, along with several racks of guns and power cells. Subconsciously, Athrun placed a hand to his chest, checking the armor he wore underneath his loose-fitting clothes for dents. Not finding any, he shoved the weapons off of him, and leapt to his feet, just as the Rodian was making way to his. He was terribly excited, and would've run out of the marketplace had Athrun not grabbed him by the collar and his arm.
"What's up with you?" demanded Athrun, far more irritated than he meant to be. "Is this how you treat your customers?"
"Let me go!" the Rodian shrieked in basic, though his "L" was a bit faint, leaning more towards a "T" sound. "I'm being chased!"
As much as Athrun really wanted to let go of the Rodian, who was giving off an overwhelming scent that reminded him way too much of an animal, he didn't. He could always wait until he'd calmed down, but if the Rodian packed up his bags and left, he'd be no closer to his objective than before. So he shoved the Rodian into the seat behind the gun racks, and tapped him on the forehead with a gloved, armored hand. "Relax!"
Amazingly, it worked, and the Rodian slumped down in his chair as if the fight had been knocked out of him. He looked absolutely exhausted, and Athrun stared at him silently until the bug eyes finally looked up at him. Athrun was conscious of quite a few people looking in his direction, but he ignored him as he leaned over to grab a chair and set it in front of the Rodian. "Now I heard you're the local storyteller around here. Tell me, what do you know about a Lisa Trape?"