Chasing Rabbits

[Frank "Begs" Jusik]

The man who'd built a reputation as a ruthless and efficient enforcer within Sun circles sat in the back of a taxi on the way to a place he'd never been. The driver's smoke drifted backward as the windshield wipers methodically thumped across the rain streaked glass. A 12mm sat heavy in Jathin's shoulder holster.

Jathin was being reassigned.

His Hutt Boss owed a fellow boss a very substantial amount of credits that said Hutt couldn't afford to pay back. So the Hutt had offered up his best employee as a substitute. This was a fairly common practice among the upper echelons of the Suns when one couldn't pay a debt, to avoid the bloodshed that so often infected other criminal organizations. Jathin was slightly annoyed at the thought, working for a stranger after so many years.

It shouldn't be much of an issue, regardless of [member="Blitz"] 's personality. Jathin had been around the criminal block enough times to adapt to any of the stereotypical personalities. The enforcer exited the taxi and tossed the alien driver a few creds before adjusting his suit and stepping into the rain and towards Blitz compound.

 

[Blitz]

Stereotypical. That word had not been loosed on the tongues of anyone sentient enough to discuss the comings and goings of the Spice King. True enough he didn't use that title -ever, but it had been toyed with and considered a time or two in the depths of Nar Shaddaa. While Amaul Jaris was new to the scene of the Black Suns, he had formed quite a reputation early on as a mover and a shaker. His loyalty was a notable topic, but it was mostly directed at the fraternity of people in his employ. While he wouldn't tolerate a lazy oaf, or a laserbrain, those he did bring into the fold were brothers - and occasionally sisters. Those that looked at his operation didn't usually see much, and that was by design. He appeared as a small-time operation, while in the truth of things, his reach was far greater than expected. Blitz valued intelligence, and thus even his muscle were to be on par with that job description. It wasn't enough to swing a fist, if you couldn't calculate the consequences.

Word had reached the half-breed about the conditions of a deal he had made with a certain Hutt. Blitz didn't mind the massive slugs; in point of fact he tended to enjoy their company from time to time. Despite the repulsive appearance, and horrendous eating habits - they aligned with his mentality more than most. What had surprised him however was the fact that this Hutt was able to default on the loan, and sent word that his payment wasn't going to be in the form of spendable credits. This news was disconcerting, especially considering that in lieu of money, product, or favors -- he was offering a warm body to fill the void. There was a general rap sheet sent Blitz's way, so he could be somewhat prepared. It wasn't nearly long enough or detailed for his liking, but he'd rather not argue with the Hutt. Those kind of dealings even he felt like avoiding. Still, Blitz had a practice of vetting everyone that came into his employ, because when they did, they were family.

One of a few fronts for his operation was situated in the entertainment district below a space lane that filtered traffic between casinos, brothels, and other dens of ill-repute. This was another den though, and while not as outwardly seedy, it still rang true to the vibe of criminal undertones. The deep red fabric of long flowing drapes covered the ugly and un-welcome hue of durasteel walls. A single fan spinning between two grates threw shadows on the light that filtered down. The air itself held a perfume and aroma of cherry blossoms and cinnamon. There were other tendrils of smoke in the air as well, but most of that came from each lazy drag from a custom deathstick between the lips of Blitz. Seated in a chair that looked more like a covered throne, his sneaker shod feet were propped up on a table before him, given to a relaxed position. To the right, a stand setup with various platforms where Krieg; his beek-monkey counterpart maneuvered between at his leisure.

The entrance was barred however by a trusted and thick-skinned Zabrak. A grey pigmentation with dark black tattoos covering bare arms and face gave the grim expression of Ofta a frightening exterior. Even the man's voice was well within the bass range, drawing out intimidation in everything physical about him. He was one of the most trusted of brothers in this fraternity, and currently he was waiting to allow passage to this Mandalorian. He'd dealt with the culture before a time or two, and had a feel for their rugged sense of honor. He knew of others as well that were from the vode within the Black Sun circuit. Despite that resume, he wasn't a man of assumptions. He wanted to see what he was left to work with first hand. A single nod was given to Ofta once the suited individual approached.

[member="Jathin Fallin"]

 

[Frank "Begs" Jusik]

Jathin gave a look to the extremely large heavily tattooed Zabrak who stood before him, blocking his way toward the heart of the decorated room. The style was certainly different that the Fixer had been used to seeing from most Suns. Red drapes and sharp gray durasteel walls reminded Jathin of the Nomads former den of ill will on Corellia. Bare, really considering the wealth that [member=Blitz] was rumored to have amassed during his tenure as a "Spice King". Various scents assailed Jathin from the moment he strode towards the area his new employer had set up as some sort of makeshift thrown. The man's sneakers and relaxed demeanor stood in direct contrast to the shined black shoes and semi rigid stance of the suited Mandalorian.

A small nod was all that was offered to the new employer.

Any questions he had he was sure to ask.

Jathin wasn't one for pleasantries.

Was that a monkey? It seemed Mr. Jaris was more than a bit of an eccentric, certainly more than the traditionalist Hutts he'd been so used to working under. Not that he couldn't appreciate such a culture, but he just never really cared much for the slugs. A sorta slow burn hatred left over from those events all those years ago when similar creatures had left him with no choice but to murder comrades or face utter annihilation at their hands. Jathin had chosen survival. In turn they'd given him everything a criminal could ask for and he'd taken it in grateful acceptance.

The pit still burned though.

Somewhere deep.

 

[Blitz]

While not opulent the room had a certain sense of style, cohesive to the eccentric blend that formed the half-breed trafficker seated before the Mandalorian. Fabrics and tapestries hung to obscure the dull grey interior normally given by the metallic walls. Throw rugs were also strewn about the floor not only to offer comfort, but a bit of style to an otherwise unsightly tiled pattern. A small transparisteel tank to the right in which ought to contain fish instead contained a host of spor crawlers that skittered about form time to time. There was also an adjacent room that held the makings of a laboratory for Amaul's personal use. The desk itself hosted a hodge-podge of materials in an array of haphazard design. The right forefinger and thumb imprisoned in red and white leather gloves twisted the deathstick between his thick lips, while Blitz inhaled a hit of the luxury blend he'd created.


"I wager that you're as much of a fan of being 'traded' as I am about being paid with the promise of your presence." His smooth tones and notable draw to his speech echoed out while he kept his position static for the time being. "Our mutual associate seems to think though, that you're worth every single credit." A long puff of smoke filtered from his nostrils like steam from the breath of a krayt dragon. The digital shades resting over his piercing green eyes hosted a pixelated version of grey smoke twisting in a rising column, duplicated in each square black lens. "I'd rather see that for myself though." One gloved hand rose and offered in silence the seat opposite his desk. It was comfortable enough, but it wasn't meant for lounging. He already had a good bit of information on the man, but he wasn't opposed to getting information straight from the horse's mouth.


The beek-monkey in the corner was little more lively with new guests, and not always in an adorable sense. Currently Krieg was perched at the top landing, screeching out his opinions on the newcomer, and rocking back and forth while his tail kept wrapped firmly around the base pole of the structure. This didn't seem to even make an impression on the smooth talking spicer, or his grey-skinned muscle at the door. They were used to the antics of the furred creature; which Blitz commonly referred to as his 'little brother'.


[member="Jathin Fallin"]

 

[Frank "Begs" Jusik]

Jathin moved to take the offered seat while eyeing the monkey creature curiously, it seemed to be relating something to it's master excitedly but he was unsure of what. As the Fixer took a seat he gave another glance around the room. Taking note of the weird spore things in a tank as he unbuttoned the bottom two buttons on his suit jacket. The monkey continued it's talking and Jathin observed his [member=Blitz] a bit closer. Strange was the vibe. The clothes, hideout, monkey, and even the air was foreign to what Jathin had normally witnessed for people who ran crews.

And very obviously addicted to more than one type of spice. That was something that would throw the Enforcer for a definite loop, never having worked for an addict before. Was the man dangerous? Certainly. Was he prone to fits of unnecessary violence when the spice took hold? Jathin didn't have a clue. Regardless it seemed like the employer had something on his mind, maybe something not in the files? Or did he have some sort of rules to spew out like the rest? Unaware that they often all had the same.

He waited.