Private Dark Dealings Done Dirt Cheap

[Aaran Tafo]

Avo

The Undercity of Coruscant was not a terribly nice place But, by the opinion of many of its' denizens. It was honest. See, while the upper city was sparkling, pretty and full of glamorous people. Many knew that it was only a superficial appearance. And by peeling back the layers. The true rot of the Galactic Capital could be seen. If there was one thing that the people who lived below all the lights, all the wealth could hold pride in. Was that they were completely honest about who they were.

Criminals, survivors, the dregs of society who were overlooked by those above them. They wore their status like an armour. Never bothering to pretend to be something they were not. It was almost a refreshing change of pace for many. They did not have to worry about being stabbed in the back by a friendly face. Instead only having to worry about being stabbed in the chest be a decidingly unfriendly one.

Open violence was commonplace. Be it a mugging or the clashing of local street gangs. Danger was something that many of the locals learned to live with. The vast majority of them simply learning to keep their head downs. Pay protection money to the local gangs and avoid eye contact with strangers. How ironic was it that such an environment existed right below what was once considered the shining jewel of the Republic.

So when it was that three loudly dressed, spiced out of their mind swoop gang members came screaming down one of the Undercity's streets. Blazing a path while each of them were on possibly the gaudiest speeder imaginable by a sentient mind. The only real response from many of the locals was to simply dive out of the way and continue on with their business. There was no shocked screaming aside from the occasional curse of one of the locals diving to the side.

As far as the Undercity was concerned. This was a mostly everyday occurance. Gangs would always cause some loud commotion.And then things would carry on as normal until the next commotion occured.

And if anyone saw that the lead ganger had something, or rather someone, tied to the back of their bike. The struggling form of one Aaran Tafo. A Padawan who was now currently struggling with everything he had to not smash his own brains out over the sidewalk. Well, no one seemed to particularly care to comment on it.

 

[Avo]

Coruscant was definitely far from the prettiest place in the galaxy, but Lan could hardly escape this place. The steel and duracrete jungle that he called home had a way of beckoning his return every time he was lightyears away. Whether it be on the forest floors of Kashyyyk, the jungles of Felucia, or the lava-ravaged land of Mustafar. Home was always where the heart was - and it was here with the denizens of the gem of the Core. It glittered from almost an entire sector over and was home to countless billions and trillions of people. From all walks of life, this was their home too.

The undercity included. It was where he was from as well. The alleyways and neon-lit vendors greeted him as if he hadn't been gone but more than a weekend. It always smelled of home, but he could definitely be mistaking leaking sewage and stagnant puddles of water for a lively aroma. Yet, it was familiar all the same and put his senses at ease.

"Mhm, one of those please." Lan waved a hand at the Feeorin behind the cart. "Mustard too, spicy."

The large, hulking alien clad in an apron gave him nothing more than a passing look before producing a kebab for him. It was delicately laced with spicy mustard, surprising given the man's shabby establishment. The Jedi nodded in thanks and dropped a few credits on the countertop, just a couple more than extra and quickly departed to amble through the crowds.

This was his form of meditation. Some folks enjoyed levitating in complete tranquility, others enjoyed practicing the blade, while he just liked to meander with a crowd and wonder who each person was. Engines kickstarting and gruff voices shouting left little peace in his world, even as he chewed happily on his kebab. Senses stretched out quickly, performing the same ritual he did every time, as if his invisible feelers could tell him who and what a person was.

There happened to be one extra presence. One that seemed worried, desperate for help, and mournfully gagged.

"Oh no," he breathed, promptly dropping the half-eaten kebab in a waste bin as he beelined straight for the swoop gang.

Aaran Tafo

 

[Aaran Tafo]

Avo

It was almost a bizzare sight. Something to note in a Galaxy Far Far Away was how so many things that should cause a stir happened on a near daily basis. And which such events happened with such regularity. They tended to simply blur into each other until the common man saw nothing amiss with it all. Such was the reaction of the crowd to the whooping gangers weaving in and around the streets on their landbound speeders.

Even from this distance the Jedi Master could feel their manic energy. Their wild unfocused thoughts. Not caring for consequences. Their only desire was to chase the next high. Be it artificial or natural. But there was a task assigned to them it seemed. The figure that was still struggling on the back of the lead ganger's speeder. He needed to be disposed of. But, thankfully for the young Padawan. Common criminals tended to be woefully ineffcient at their jobs. So instead of simply putting a bolt of plasma between his eyes and dumping his body into a pit. The gangers wanted to have a little bit of fun first before returning Aaran to the Force.

But unfortunately for them. Their lack of diligence would be their undoing. As though an inexperienced Padawan and stubborn idiot he may be. It would be the latter determination that lends him a hand here. Curling up his form as best he could. The Padawan began to desperately wiggle to and fro. Attempting to manuver his legs into a positon where he could exert enough leverage to snap the cheap rope that kept him secured to the speeder. Allowing him to roll off.

It was not the best decision. Now that he thought about it. Aaran was bereft of his usual armour. Clad instead in his faithful flight jacket and cargo pants. It was only the sturdy material of the clothes he wore, along with supernatural reflexes and sense of balance, that saved him from splitting his head open upon the unforgiving pavement. Of course he was not entirely without harm. A bruised shoulder, scraped skin off his face along with a number of other minor injuries dotted across his body. But none of those were a truly pressing matter at the moment.

All that mattered in the here and now was the fact that the Padawan's hands were still bound. He was stuggling to his feet. His vision was swimming. And most importantly, the swoop gang, seeing that their prize had escaped. Made a dangerous swerve with their vehicles. Bringing them around to charge at the defenceless Padawan. The lead one continuing to grin his manic smile as he pulled out a wicked looking spiked shock baton from his back.

"Looks like the fish is still wriggling boys!" He cried out, his two companions shrieking in return. Revving the engines of their speeders as they began to accelerate towards the Padawan. Intent on finishing the job here and now while the young Jedi was still disoriented.