Public Daylight Come and Me Wan' Go Home [Open Black Market Thread]

[Kinley Pryse]

You've been hit by... you've been struck by...

Coruscant - Black Market
​

They closed the upper levels at dusk. Transit advisories. Maintenance notices. Official voices using official words so the surface crowds wouldn't look down and ask questions. Down below, nobody needed an announcement. The lights just came on.

Neon bled across the underlevels in streaks of violet and hard blue. Dead holosigns crackled back to life. Cargo lifts that hadn't moved in cycles screamed awake like old beasts dragged out of retirement. Music rolled through the steel corridors with low, heavy bass you felt in your ribs before you heard it. The word moved the way it always does, quiet, fast, hand-to-hand, and burner-to-burner.

The market bloomed out of shadow. Tables welded from scrap. Tarps strung between rusted beams. Crates split open to show their sins without apology. Unregistered blasters laid out like jewelry. Spice strains glowing in colors nature never signed off on. Relics pulled from temples that would swear they were never breached. Chain codes printed while-you-wait, still warm to the touch. Droids standing a little too still with loyalty chips suddenly negotiable. Overhead, hologram banners flickered and glitched, syndicate sigils phasing in and out like nobody wanted to admit they were sponsoring this little gathering. Everyone was pretending but nobody was fooled.

Further in, the noise thickened. A pit ringed in floodlights roared with the sound of bone meeting bone. Credits changed hands faster than punches. Blood hit the floor. Nobody paused the betting. A silent auction rotated on a guarded dais with weapons, data cores, artifacts, all the kind of merchandise that didn't just start fights, it started wars.

The night's young.
The market's open.
The exits are… negotiable.
so,

What are you here for?​

A Smooth Criminal

 

[Colton Renth]

Black Market​

The market levels of Coruscant never truly slept.
Thousands of beings from across the galaxy pressed through the endless lanes of stalls and neon-lit shopfronts, their voices blending into a constant roar of bargaining, shouting, and mechanical hum. Vendors sold everything from rare spices and droid parts to questionable blaster modifications and relics of civilizations that probably never existed.
For most people, the place was overwhelming.
For Colton Renth, it was an opportunity.
The smuggler moved through the crowd with practiced ease, his tall frame slipping between Rodian traders and human merchants hauling crates on repulsor sleds. His brown hair was combed neatly back, and the thick goatee framing his jaw gave him the look of someone respectable—at least until you noticed the holster on his hip.
Inside it rested a well-maintained DL-44 blaster pistol.
Colton's sharp eyes scanned the market constantly. Not just the merchandise—but the people. On Coruscant, the difference between a profitable deal and a prison sentence often came down to knowing who was watching.
A Sullustan merchant waved him over from behind a stall piled high with navigation components.
"Captain Renth!" the merchant chirped. "I have something very rare today. Military-grade hyperdrive regulators. Republic surplus."
"Republic surplus," Colton said dryly, stopping beside the stall. "Which means stolen."
The Sullustan grinned widely. "Liberated."
Colton picked up one of the polished components, turning it slowly in his hand. The weight felt right. The casing was authentic.
But the serial numbers had been scrubbed.
Smart.
"Where'd you get them?" Colton asked.
The merchant shrugged with exaggerated innocence. "Cargo shuttle… unfortunate accident over the Mid Rim."
Colton chuckled softly. "Uh huh."
He set the part down and leaned closer, lowering his voice.
"I'm not here for regulators."
The Sullustan's eyes narrowed with interest. "Then what does the famous Captain Renth need in the Coruscant market today?"
Colton glanced briefly over his shoulder.
A pair of security droids rolled past. A cloaked figure watched from a spice vendor's stall. Somewhere nearby, a band played off-key music through crackling speakers.
Just another normal day in the galactic capital.
"I'm looking for a buyer," Colton said quietly. "Someone with deep pockets and flexible morals."
The Sullustan leaned forward eagerly.
"For what cargo?"
Colton smiled.
"Let's just say," he murmured, "if the right person buys it… a few very powerful organizations are going to realize their shipment disappeared."
The merchant blinked.
"You stole from someone important?"
Colton turned back toward the river of beings flowing through the market streets.
"On Coruscant," he said calmly, "everyone is important."
Then he looked back with a crooked grin.
"Which means the payoff's going to be enormous."

Kinley Pryse

 

[Tamar Krev]

The unassuming woman made her way with discretion, abandoning the upper levels as daylight faded and the massive shadows of endless sky scrapers cast a twilight on the streets and airlanes long before the light of day was gone.

Below, far below, she knew the 'other' world was awakening. The lights there were not the same as above. Not warm colors, muted and soft. They were either dim, stark, flickering or absent. The air smelled different, more mechanical, like oil and industrial lubricants. Luckily, the food vendors that popped up helped balance that with the scent of fried foods.

Among the throng the dark-haired Fallanassi walked. She had reaped a good harvest in the Uppers, picking pockets, snagging satchels. The petty labor that liberated items from the inattentive. Granted, the distractions that drew those souls attentions away were only figments in their mind. Tamar was gifted in the subtlety of helping minds trick themselves.

But down there, in the Market, were the big timers. At least in her mind. It was more dangerous to ply her trade there, where everyone was suspicious and most were dangerous. That night, Tamar had a couple items she had 'come across' that day, and was looking to make a quick credit from them. Her gaze scanned the vendors, and those that lingered on the edge of shadows, fencers.

Simone was draped lazily around Tamar's shoulders, the green serpent paying little heed to the diverse crowd around them.

Tag: Kinley Pryse Colton Renth and Open