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

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Kinley Pryse Colton Renth Tamar Krev | Open​

The lift doors opened, revealing the underlevels. The scent was exactly what he predicted, an overwhelming blend.. to put it lightly. He stepped out, boots clicking against durasteel, the black of his tunic and leggings appearing to blend in.. except they didn't. No grime smudged his clothes; not a single thread was out of place. Tonight, Lysander slid into the role of a shadow. Or something close to it. A change of pace and a new scenery couldn’t hurt.

Music pulsed in the air. But it wasn't good music. In truth, he found it rather awful. It was far from the delicate strings and piano notes he preferred, but.. perhaps the synthetic soundtrack had a strange way of keeping the blood warm. Not a terrible thing, considering places like this thrived on credits flowing between unsavory crowds.

If there was something else he could appreciate about a place like this, much like Nar Shaddaa from his memories, it was that everyone breathed the same air. A constant he almost trusted. Nothing wrong with stripping away illusions.

A fight pit roared ahead, catching his attention without effort. Violence impressed him in a way few things did. Words or hands.. it made no difference. Forever a student of the craft. So, he drifted toward that noise, slipping into the circle of bodies gathering.

Lysander studied the two fighters. One appeared to have some kind of formal training. The other was swinging out of desperation. The Sith doubted this scrap would make it past the first round.

A part of him longed to be the one in there. For clarity..

 

[Rolcor Wildstar]

The underlevels of Coruscant always smelled the same.

Burnt circuitry. Cheap liquor. Spice smoke thick enough to choke a bantha.

Rolcor Wildstar stepped out of the freight corridor and into the glow of the black market lights like a man walking into his own cantina.

Neon washed across the pirate captain's moss-green skin, catching the scars along his jaw and the sharp angles of his face. His long dark coat shifted with every step as he moved through the crowd with the slow, confident swagger of someone who had already survived more gunfights than most beings in this market had seen.

A hand rested loosely near the grip of the Westar blaster strapped to his thigh.

Not nervous.

Just prepared.

Three figures followed behind him.

Krann moved first among them, looming half a step behind Rolcor's shoulder like a walking battering ram. The big brute carried himself with the quiet menace of someone who solved problems with bone-breaking efficiency.

Gorrik drifted to the right side of the formation, sharp eyes constantly scanning the stalls and the shadows between them. Where Krann was muscle, Gorrik was instinct—watching hands, exits, and anyone who looked like they might reach for a weapon.

Drokk brought up the rear.

Slow. Heavy. Unbothered.

The kind of man who didn't need to rush because anything stupid enough to challenge him would eventually wander close enough.

The four pirates moved through the market like a small storm.

Merchants lowered their voices as they passed. A few beings stepped aside without needing to be told.

Rolcor's eyes moved across the stalls.

Black-market blasters.
Forged chain codes.
Stolen relics rotating under cheap holo displays.

Petty goods.

Petty profits.

Then his gaze settled on the more guarded section of the market.

Security.

Credits.

Something worth the trouble.

A crooked grin tugged at the corner of his mouth.

Rolcor slowed, glancing back briefly at his crew.

"Keep your eyes open," he muttered. His voice was low but carried the weight of command.

Green eyes turned back toward the deeper market.

"Places like this," he said quietly, "someone's always about to make a very bad decision."

And Rolcor Wildstar had made a career out of being there when they did.

The Crew

 

[Colton Renth]

Colton didn't get to enjoy the moment for long.
A shadow fell across the stall.
Not the casual kind cast by a passerby in the crowd — this one lingered.
Colton's eyes shifted without moving his head. Years of smuggling had trained him to notice the little things. There was a sudden lull in the nearby conversation. The slight widening of the Sullustan's eyes. The way the market noise seemed to dull for just a heartbeat.
Boots.
Heavy ones.
Imperial.
A tall figure stepped into view beside the stall, dressed not in the polished white armor of stormtroopers, but in dark matte field gear designed for operations that didn't make it into official reports. The armor plates were lean and angular, built for mobility rather than intimidation.
Imperial Special Forces.
Colton slowly straightened.
The man's face was partially visible beneath a shadowed visor, but what stood out immediately was the mustache — a long horseshoe that framed a hard mouth like something pulled out of an ancient holovid gunslinger.
And over his right eye, partially visible beneath the helmet's edge, was a tattoo.
A black crosshair.
The Sullustan suddenly found something very interesting to organize under the counter.
Colton gave the man a casual glance.
"Let me guess," he said lightly. "You're not here for hyperdrive regulators."
The sniper didn't respond immediately. His brown eyes studied Colton with the kind of stillness that made most people uncomfortable.
"You're Captain Colton Renth," the man said at last.
His voice was calm. Flat. Professional.
Not a question.
Colton sighed.
"You know," he muttered, rubbing his temple, "I really need to stop becoming famous."
The Imperial operative stepped a little closer. Close enough that Colton could see faint scarring around the tattooed crosshair.
"Your ship," the sniper continued, "a modified YT-1300 freighter, recently departed the Anoat sector."
Colton smiled thinly.
"Lots of YT-1300s out there."
The sniper tilted his head slightly.
"Not many that intercepted an Imperial logistics convoy three days ago."
The Sullustan merchant froze completely.
Colton's smile didn't change, but his mind was already moving three steps ahead.
Three exits within twenty meters.
Two rooftops with decent cover.
A dense crowd perfect for disappearing.
Unfortunately…
Imperial Special Forces rarely worked alone.
"Convoy?" Colton said casually. "That sounds serious."
The sniper's gaze never wavered.
"You stole something."
Colton shrugged.
"I steal lots of things."
The man leaned in just enough that only Colton could hear him.
"Return it," the sniper said quietly, "and I might let you leave Coruscant alive."
Colton met his gaze.
For a moment the market noise faded again, swallowed by tension.
Then Colton chuckled.
"See," he said calmly, resting his hand casually near his DL-44 holster, "that's where you made a mistake."
The sniper didn't move.
Colton's grin widened.
"You assumed," the smuggler said, "I still have it."
Behind them, somewhere deep in the market crowd—
A blaster suddenly fired.


Rolcor Wildstar Lysander von Ascania Tamar Krev Kinley Pryse

 

[Mercy]

Lysander von Ascania Rolcor Wildstar Colton Renth Tamar Krev Kinley Pryse

A figure appeared at the edge of the crowd.

The presence parted the crowd as if it was an ocean during a holy event.

The ground trembled each step that was placed until the Mountain stood behind Lysander and watched the fighting pit along with her former apprentice with simple curiosity.

"I remember when I was a pit fighter." Mercy said by way of hello to Lysander. The young Knight was probably used to it by now. Mercy had a tendency to appear in the strangest places. An Empress ought to be on her Throne or leading an army, but Mercy... was unlike the more stereotypical Sith. While comfort and opulence was appreciated, it bored her quickly.

"Have you ever had the pleasure of it yourself, Von Ascania? Fighting in the mud, knuckles cracked, blood seeping... the heat of the moment."

Her eyes gleamed.

"There is nothing finer and more honest than a real pit fight."

Sometimes Mercy missed the honesty of it.

Somewhere a gunshot went off and Mercy looked amused.

"Trouble everywhere we go... did you have a purpose to be here, Lysie? Or were you simply enjoying the sights."

 

[Andras Garon]

Recognizable thanks to his Beskar'gam another figure attempted to blend with the crowds but was unsuccessful. It has hard to hide as a Mandalorian, you tended to stand out no matter where you went.

His buy'ce was held underarm, up close near the crevice of his left armpit which left his right hand free.

Eyes scanned the crowds, many of the faces were anonymous and blended with one another. Looking back at him an observer would see haggard features that had weathered with time and again. He spent time in cryo sleep now, it helped him cheat the scales as it were; most of his organs had been replaced, synthetic replicas taking their place, keeping him healthy and strong even if his features showed signs of their age.

One spectator who had been watching the fighting pit and was standing nearby saw him blurted out...

" Strider Garon !?"​

...as though he were shocked to see him, he should be seeing as by all accounts Strider Garon was dead but that didn't stop people from mistaking his cousin for him. Andras would grunt...

"Piss off."

...which sent the man whose voice he'd heard clamoring back into spectators, out of sight and out of mind.

Through the crowds that lined the pit he saw two, well rather one person who stood out. She was a large, muscular woman and her face was familiar to him. He hadn't met her personally but Mercy was famous, everyone who watched a holofeed of the Kaggath knew her. He'd see Lysander von Ascania but he didn't recognize him.

He'd heard the gunshot too but he didn't turn to look for it. In places like these they weren't uncommon.

Stepping forward the crowds didn't part for Andras, he shouldered his way past some and others who saw the armor moved with intent to avoid him. As he came to the edge of the pit, opposite Mercy and her companion he'd raise his right arm, extend a finger to point at her and call out...

"Your fights at the Kaggath were impressive."

...of course they were, she was the champion after all but then he'd remark...

"Are you just as good without all your powers, with only yours hands?"

Kinley Pryse Rolcor Wildstar Tamar Krev Colton Renth
​

 

[Kitter Bitters]

The Market
Colton Renth Rolcor Wildstar Tamar Krev
​

The blaster crack split the night like a thunderclap, the bolt scorching a molten scar across the duracrete wall. An Ithorian barreled out of the alley's haze, long neck swaying wildly as panic drove each pounding step. Breath rasped through his twin throats. One hand clutched a satchel tight against his chest; the other flailed for balance as he skidded across slick refuse and flickering neon light.

Behind him came the roar.

A pack of Gamorreans stormed into view, massive, tusked silhouettes shoving through steam and shadow. Their heavy boots hammered the pavement. One swung a vibro-axe that sparked when it clipped a metal pipe. Another loosed a guttural snarl and fired wildly, red bolts splashing against walls and showering the alley in shards.

The Ithorian ducked hard left. A bolt grazed his shoulder, spinning him into a stack of cargo crates. They exploded apart in a clatter of plastoid and dust. He scrambled, hooves slipping, fingers clawing for purchase as he shoved himself back upright.

"Move, move, move" he wheezed to himself.

A narrow service passage opened ahead. He dove into it just as a vibro-axe cleaved the space where his head had been. The passage was tight, pipes sweating overhead, vents coughing out hot air. He squeezed through, robes snagging, heart slamming like a drum in his ears.

Footsteps thundered behind him. Too close. He burst out the far end at full speed and collided hard with someone stepping from the shadows. The impact sent the satchel flying. Credits scattered across the ground in a metallic cascade.

The Ithorian staggered back, dazed and looked up at a stranger he had never seen before.

Meanwhile, the Gamorrean thugs were in a bad mod, and taking it out on everyone else in the market. They were shoving, bullying, and trying to intimidate.

The Fighting Pits
Mercy Lysander von Ascania Andras Garon​

The market's fighting pit throbbed with noise, metal railings rattling under pounding fists, credits changing hands in greasy palms, the air thick with spice smoke and sweat. In the center ring, the reigning champ stood over a fallen challenger, chest heaving, knuckles bloodied. The loser hit the mat with a dull, final thud, out cold before the med-droid even pushed through the crowd. A beat of stunned silence, then the announcer's voice boomed across the loudspeakers, slick and hungry. "Knockout! You've all seen it! So tell me, who's brave enough to step up and take on the champ?" The crowd roared, surging forward, eager for the next fool to try.

​

 

[Rolcor Wildstar]

The crash into Rolcor barely moved him. The Ithorian bounced off the pirate captain like he'd run headlong into a durasteel bulkhead. Rolcor didn't even stumble. One hand came up instinctively, catching the creature by the front of his robes before he could collapse completely to the ground.

Credits clattered and spun across the pavement between them.

Rolcor glanced down at the scattering coins.

Then slowly lifted his eyes toward the alley the Ithorian had just come from.

The roar of Gamorreans echoed through the corridor.

Heavy boots.

Angry voices.

Breaking things.

Rolcor sighed softly through his nose.

"Ah," he muttered.

"Now that sounds like trouble."

Behind him the crew had already spread slightly without needing instruction.

Krann shifted forward first, massive shoulders rolling as he cracked his neck once. The big brute eyed the approaching alley like a man hoping someone would give him a reason.

Gorrik's hand rested casually near the grip of his blaster, sharp eyes flicking between the Ithorian, the scattered credits, and the direction of the incoming noise.

Drokk remained planted a few paces back, arms hanging loose at his sides, the slow smile creeping across his face suggesting he was already enjoying how this evening was shaping up.

Rolcor released the Ithorian and let him wobble upright.

His boot casually slid forward, pinning one of the larger credit chips against the pavement before it could roll away.

Green eyes studied the alien a moment.

Then flicked back toward the alley as the first tusked shapes began to push through the steam and neon glow.

Rolcor's hand rested lightly on the grip of his blaster.

Not drawing it.

Not yet.

A crooked grin tugged across his scarred face.

"Well," he said lazily.

"You certainly know how to make an entrance."

His gaze shifted between the trembling Ithorian and the approaching Gamorreans.

"So," Rolcor continued.

"Before those ugly bastards start shooting again…"

He nudged the credit chip under his boot.

"…you want to tell me why they're chasing you?"

Behind him, Krann let out a low chuckle.

"Please say it's something interesting."

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Mercy Andras Garon
​

Bodies shifted, guided by that primal instinct of prey sensing a larger predator stalking through the grass; a scene he'd grown accustomed to whenever near a Jedi. His former master made sure of that.

But even so, there was discipline to such movements; Lysander was not like lesser beings, one to snap toward just any source of power.

Her voice reached him the same way smoke drifted across whatever terrain they chose to traverse these days.

A shift of his head unfolded as the question settled. “The closest I’ve come to it,” slipped out slowly, calm with reflection, “was Teras Kasi back at Kor’thyr.”

The memories resurfaced next. In the beginning, humiliation burned worse than any physical pain. Of course, he had risen eventually, because the academy allowed no other outcome.

“Did the pit make you who you are now.. or just reveal it?”

A slow exhale followed. “I suppose I’ve grown used to it, for better or worse.”

At least it made life interesting, in its own crooked way.

Glancing up, an effortless curve eased into his eyes. “Officially? Observation. Unofficially.. curiosity. If I had stayed in my office, I suppose I would have spent the entire evening circling the same thoughts without finding an answer. It seemed wiser to just remove myself entirely.”

He could’ve inquired how Mercy located him, but he didn’t care, nor did he mind the company.

The fight ended as expected. But there had been a med-droid.. more than most ever got, something you never saw on the battlefield. Maybe down here, it wasn't all misfortune..

The newcomer earned a sliver of his attention. The Sith Lord required no intervention, but the tone grated.

“If you’re curious,” Lysander murmured, “she can show you. Thoroughly.”

 

[Tamar Krev]

Tag: Kinley Pryse Colton Renth and Open

Everyone was just doing business. Tamar had finally found an old Anzellan who was interested in her meager offerings. Haggling was underway with the diminutive fence when an Ithorian emerged from an alley in a hurry, bounced off some green-skinned guy nearby, drawing the vendor's attention. The ruffian had some buddies, who closed in as well.

It seemed under control, so Tamar returned, urging the Anzellan to make an offer before he was distracted again. "How much for them all." She asked, showing the little Anzellan what she had. The woman's emerald snake wrapped around her left arm like an adornment, head near her shoulder, tail wrapped around her wrist. Tamar shot a sidelong glance at the man holding the Ithorian. She heard guttural yelling and a ruckus somewhere nearby, adding that to the fleeing Ithorian and coming up with the basic scenario. Mr. Green seemed interested in find out the rest. Tamar didn't care, she just wanted credits and to find a sketo chuga vendor for some dinner.

The Fallanassi didn't like to coerce when she haggled. It was part of the game, everyone was trying to get the best deal. But Tamar sensed trouble ahead, trouble that could ruin the deal. She sighed and embraced the White Current, eyes sliding shut for a moment, before opening them and focusing intently on the little hawker's eyes. "I think you would really find these useful. They are worth a fair price, don't you think." Her tone was a buttery, a feminine, smooth oil that washed over the Anzellan in the White Current.

"Yes...yes... good...good." He replied excitedly in a squeaky voice. The transfer of credits was made and Tamar leaned over to give him rub on the cheek. "Thank you!" She chimed, then stepped back. But whoever was chasing the Ithorian were already nearing the street entrance from the alley. She wished she had eavesdropped on the conversation between Mr. Green and the hammer-headed runner to find out what was going on.

 

[Colton Renth]

The shot cracked through the market like a lightning strike.
For half a second, no one moved.
Then the stall beside Colton exploded in a spray of shattered plastoid crates.
The crowd erupted.
Screams, shouts, bodies shoving in every direction as Coruscant's underlevel market transformed from a sea of merchants into a stampede of terrified beings.
Colton Renth didn't waste the moment.
His hand snapped to the grip of his DL-44 blaster pistol and cleared leather in one smooth motion.
The Imperial sniper moved just as fast.
The man's rifle came up from where it had been slung beneath his cloak, snapping into position with mechanical precision.
Another bolt scorched past Colton's shoulder.
Someone else was shooting.
Colton didn't stick around to figure out who.
He dove sideways over the Sullustan's stall as a crimson bolt slammed into the durasteel counter where he'd been standing a second earlier.
The Sullustan shrieked and vanished beneath the table.
Colton hit the ground, rolled, and came up behind a stack of cargo crates.
Across the aisle, the Imperial operative had already moved — fluid, efficient — sliding behind a support column while his visor scanned the chaos.
"Not alone," Colton muttered.
He leaned out just long enough to fire.
Two blaster bolts streaked toward the sniper.
The Imperial leaned slightly — barely more than a shift of posture — and both shots scorched harmlessly past.
"Show-off,"
Colton grumbled.
Another blaster shot ripped through the market — this one from somewhere behind the sniper.
The Imperial soldier reacted instantly, twisting and firing back toward the rooftop above the stalls.
So that was it.
Three players.
Colton.
The Empire.
And whoever had just decided to turn the entire market into a battlefield.
A Rodian merchant shoved past Colton's hiding place, clutching a crate of glowing power cells.
Colton grabbed the Rodian by the collar and pulled him down behind the crates.
"Sorry,"
olton said.
He kicked the crate into the open aisle.
The power cells detonated in a blinding flash of sparks and smoke.
The market plunged into confusion.
Colton bolted.
He sprinted through the crowd, ducking under a hanging tarp as blaster fire snapped overhead.
Behind him he could hear the Imperial shouting orders into a comm.
"Target moving east sector! Cut him off!"

Colton vaulted a produce cart and slid across a durasteel table.
He didn't slow down.
Because if the Empire knew about the convoy…
Then the thing he'd stolen was worth far more than he'd originally thought.
And if Imperial Special Forces were already here on Coruscant hunting him…
Someone else probably was too.
Colton ducked into a narrow service corridor between two market towers and finally allowed himself a quick breath.
Then he smiled.
"Alright," he muttered to himself.
"Now things are getting interesting."
Above the rooftops of the endless city of Coruscant, somewhere in a hidden docking ring…
His modified YT-1300 light freighter waited.
And inside its hidden cargo hold…
Was the one thing the Empire clearly wanted back.
Colton checked the charge on his blaster and started moving again.
Because one thing was certain now.
The hunt had officially begun

​

Tamar Krev Lysander von Ascania Rolcor Wildstar Kitter Bitters Andras Garon

 

[Kitter Bitters]

The Market
Rolcor Wildstar Colton Renth Tamar Krev ​

The Ithorian was helped to his feet, and visibly shaking while the pirates asked him why he was running. "It's those Imperial sharpshooters! They tried to steal my credits, and they sent those pigs after me!"

Right on cue, blaster fire sounded from back the way he had come. "They are crazy!"





((let me know if you guys want me to DM more stuff for you!!))

 

[Kinley Pryse]

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

When the Devil wants Your Soul, You pray. When Kinley Pryse wants it, You Negotiate.​

The underground market was alive with noise, voices haggling, droids clanking past, the smell of fuel, spice, and something frying that probably shouldn't be. Kinley Pryse moved through it like a current in a river. She never stayed still long enough to be anyone's problem.

Most spice vendors had stalls or little corners claimed with crates and flickering lamps. Not Kinley. She worked the lanes. A whispered offer here, a quiet exchange there. A deathstick slipped into a waiting hand. A vial of glittering spice traded for a credit chip before security droids drifted too close. By the time anyone thought to look for her, she was already three alleys away.

"Best spice on this rock," she murmured to a passing Rodian without breaking stride. "And you didn't hear that from me." Credits changed hands. Kinley kept walking. Movement was survival. Movement was profit. She slipped between two stalls piled with scrap tech and slowed slightly when raised voices caught her attention. A woman stood at an Anzellan vendor's table.

"I think you would really find these useful. They are worth a fair price, don't you think."

Kinley's lips curled slowly into a grin. "Well now," she murmured under her breath. She had seen a lot of tricks in the undercity.

But that?

That was a new one.

Kinley drifted closer, pretending to inspect a rack of datapads while watching the mysterious woman finish her transaction.

Anyone who could talk a black market vendor out of credits without losing a finger was either extremely talented, or extremely dangerous.

Either way, Kinley Pryse was suddenly extreemly interested.


Tamar Krev

A Smooth Criminal

 

[Tamar Krev]

Tag: Kinley Pryse

The small Anzellan made his newly purchased items vanish beneath the table as if by magic. He gave Tamar a scowl, as if encouraging her to skedaddle. The little fence was still befuddled, and wouldn't remember exactly what he paid for the mixed lot, though he was sure he got a deal.

The ruckus nearby had drawn a lot of attention. There was trouble heading that way, like the sound of a reek stampeding through a...well... market. It was time to fade into the crowd. Tamar gently coaxed Simone from around her forearm and draped the green serpent around her neck.

But as she stepped back and turned, she found herself entirely to close to and face to face with a woman at the next booth.

"Nnggh." The strange startled sound rippled in Tamar's throat. The first thing Tamar noticed was her hat, Tamar loved the style. The second thing was that the woman wasn't someone you stole a hat from. There was something nefarious about the pretty but roguish woman. That wasn't saying much, since most everyone in that market was involved in some way in illicit activity. Otherwise the market would be ten levels higher. But there was more. Hat lady wasn't threatening, she just had that "up to no good" vibe. The kind that made Tamar curious.

"Sorry." Tamar muttered, taking a step back and holding her hands up to assure the stranger that she wasn't pickpocketing her. Tamar had finished picking pockets for the day.