Devaronian Hustle

[Arlan Zy'rosh]

Coruscant​

Lower Slums​

You could find anything on Coruscant, only difference between it and other places was how long it took to do it. In all his years working for mercenary outfits, or leading The Carrion Company, Arlan had only ever come to Coruscant once before. Like most of the densely populated planets it was not somewhere Arlan favored going to, but when it came down to it everyone made their way to it eventually. He had come to the capital world in hopes of finding someone he had recently heard about, someone he hoped would help him in the near future. For the past few months Arlan had slowly been gathering a following of skilled individuals in which he hoped he could lay the foundation of the newly formed Carrion Company on, Zult just happened to be the next such person. He had skills, a set of traits that made him uniquely fit for mercenary work that would put him above the fodder out there in the galaxy, and Arlan planned on making good use of him.

So, as it were, Arlan arrived in the slums in search of some backwater bar in which he hoped to find his potential compatriot. He the search had been tireless and turned up no results, but the Intel was good so Arlan trusted he would find the place. The streets, if you could call them that, were so impoverished you could smell the despair filling the place. Arlan couldn't help but wonder why the Devaronian would choose this of all placed to bed down for the time being, but then again Arlan himself had made due with worse in his time. Rounding corners, asking each passerby, Arlan attempted to reign in a location for his target. It was, however; not until Arlan bumped into an old drunkard that he discovered anything of note.

"Sod off!" The drunk cried as Arlan turned the corner and ran into him. "Can't even rest here quietly without some fool bumping into me."

"Watch where you're going old timer. Trip too much and you might not get up again." Arlan jested.

"That some sort of threat boyo? Just you try it, I was a bounty hunter once. Got near thirty captures under my belt!." The drunkard boasted as he stuck his finger in Arlan's chest, his breath reeking of cheap ale.

"I'm sure you were, but past glory doesn't excuse drunken foolishness in the present. Now if you'll excuse me." Arlan attempted to walk away but was blocked by the man.

"Excuse me? Excuse you!" The drunk shouted. "I'm one of the only few that has his picture on the wall behind the bar at Blaster's. Only the best of the best get their picture there boy!" The drunk continued to threaten, but Arlan's ears perked up.

"Blaster's, that some kind of soup kitchen for degenerates?" Arlan goaded him intentionally.

"Hmph! Fool, shows what you know. It's a gathering place for the best sort, only drink house around here worth going to." The drunk's words began to slur more badly by the second.

"I see, well I better make my way there then." Arlan had finished speaking with the man and made his way down the alley, hoping that this time he had found the correct location.

[member="Zult"]

 

[Alkesh Vizsla]

Blaster’s wasn’t the best drinking hole he’d ever set foot in, but it was also far from the worst. So far Coruscant had offered up enough small jobs for him to get his name out and make a decent amount of credits. He’d shore up a few more and then leave for another planet. He’d miss this scrawling ecumenopolis however, glittering front and rotten underbelly alike. It reminded himself of a freshly dead animal - seemed fine from far away, but when you got closer it was bloated and stinking and begging to be forgotten.

Smoke burned the inside of his nostrils as it drifted up from the cigarette pinched between his hips, his hands too preoccupied with shuffling the Sabacc cards he was dealt. Not the greatest hand, but the Togorian across from Zult wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed, and the tattooed Devaronian was confident he could win even with only decent cards.

“I am convinced you cheat, Zult,” the Togorian purred, his accent thick despite excellent Basic.

“And yet you keep playing me. I wonder what that says about you Rrowv,” the horned one answered back, a little grin revealing two sets of sharp teeth as the Togorian scowled.

The music was loud and raucous, the smell of booze and smoke of all kinds permeating the air in a way that left the patrons’ clothes stinking for days. The constant buzz of chatter served as a backdrop to their game, Zult concentrating intently on his cards and less obviously at Rrowv’s tells. The big cat had absolutely no sense of hiding his intentions or thought process. It was all written on his hairy face. When Zult won for the third night in a row, the Togorian’s seemingly passive demeanor quickly turned violent.

“I know it, I KNOW you cheat!” the furry gray creature swore as he rocketed from his seat, slamming his paws down on the table hard enough to short out the suspension field for the cards. “I don’t owe you anything, scum. You Devaronians are all the same, creepy freaks skimming off the rest of society!”

It was a testament to the type of people who frequented Blaster’s that no one had stopped to watch the altercation. Even the music was still playing. No one was interested until there was blood.

“That’s not very nice Rrowv. I think you should just give me the credits you were stupid enough to lose to me and walk away,” Zult replied, stamping out his cigarette on the table.

“Not on your life you karking cheat, it’ll be a cold day in he--” The Togorian was stopped short by Zult’s blaster pointed at his head almost more quickly than he could track the movement. Zult had seen him going for the knife at his side, and though he was confident he wasn’t stupid - it was best to be the one shooting first when someone three feet taller than you and angry was pulling a knife.

“Credits. Then walk away.”

The Togorian growled from deep in his chest, baring teeth though eventually acquiescing. “One of these days, someone is going to kill you Zult.”

Zult kept the blaster trained on Rrowv the whole time he was counting out credit chips in front of him, waiting until the gray beast was out of eyesight to holster the blaster again. A small, satisfied grin on his face, he errantly slapped away the hand of the Twi’lek woman trying to stroke his horns and coo at him as he counted out the credits for himself.

[member="Arlan Zy'rosh"]​

 

[Arlan Zy'rosh]

Coruscant​

Lower Slums​

​

Arlan had moved into the bar just before the festivities ended, watching Zult and the furry beast go at it until the Togorian wised up and handed over his credits. Zult was quick on the draw, perhaps even quicker than Arlan, and had skinned his blaster free and leveled it on his target before most had a chance to process the situation. Arlan had found the one he was looking for alright, but now the trick was getting someone with that attitude to join up with The Carrion Company. The man didn't exactly strike Arlan as a team player and that was more or less the essence of the company as it was today. Arlan stopped for a moment, moving his palm away from the Peacemaker and up to his face, then sighed as he ran his fingers through his hair. It was gonna be a long night, and though he could go for a drink, Arlan was opting out of trying anything from the bar. A few steps forward and Arlan began drawing the looks of a few patrons, his visage clearly differing from the normal sort to frequent the bar. Arlan didn't have any enemies on Coruscant, but the downtrodden often do not take kindly to other slumming through their home for whatever reasons one may have. Finishing this up quickly would be for the best, lest someone decided Arlan just doesn't belong among them.

"That was pretty good, probably should have finished the job though." Arlan spoke as he approached Zult. "He doesn't seem like the kind to lay down when he's been ripped off. Might wake up to a knife in the chest one of these days." He went on. "But that was ballsy all the same. If I was a betting man I would have put my money on him, never thought he'd run off with his tail between his legs." Arlan took a few steps closer and pulled out the chair where the Togorian had been and sat. "You seem to be pretty confident when you know the outcome of things. What would you say to doing something that was a real challenge?"

[member="Zult"]

 

[Alkesh Vizsla]

The atmosphere in the bar changed when the newcomer walked in - his clothes a little too clean, his walk a little too different. Definitely not scared or anything of the sort. He wasn’t giving off that distinctive vibe of trying to fit in to avoid confrontation. Just going about his business.

Or at least, that was everything Zult surmised by looking at him. He was usually pretty good at sizing others up, but he’d been wrong before.

A sardonic grin pulled up one side of his mouth as the stranger sat down and quipped about Rrowv. Nodding slightly, Zult answered as he swept a hand out to pull the credits together and pocket them before starting on collecting the scattered sabacc cards.

“Wouldn’t have blamed you. Nine foot tall tiger-man? Safe money would have been on him. And nobody roots for the Devaronian.” Cards together, he tapped the deck to even them in to a neat line. He wasn’t one for order, but some things in life required it. “In Rrowv’s case however, I’m not too worried. He’s a coward.” He said the last word like he’d spoken of poodoo on the bottom of his shoe, or gum on the underside of a table - disgusting and distasteful.

But he paused when the brown-haired stranger asked about the prospect of a real challenge. Though he didn’t even really like to admit it to himself, Zult missed adrenaline. Oh he’d run some really good jobs since leaving his home planet, and even a few that gave him that same old rush. But they were few and far between and he was beginning to wonder if he’d left his old life behind and fallen in to the trap of ‘the grass is always greener on the other side’. His expression was guarded however as he shooed away the Twi’lek, narrowing yellow eyes at the man across from him.

“Who are you?”

[member="Arlan Zy'rosh"]​

 

[Arlan Zy'rosh]

Coruscant​

Lower Slums​

​

Arlan smiled as he brought his hand up and ran it through his hair. Most eyes were on him by now, not something he wanted but something that was unavoidable considering the circumstances. No one had approached him yet, either out of curiosity or fear of Zult. Whichever was fine at the moment, as long as Arlan was left in peace long enough to say he piece to the Devaronian before someone butted into things. As of now it seemed like Zult was at least interested in listening to what he had to say, a rarity considering how most people like him he had met in the past seemed to be rather hostile in nature. It had taken little coercion to get the potential recruit to perk up and engage, that at the very least was something to note. So, as it were, Arlan looked across the table as Zult palmed the cards and shook his head. It was difficult to find a way to play this, so Arlan simply opted for the direct approach. He favored that way of doing things anyway.

"Intimidating slum thugs and junkies isn't really something to make a career of. It's like being the meanest dog in the smallest kennel if you get what I'm saying." Arlan spoke softly. "You have skills, if you didn't I wouldn't be here you can bet your credits on that. The name is Arlan, and I lead The Carrion Company." He spoke a bit louder as he sat up straight in his chair and smirked. "We're fairly successful mercenary troupe operating in the Outer Rim, and I'd like to hire you on." It wasn't the most graceful of approaches, but considering his surroundings Arlan highly doubted Zult would care much for any undue pleasantries anyhow. This way at least Arlan was able to deliver the point of this whole trip before the whole mess blew up in his face. Still, he preferred meeting here among this lot than with the Alliance lot he had been dealing with as of late. There was just something about speaking frankly to another man of his trade that made Arlan feel like less of a commander and more like one of the operatives. Still, he was curious as to how the Devaronian would respond to it all.

[member="Zult"]

 

[Alkesh Vizsla]

He suppressed a sneer when this ‘Arlan’ likened his current situation to being the meanest dog in the smallest kennel. But it had to be suppressed because the stranger wasn’t wrong and the Devaronian knew it. He was bored and stunted by jobs so far below his pay grade and skill level it was nearly infuriating. Annoying the locals was just a way to get off the pent up energy. The intention had been to lay low after the...incident on his home planet, but it seemed he was doing a poor job of that if this Arlan had heard of him and was able to find him.

He’d meant to just take a few jobs, make a few credits, keep his horns down. But he was still too loud.

Mercenary troupe didn’t sound like a bad gig.

“I’ll bite,” he allowed, resting his forearms on the table between them. “What kind of jobs do you take? And how does payment work - percentage, negotiated, a little to everyone?” He hadn’t thrown his chips in with anyone personally, but he’d had enough acquaintances to know how the game worked. He got the impression Arlan was a straight-shooter, but one couldn’t be too careful. Especially not in this den.

[member="Arlan Zy'rosh"]​

 

[Arlan Zy'rosh]

Coruscant​

Lower Slums​

​

In all his time running The Carrion Company, or being a mercenary in general, Arlan had found that when people started asking about percentage cuts they had already decided to join. Now there were exceptions to this of course, but generally when someone asked about pay it was a done deal. Zult, despite being stuck in the slums, at least seemed to know his way around a negotiation. His words were unwavering and to the point, holding little regard for anything else than the facts at this particular moment in time. Arlan could respect that much for he hated dancing around the truth as well, at least when he could help it. At the moment though he saw no reason than to tell Zult exactly what he wanted to hear, knowing all the while that The Carrion Company offered a better split than nearly every other group of it's kind in the Galaxy. Arlan leaned forward, ran his fingers through his hair, and smiled.

"We do anything that someone will hire us for nearly. Just no smuggling, piracy, slaving, or assassination." Arlan nodded. "The house takes thirty percent of every contract that come through us, the rest is divided equally among every that participates in a contract. If you are the solo type then you are more than welcome to take a seventy percent cut of a contract, as long as it gets done." Arlan stopped for a moment to let that sink in. "As long as the job gets done and the company gets it's share."

[member="Zult"]