-Enter Witty Title Here-

[Darth Imperia]

Location: Coruscant, The Works, Mok's Cheap Eats

Characters: Mala Arar, [member="Vymaas"]


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Mok's Cheap Eats.

Birthplace of one of the greatest Sith conspiracies of all time. Mala should've been honored to be sat here, really.

But all she could think of was how godawful the food smelled.

She hoped it was the food, at least. Because otherwise it was the Wookiee chef in the back, and she wasn't sure her stomach could handle the idea that a sentient being had such poor hygiene.

She also didn't like to be reminded that the Hutts existed, for that same reason.

So why was she here in the first place? Well, that was simple. The food, despite how it smelled, was surprisingly good, and the Works were a good place to find people willing to do quite a few shady things - and shady was what she needed. Her ride from Nar Shaddaa was hot, and she didn't want to risk riding about in a stolen ship for too long.

So what she needed was a morally unscrupulous individual. One with a ship, and who knew how to fly one. And, most importantly, one who didn't mind hauling a Sith all over the Galaxy.

As Mala looked out of the diner window at the hustling and bustling crowd outside, - humans, droids, aliens, and a few things that could only fit into the 'none of the above' category - she reflected on the one absolute truth she had learned about the Galaxy.

No one could resist a pretty young girl in need.

 

[Raeyn]

(Wrong account, derp)

 

[Vymaas]

Mok's Cheap Eats. For all the history it may have had, to Vy, it was just "conveniently located diner". Not quite as catchy a name, that is true.

It was a little crowded for her tastes, but a woman had to eat, and it was close to where she had parked her ship. Fortunately, despite the fact she had technically stolen it, all the documentation and legislation was in order. By all means, the ship was hers, and that's all they seemed to care for. As she entered, the smell hit her like a truck. For all the good her mask did, it wasn't efficient at blocking out smells; though whether it came from the food or the people bunched together, she wasn't sure.

But it didn't matter. Food was food, no matter how the place smelled. After giving every patron a quick gaze behind her mask, she sought out a seat in a less-crowded corner. There was always one dilemma in places like these; to eat here, or to go to her ship. One meant a quick bite and warm food, and the other privacy and comfort. She chose the former for now, as she relieved herself of her mask, and laid it aside her other apparel, on which she kept a watchful eye. She, herself, wasn't above thievery, but that didn't mean she'd just allow it like that.

And then, after a quick walk and order, her food arrived.

"Food is food," she reminded herself in a quiet tone, though she doubted that statement quickly. It was clear enough now; it was the food that produced that horrid smell. She looked over her shoulder towards the other patrons, to gauge their reactions to it all. Everyone had seemed to enjoy it -- as much as one can enjoy cheap food from a place like this -- despite the smells. Still ...

She shoved it aside for now. Warm or cool, that wouldn't matter much to her, and she had more important things to do for now. She couldn't forget why she was here, after all. As her hand slipped into a pocket within her robes, a paper was revealed, rolled up and torn apart in places; a document, or to a more knowledgeable mind, a bounty. To her, however, it was simply 'work'. A bounty hunter she may be, though she lacked many of their principles. A bounty didn't mean 'track and collect' per se -- sometimes, money could be made from exploiting the hunted instead, or forging a kill, or simply finding work from whoever was on the boards. Most were small-time criminals, but others were employers that would be all too happy to hire a woman like her.

She rolled it up again. The name on the bounty was barely known, and the pay but a sliver of what she wanted. Her mind and eyes began to wander, looking about the diner idly; thinking, dreaming.

 

[Darth Imperia]

A newcomer.

Not a worker - the newcomer had a strong build, from what Mala could see, but not the sort that came from years of manual labor. The mask the intruder wore seemed to be quite advanced and sleek, and that meant the wearer either had money or knew someone who did.

Of course, it also meant that the wearer preferred anonymity - not a crime in and of itself, but it was highly suspicious. Then the mask came off, and Mala grinned behind the cup of what was advertised as beer, but which Mala mentally labeled as "Bantha Piss."

Human - or Near Human - and...Female? Male? No, Female. Probably. Not a local, either, or she wouldn't be scowling at her dinner like she was. And...what was that in her hand? Was that paper? How quaint. And, Mala reminded herself, untraceable.

Definitely criminal, then. Perfect. The young Acolyte pushed her half eaten...probably food away, and closed her eyes.

Time to work her magic.

The Dark Side of the Force could be fed by many things. Hate and Pain were always good options, but they weren't useful for more subtle arts. When Mala called on Dominate Mind, her power was fueled by a few things. Arrogance, Ego. But most important was Need. Mala needed control; control over herself, control over her environment, and control over others. Mala focused on that, stewed on it, let her pride and her basic, primal need bubble and boil underneath her deceptively calm surface.

Mala was at the shady, recently-masked individual's table in an instant. "Hello there, madame. You wouldn't mind if I asked you for a favor, would you?" Of course, the answer she was hoping for, and the answer she was trying to achieve with the Force, was something along the lines of "No, not at all."

Whether she got what she wanted, well.
That wasn't up to her.

 

[Vymaas]

She stared ahead. Whether she stared right into a stranger's eyes, she seemed to have little care for. Quiet and captivated, lost in a daydream of 'what could have been', though other thoughts began to nag at her mind. Her neutral gaze turned into a frown as her eyes shot back into reality. It wasn't a stranger's eyes she had been staring at, it seemed, but the waist of a woman.

She blinked a few times, and looked up to meet the woman's eyes. How long had she been there? It seemed she was waiting for an answer, though Vymaas had not heard the question. Turning back into her seat, she scratched idly at her short, brown hair. "Yeah ... sure," she said, though she wasn't sure why. Her eyes looked to her gear -- at least that had still been there. In retrospect, the choice to eat in a public diner had been a poor one.

With herself anchored back into reality, she looked up to the woman again with a soft frown, unsure what she wanted. Her eyes wandered over the woman in a quick manner, gauging her with her keen eyes. A frail thing, she concluded. But rebellious, as was evident by the tattoo and blaster pistol at her hip. If she had learned one thing in her years, it was never to underestimate anyone. Certainly not women like her. The prettier they are, the worse, she had always told herself. She had absolutely no rational ground to back that statement up; just an excuse to justify herself.

She reached back for her dinner, and began to eat, waiting for whatever this woman wanted. Surprisingly good ...

 

[Darth Imperia]

"Yeah...Sure."

Mala smiled. It wasn't often that her Dominate Mind worked so smoothly.

Or at all, really. The young acolyte took a seat opposite Vymaas, kicked her feet up on the table, and only then did she begin speaking. "Why, thank you. My request might seem a bit odd, I'll admit that beforehand. But I need a ship and someone who can fly one. You seem like the, ah...the less than legal type. Someone who's always on the move. Correct me if I'm wrong, of course, but I think you and I could have a very profitable partnership."

Without making a comment, and without so much as looking back at Vymaas, she spun about in her chair and swiped the drink from a passing Duros.

If looks could kill, Mala'd be dead. But she didn't flinch at the Duros's glare. Instead, she just stared calmly back at him for a few seconds before she opened her mouth. "You don't really want to get into a fight over this, do you? You have more important things to worry about." Her voice didn't sound, on the surface, any different than it normally did. But if one listened carefully, they might hear carefully contained aggression bleeding into her words.

The Duros blinked and shook his head, then slowly turned, wandering back outside and mumbling something about his ship's loading dock being open.

The young blonde turned back to her companion, a cocky smirk gracing her features. "As you can see," another sip from her stolen drink, before she tossed it into the trash - it was even cheaper than the rotgut she'd been drinking earlier. "I have a talent, when it comes to getting people to come around to my way of thinking. I'm also a pretty good shot with a pistol."

 

[Vymaas]

"I don't care much about talents," she said bluntly. The cocky behaviour, the flaunting ego, the 'tough girl' attitude; she'd seen that, though she had to admit the girl backed her bark well enough. She didn't say a word after that, not until her dinner was done, leaving the woman to wait. A smirk nearly appeared with that, but she kept it down well enough. She finished the rest of the dish: a well-chosen burger of mystery meat, wrapped in probably-bread, and greenery that was likely something else but painted green. The wookiee hairs provided a nice crunch to it all.

When that was all done, she picked up her mask, and donned it again. "I've got a ship, yes, and I so happen to know how to fly it. An additional bunk as well, for passengers. I've got it all," she said with a light nod, giving her gear another glance. "But I don't run a charity." She left it at that. Never be the first to say a price, someone told her once, and she stuck to it like glue.

She leaned back, and waited, though her mind was fully set on her blaster at her side. Vy noticed the sliver of rage that slipped, and for a frail thing like this one to back her bark with such cocky and risky behaviour? That wasn't right. The woman was hiding something, and Vy knew it. Perhaps she was as good with that pistol as she claimed; after all, you don't need muscle to sling your gun expertly, just skill.

 

[Darth Imperia]

Attitude. The Acolyte grinned a wicked grin, and looked over Vymaas with what looked to be the barest inkling of respect.

"If I thought you ran a charity," Mala began, idly observing the polish on her nails. Ugh. Right ring finger was scuffed. She'd need to see her stylist about that. "Then I wouldn't be wasting my time on you. I've none to spare for sentimental fools. No. You ask a price, and I respect that. Sadly, I've little in the way of credits. But credits, of course, are the most basic form of payment - and the least interesting. I'll give you credits, of course, if you demand them - 500 of them, as an up front payment. But what I offer you is employment. Steady employment. You may have a share of whatever profit I make - whatever share you want, in fact, so long as it isn't over fifty percent."

Mala leaned forward and lowered her voice before she resumed speaking, her face still bearing that same wicked grin. "But what I'm really offering, behind all the pomp and pretense, is the chance to work with the Sith. I can see it on your face - you're confused. You don't understand why I'm so confident, despite my, ah, physical limitations. It's because I've seen real power - I've walked among storms in human form, and when I look at all of these pathetic people, all I see are drops of rain."

The acolyte leaned back, her expression now one of calm, collected confidence. "So those are your options. You can work with me, make profit, and witness real power - or you can spend the rest of your life living amongst ants."

 

[Vymaas]

So that's why.

Now the pieces fell together ... somewhat. The term 'Sith' was familiar to her, as it was to most everyone, yet she didn't know what it truly meant. A pompous diva, however, was not exactly what she imagined to go with it. She frowned at it all, confusion racked across her features, hidden behind her mask. This woman ... it didn't fit. Big words for a little woman, and tossing around such a word as 'Sith' to a complete stranger? Either this woman was truthful and incredibly brash, or a really bad liar.

And then came the price. Laughable.

" This 'steady employment' better pay more than 500 credits, or you'll find the way to the exit quick enough," she scoffed. No point had to be made about this 'Sith' business. In truth, she didn't care much; employment was employment, and that's all she cared about. "You'd think a 'powerful' woman like you would have more than that to offer. Or perhaps you just have visions of grandeur ... -- Well, I can respect that."

She brooded a moment behind her mask -- weighing the options, the cons and pros, and whatever was in that sauce. But in the end, she gave a simple nod. "Very well. I'll take you where you need to go, because I'm curious. We'll talk more about this 'employment' of yours on my ship," she got up, reached for her gear, and set her mind on her blaster again. Her eyes will be kept on the woman from the moment they leave, until they arrive, she made certain to do that. I don't trust this one a single bit.

"I don't care what you do on my ship, but I just have one rule," she gestured to the blaster on Mala's hip. "When we get on the ship, you're handing that over."

 

[Darth Imperia]

Mala couldn't believe it.

She had been willing to offer up to ten times her original offer, and this merc had just accepted a paltry 500? It simply didn't make sense.

Not that she was going to complain about cheap labor. But it did cast a bit of doubt on this woman's intellectual capacity, at least in Mala's mind. Still, maybe it was just Vymaas's curiosity. Mala had been recruited to the Sith in much the same way - admittedly, her Mistress's admission of being Sith was less verbal, and more about the way she carried herself, and the aura she carried with her. Either way, there was something undeniably alluring about the Sith, and if Mala was lucky, that was what made Vymaas agree so easily.

If she wasn't lucky, Vymaas was indeed an idiot. And Mala couldn't have idiotic minions, even if they didn't quite know that they were, in fact, minions.

Mala's reaction to Vymaas's demand for her gun was one of hesitance - she had never gone without her blaster for any appreciable length of time, and it felt...wrong to do so. Like that piece of gear was a part of her.

But power required sacrifice, and so, with a healthy wariness and understandable reluctance, she nodded her consent. "You may disarm me - for now. I don't need a blaster, after all, to be deadly." That was a lie - but it was a lie she stated with confidence, and that was most of what lying was - sounding confident.

 

[Vymaas]

She was silent as she left the diner, and on the way towards her ship. Nothing needed to be said, after all.

And it gave her time to think. Blocking out whatever Mala would have to say on the trip there would be easy; she'd done it a million times with other people, and she would be no different. But Mala did not seem the kind of person to be making smalltalk, anyway. Vy was glad for that, at least.

There was another matter, however, that presented itself. She had respect for this woman, in how she acted, and her uncontained ego-- yet, Vy was a cautious person too. She hadn't wanted the woman to bear arms in her ship, for the risk of a rebellious fit that would end in either their deaths. And that was too big of a risk to take. Yet, as was expected of this woman's rambunctious ego, she had revealed another means of 'being deadly', as she so put it. An obscure one, yes, and one that may very well have been a lie, but it was another risk. Who knew what these 'Sith' could do?

It was clear then. This woman had gained her interest, if only to have a companion with more balls than half the galaxy combined, but there was too much mystery. And mystery was a risk. She'd find out exactly whether this woman was lying or if she told the truth. She hoped it was the latter, however masochistic that hope was.

"My name is Vymaas," she said to break her long silence, as they approached the ship. The various grooves, bumps, indents, and scratches on the hull of the light freighter painted a map of its battle-worn history, but it worked like a charm still, for what it had to do. The entrance opened up as they got close, and Vy held out a gloved hand to Mala. "And I would have your blaster now, as well as those credits. Here's a good spot to talk, as well. About that employment you spoke of, and another matter," though her expression was masked, her tone had plenty emotion behind it; urgency and seriousness. This was a matter that was clearly important to her, and she seemed fixed on planting her foot down.

"I'm taking you in my ship for a measly price, so I'd at least like a few truthful answers, as well as details. Vague answers might've worked for others, but not me. So tell me about this employment. I'm quite interested."

 

[Darth Imperia]

Mala did not speak as the duo traveled through the streets - she didn't need to, nor did she particularly have the desire to. Instead, she planned. She had rushed - it was villain 101. When you recruit an unwitting minion, you don't tell them your true allegiance until after they're already under your control. Nor do you agree to hand over your weapon. Still, it could've been worse. Vymaas could have rushed off to tell the Jedi, and Mala would've been forced to kill her. That would've just been wasteful, really. More to the point, Vymaas didn't really seem to care that she was Sith - That could mean a number of things, all of which Mala could use to her advantage.

It wasn't greed - Vymass had taken a paltry sum to work for her. Nor was it any particular interest in the Sith, as she didn't seem to know who the Sith were, really. So...Curiosity? Assuming Vymaas was not leading her into a trap, that was the only logical conclusion, and it made Mala quite happy indeed - she could work with that.
When Vymaas made her demands, Mala casually tossed her blaster pistol and a credit chip to her companion. The credit chip was indeed of the 500 Credit denomination, and the blaster pistol had no power cell in it - Mala had removed it before, presumably to stop Vymaas from shooting her with her own gun. That would just be embarrassing.

"My offer is simple - So long as you provide assistance in the form of travel, I will pledge to come to your defense with my full repertoire of skills, should the need arise." She needn't know that that is currently a fairly small repertoire, Mala mused to herself. "Beyond that, I will provide payment - to be negotiated depending on the task - in return for your assistance in the field, should I need it. Moreover...I offer you the chance to see the strangest, most bizarre regions of the Galaxy. I offer you knowledge, and adventure. While I cannot give you a time table, I can and will give you a sincere promise - when I call on you for help, you will never be bored."