First one in...

[Tejori Lotor]

The X'us'R'iia lasted three and a half days.

Tejori finished one bottle of water and half of another, guarding her thirst, because she didn't know how long it would be until she'd be able to get into Jaken for more. She was out of food by the second day, and by the time the storm was over her headache was so intense she was lightheaded and had to go slowly when she moved around her little home.

She'd jury-rigged a computer using pieces scavenged from several crashed fighters over the years, including a cracked but still-usable display from an old BTL-A4 Y-wing. There were no radio communications to speak of — no way to transmit or receive and, frankly, nobody she wanted to talk to anyway. On the wreckage of a Zephra-series hauler, though, she'd once found a stash of data chips, and after painstakingly going through each and every one of them, she'd discovered three with their programs intact; one of them, to her delight, had been a flight simulator.

So when she wasn't sleeping or just sitting and listening to the storm or tinkering at her workbench, she flew. It was a good program, or at least she imagined it was. She could select any number of ships to fly, from small repulsor-driven atmospheric craft to a wide variety of fighters, all the way up to an array of stock freighters. She could set destinations, worlds she'd never visited and never imagined she would, and scenarios, from speed runs to obstacle courses to system failures.

At first, she'd been truly horrible at it, quite literally crashing a few seconds after takeoff every time. With nothing else to do, and with a perverse sense of determination that she would not allow herself to be beaten by a machine that she herself had put together with her own hands, she learned. She learned so much that there was little the program could throw her way that would challenge her now. She'd gotten to the point where she would, quite deliberately, do everything she could think of to make things hard on herself, just to see if she could get out of it. Full-throttle atmospheric re-entry with repulsor-engine failure? No sweat.

Multiple hull breach deep-space engine flameout? A walk in the park.

It was, if nothing else, a way to pass the time.

When Tejori finally ventured out, the sun was hot and mean. Miraculously, her speeder had been spared the worst of the storm. She dusted it off, checked the power, started the engine, and was pleasantly surprised when it responded without hesitation. She went back inside long enough to get a few pieces from her workbench to offer for trade. She then closed up, mounted her speeder, and took the drive into Jaken. She went slowly, mindful that she wasn't at her best.

The little town — if you could call it a town, and she wasn't certain you could, but she didn't have much to compare it with — was still nearly deserted. The tarps over the washing station had been shredded by the X'us'R'iia, and there were two sentries out working on repairs. She parked between the station and the trader’s place and looked over at the little airfield out of habit, counting the ships. There were the same three ships parked there, the same three as ever. All of them looked like they'd survived the storm without damage.

She trudged over to the cleaning station, feeling the sun pummelling her. And she cast a watchful eye for the one she was avoiding. Who most people avoided if they could. There was no guarantee he’d be here today. Or any day. Which was part of the problem. Gang bosses were like that. Especially ones that saw themselves as crime lords.

She was the first one in. Which meant there was nowhere to hide.

 

[Tyr]

Jaken

A bright light coated the planet's surface that heated the sands with a furry known only by those who had spent their lives on a desolate planet such as this. It was the norm out in the middle of nowhere to embrace the challenges of daily life and strive to make a better life so that one could afford to leave this rock as soon as they were able. That was the story of the majority of the fools who had crossed paths with Tyr, the local controller of fate and fortune for this wasteland of a planet. It was when that very same bright light was at its most intense when this scene came into being.

Tyr's body was strewn over a broken down couch--rips and tears littering the smoothed, overused, fabric--as he rested under his canopy near the trade center. There was a wet, but quickly drying, cloth draped over his head--covering his face completely--as he attempted to cool his body from the intense heat that could be felt anywhere outside of the shade. His left boot was the only part of his person that touched the ground--mainly the heel--as his right hand supported his head and his left rested atop his exposed abdomen. This was a picture much like any regular day for the salty criminal--waiting for his next enterprise to appear on their way to, or from, the trading station.

Being far from stupid, Tyr knew that there was only one person that you didn't cross on this entire rock that was deemed a habitable planet, and that was the trader, himself. The trader controlled the local food supply, and if one wanted to eat, one would not make an enemy of the hand that would feed you. Unlike the other inhabitants of the area around Jaken, Tyr didn't try very hard to scavenge parts nor valuables from the ruins and remains that were littered across the planet's surface. No, Tyr knew better than to trouble himself with the hard work of an 'honorable' citizen. Tyr was the one who would wait to poach the earnings of others before, or after, they had made their arrangements with the trader.

By the fashion of Tyr's body it was obvious that he wasn't starved for anything but a way to escape this planet and traverse the stars as he once had in his relative youth. As a Feeorin, Tyr was blessed, or cursed, with an exceedingly long life and an equally short temper. With these unique qualities, and his last crew staging a mutiny and leaving him on this desolate rock to die, Tyr had been more than ready to leave as soon as his circumstances would allow. The only problems he had ever had was the need for a ship, and a pilot, to escape the clutches of the Force forsaken planet.

It wasn't until he heard the crunching of sand beneath the boots of another that his senses began to activate. His left hand slowly rose to the cloth over his face to raise it--ever-so slightly--to peer out to see where the noise was coming from. And to Tyr's surprise it was his favorite little scavenger, [member="Tejori Lotor"]! Waiting for the right opportunity, however, was now the battle that he had to fight as he continued to play dead on the shredded couch which his life most closely resembled.

 

[Tejori Lotor]

“There’s always a bigger fish…” Tejori mused the words as she cleaned her finds. As someone who’d never seen a large expanse of water, let alone a fish, and certainly not a sand aqua monster, she found it an odd saying. But she’d heard it once and it stuck.

She’d fled from one of the larger settlements on this planet to avoid a thug and a bully. What she ran to was smaller, more desolate, and came with its own crime boss.

In one sense he was nothing compared to the one she’d left behind. But given the size of this place, he was proportionately bigger. A lot bigger.

And now she could see him, out of the corner of her eye. She’d had a few run-ins. But her saving grace is that she was good at finding things. She was one of the best climbers and had arguably the most bravery — or perhaps the least acute sense of danger — and so she was useful. She knew it and he knew it.

But she never pushed the point. And so far, he’d let her be. She’d learned the lesson the hard way. For people like Tyr, face was everything. If he lost it, she would die — useful or not. So she kept out of his way whenever possible, and kept her temper in check the remainder.

She figured he hadn’t seen her, so she kept her eyes on her work and prayed he would find someone else to pick on. But a sideways glance told her she was out of luck. There was nobody else.

[member="Tyr"]

 

[Tyr]

Tyr found that his day had just become far more enjoyable as he watched [member="Tejori Lotor"] begin her day's labor. It was fairly often that Tyr could find someone to press under his thumb with little effort but this one was special--this one had the attitude to match the actions that she would undertake. In truth, the girl reminded him a lot of himself at a younger age. Before he had been across the stars, and aged a couple hundred years, Tyr had been as quick on his feet as Tejori and he couldn't help but draw an innocuous smile across the expanse of his face.

From ear to ear Tyr expressed his content as he wiggled the cloth higher and higher over his face--just to expose his left eye so he could more ably show his interest in the young scavenger. This was the moment that he had decided to allow his presence to be known--even if he had been noticed already--and state his intentions, clearly. And so with a slight cackle and a point of his left index finger--as his thumb extended up toward the sky to form a mock gun--Tyr moved his lips to mouth mock shooting sounds as he pretended to face the mighty recoil of his hand pistol. This motion was directed squarely at Tejori and he didn't care who know it--as people began to accumulate in the area with their own daily collections of scrap and wares to barter.

"I think I may give it a try today. What do you think," Tyr remarked to no one. "I think it may be your best chance. We still need a ship though. That's a big part of the plan!"

Talking to himself was a more recent affliction that Tyr had suffered during the years he had spent on this desolate planet. One would think with his knowledge, and physical prowess, Tyr would've found his way offworld in a few weeks but instead he found himself tortured by the events that had lead him to rot away on a couch that was as old as the young girl whom he decided to impress his will upon on this day. Would his plan succeed?

"First things first," he replied to himself as he rose to sit up--his back remaining remarkable straight as he did so--with the rag now falling off of his head and onto his lap. "Let's go say 'hi'"

 

[Tejori Lotor]

And so the games began…

She could see him. And she was sure he could see her. She was now sure he knew she could see him.

There was a playfulness to their relationship. At least from his side. Like a cat with a mouse. He would let her have a bit of freedom before reminding her with a swipe that she was most definitely under his control.

The mock shooting was proof. The toying had begun.

And her part was the same. To pretend she hadn’t noticed. She sometimes wondered if he enjoyed this aspect. Her defiance. And if she reacted immediately would he grow tired of the sport — or conversely grow tired of her? It was a risk she wasn’t prepared to take. It was a risk she was in no position to take.

She heard him talk to himself. Or rather he talked out loud…so that people could hear. So that she could hear. Was she full of self-importance? No, just a decent judge of character.

And then she heard the words that made the pit of her stomach drop quicker than an eeopie down a sarlaac pit. He was coming her way. So she just carried on as if nothing had happened and preyed some fool might engage him in conversation before he reached her. Except nobody was that foolish.

[member="Tyr"]

 

[Tyr]

With a huff and a puff, Tyr rose from the couch as any aged being would--slowly but surely--but was it really a necessity to illustrate his age to everyone in the area? It was quite obvious that being a Feeorin had its perks--most notably the exponential increase in strength as one grew older due to a unique metabolism--but why, exactly, did Tyr make himself seem weaker than he really was? The answer to that question is quite simple: deception is a key to victory. Victory against whom? Well, that was yet to be revealed, but Tyr knew that anyone could be watching at anytime--so why not appear to be a weakening old man to surprise a would-be assailant? With his rising routine finished--mainly cracking his back and the knuckles on each hand--it was now time for Tyr to make his move toward his favorite 'pet'!

Slinking from his shadowy, covered, solace from the frighteningly hot day; asking Tyr to move at a pace any faster than a saunter was mere blasphemy! Observing the looks, ooh, ahhs, and occasional shriek of fear, Tyr continued on as his right hand rested on the grip of his pistol--that was carried on his right thigh--while his left scratched his exposed abdomen. If there was any word to describe Tyr at this moment, it would be casual. The casual look did have its perks, however, it wasn't the most imposing sight until the slink in his shoulders rose up--while his back straightened--to tower over everyone in the marketplace with his full figure.

"Well, well, well, what da we have 'ere," he began with the twinkle in his eye directed at [member="Tejori Lotor"]. "If it isn't my favorite little scavy girl! And what da we have fer me today?"

 

[Tejori Lotor]

Tejori watched the charade. Sure he fooled lots of people – but she was a great studier and there were too many times where he moved quickly when he needed. A show of strength here or there said he wasn’t the ageing figure he liked to portray.

She didn’t know why the pretence, and didn’t much care. And she was smart enough to allow him to keep the illusion in place. She would never divulge what she believed to anyone. Rather she kept it hidden. Ensuring she remained out of reach to avoid him risking being exposed.

The cracking noise meant the display was over and she just knew he was heading towards her – even without looking.

Rey waited, glancing about. More people were arriving, venturing out after the storm. A couple of other salvagers apparently had gone out hunting first and were making their way to the washing station to clean up their finds. Maybe they’d distract him?

His voice made her skin crawl.

While she knew he looked forward to their occasional business dealings, she could not say the same. Since that would have required not only listening to him but looking at him, she always strove to keep their encounters as brief as possible.

She was sure, on the other hand, was delighted to extend their encounters for as long as she could stand it. He always took his time when talking to her, letting his gaze rove slowly over everything she put before him, making her wait. Only when the bounds of common courtesy had been markedly surpassed did he deign to allow her to leave.

“I’ve nothing remarkable.”

She did not give him the pleasure of seeing her displeasure, carrying on the cleaning without alerting him to the fact that his presence disgusted her. She could feel his eyes all over her. Hers were fixed to the actuator for a Kuat-7 acceleration compensator as if it were made of gold.

Of course she’d have to give some of her find to him. It was less a game and more a ritual. But he seemed to enjoy the custom and sometimes, if she pleased him enough, he would leave her with all of her finds. It was rare, but it was worth the effort. She wasn’t giving up credits, she was handing over potential food. The difference between life and death.

[member="Tyr"]

 

[Tyr]

"Oh, come now," Tyr began as he patted the blaster on his thigh--part reminder and part force of habit. "You always 'ave something for your favorite caretaker!"

Tyr's self-proclaimed title was about as truthful as his inquisition was suggestion. This man was teeming with thoughts and schemes--none of which were very useful or good-natured--full of what he could do to ensure his own survival, and escape, from this desolate world. Of course escape was his ultimate goal but he also knew that it was close to impossible without the girl he continually attempted to wrangle under his thumb.

It was his hope that--in the years that he had spent hounding her--she would see the light and join his nefarious production and enlist in his crew. Having someone as versatile as [member="Tejori Lotor"] would give him something a good number of other crews would nor--a little girl with an innocent look that was capable of great things. Guards would be lowered, pockets would be picked, ruins would be looted, and all he wanted was this one girl to topple the last domino in one fell swoop by uttering words to the effect of submission. Alas, Tyr felt that this would not be the day that he would receive the words that he had sought so preciously.

"You can't be still hurtin' from the last time that ya brought me nothin', are yeh," he inquired further--knowing that his rough and tumble methods of command could get to the faint hearted. "Nah, yer tougher than that, aren't yeh?"

 

[Tejori Lotor]

She could feign indifference only so long. If she kept the pretence up indefinitely, he would not doubt be angry that she was ignoring him. She walked a tight-line — but walked it none the less.

She sorted through the things in front of her. He’d want the best of course. But to hand him that would mean giving up a second piece. She figured that was how it would go.

Offering him something too trivial and he might just take the lot. He clearly enjoyed the game as much as the prize, so she had to play on that.

She turned to face him and put her hands behind her back. “You strike me as someone who invariably strikes it lucky. Or you’re just smarter than the rest.” He could take either or both as her praising him. Which was hopefully a good thing and might soften him up for what was next.

“Pick a hand. What’s in it is yours.”

[member="Tyr"]

 

[Tyr]

“You strike me as someone who invariably strikes it lucky. Or you’re just smarter than the rest.”

"Flattery, eh? Well, I suppose that would work on a plethora of people but she's a little too smart for my liking. Then again, there's just something about how she plays her hand that just makes me want to give up and go along with whatever she wants. Too bad, really, that I'm not a hundred years younger. If there were the case, back then, I certainly would've fallen for it," Tyr pondered in the depths of his mind before [member="Tejori Lotor"] continued with her ploy.

“Pick a hand. What’s in it is yours.”

Reaching for his chin with his left hand--this time--Tyr traced the outline of it with his thumb and second finger. This was an outward sign that he was thinking, but if the truth were to be told, his mind was already made up.

"Or, ya could give me both," he said with toothy smile that screamed of sinister intentions.