Private Friends in Low Places

[Kinley Pryse]

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

"You shoot first, I shoot better."​

Nar Shaddaa. The Smuggler's Moon. Filthy, loud, and always buzzing with the scent of desperation and credits. Kinley Pryse stepped through the door of the cantina like she owned the place. Black boots dusted with grit, long coat hanging loose at her sides, and eyes that scanned the room like scanners on a hot ship. The air inside was thick with smoke and the stench of old spice and older regrets. Perfect.

Word on the street was someone was looking to purchase a lot of spice. The word spread throughout the smugglers moon but not too quietly. And Kinley had a cargo hold itching to be emptied. She spotted him in the back booth, alone, cloaked in shadow, sipping something expensive like he didn't care who noticed. Human… or close enough. Dark eyes, darker expression. The kind of man who either had a lot of credits or a death wish. Sometimes both. She didn't hesitate. Just sauntered over, pulled a blaster-scarred chair around with the toe of her boot, and dropped into it backward, arms over the backrest, one brow raised underneath her iconic hat.

"Mind if I cut in?" she said, flashing a grin sharp enough to nick glass. "Heard you're looking for something that burns?"


Ragos Terrek

A Smooth Criminal

 

[Ragos Terrek]

"Chit, I might be." Ragos told the stranger who'd taken the seat across from him like they'd planned to meet here. They hadn't. Chit, If Ragos hadn't seen her coming over in his periphery, if she'd actually managed to get the jump on him, this cantina woulda got hot. "Who's asking?" Ragos took his hand off the heater laying hidden under the napkin in his lap. Heater, being a snub nose hold out blaster, some outta spec piece of bantha chit, but at this range it'd for sure get the job done.

Ragos wasn't really the type'a mutha sucka that normally reached for the heat from the jump. He ain't ever had a problem throwing hands with somebody when the chit called for it, not that this situation even called for that much.

Nah, Ragos swung heat when chit called for it, he weren't no punk but he sure as hell wasn't the type'a sucka to pull down on an attractive woman for giving him her attention, which happened more often than you'd think, often enough to even surprise Ragos. There was no doubt either that this chick sitting in the seat the wrong way was attractive, even in the dim smokey cantina, and the shadow of the corner booth he'd chosen specifically for its broken overhead lighting, Ragos could see that. She was a hottie. That didn't really put Ragos at ease, if anything it got him even more worked up just in a different way.

Why did Ragos feel that it was necessary to keep his hand in his gun when chatting up some girl at a bar? Cuz this bar was on Nar Shaddaa, Ragos adopted home, the place he'd truly grown up, but it was also the home of the Killa Korunai, Ragos adopted family, until they turned on him, him being back here of all places was some dumbass chit. He knew it was on sight if any of his old peoples caught him out here, he wouldn't even have time to beg before he died, and that's why he kept a grip on the heat.

Kinley Pryse

 

[Kinley Pryse]

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

"The good news is, they missed. The bad news is, they noticed."​

"Who's asking?"

"Someone with a lot of seasoning that needs to find a home." She sat back in her booth, acting cool as a cucumber though she knew he had a gun trained on her. Hell most folks did business at blaster point on this planet.

"I've got enough Polstine for you to be the life of the party. If the price is right."

She wasn't kidding. Her cargo hold was currently full of the stuff and Flint needed her to get rid of it and turn a profit. Kinely hadn't seen this particular dealer around before, meaning he probably wasn't with Black Sun. That was fine by her. As long as his credits came she could care less about his background. She wasn't in this business to make friends, just money.

Ragos Terrek

A Smooth Criminal

 

[Ragos Terrek]

"Bantha chit you do." Ragos said, kissing his teeth.

Was he really supposed to buy this chit? Yeah, Ragos put word out for some junk, he was careful doe, his name, both his names, legal and street, weren't used, chit he had went far to start by putting word out through his boy in lock up on Coruscant, and now he was buying his chit on Nar Shaddaa, he couldn't be more removed from this chit if he tried but just cuz he couldn't think of how to be more careful ain't mean that he was careful enough.

He weren't worried that she was authorities or some chit, ain't no real cops on Nar Shaddaa, only ones who kept the gangsters that paid them whole. Chit that might be her, she could work for some Hutt or fething Black Sun or some chit but she weren't two-K and that was good by him. Still, he was not comforted by her desperation to move her chit, it just made chit reek like a trap.

Polstine was good fething spice. A brick or two of that chit, and where ever he set up shop would be popping in no time. That chit was expensive for, and he ain't even believe she really had it.

Ragos looked around the cantina, trying to spot anyone too interested in his conversation, or anyone trying too hard to not be interested.

Ragos had settled on this woman being bait. She was gonna distract him with offers of spice or whatever and then he was finna lose his head or worse, his credits.

"Let's taste that seasoning you got, den."

Kinley Pryse