Private Fuel to Fire

[Razmir Tezhyn]

(rebuilt) ACCRETION DISCO​

Razmir twirled a glass of Corellian whiskey, seated in a private booth overlooking the exclusive VIP area, and thought to himself that one of the attendees remarkably resembled a dead man who passed not long ago.

Raz took a sip of the drink. The smoky burn rolled through his system. It had been Ka'arel's head which had been unceremoniously dumped into his lap after the warehouse affair on Sepan 8. Something like it had been expected, of course. Razmir had personally sent the man to his death. But now, when he looked at the stranger, he saw Ka'arel's bruised and battered face on another man's body.

And it was ruining his whiskey.

"Je'ames? Give our friend over there an incentive to dance somewhere else, hm?" Razmir indicated the offending stranger.

The Duro nodded, wide-brimmed hat dipping low, and moved out into the crowd. There wouldn't be a spectacle made of it, nor any violence employed. Razmir favoured subtle solutions.

On the uppermost levels of the Accretion Disco the crowds tended to remain small. This was especially the case when associates of the Black Sun Syndicate were in attendance, as was the case this evening. The disco got cleared out to avoid unwanted eyes and ears. The owners were, of course, compensated, though not exactly monetarily. Razmir watched the entrances, idly smoking a cigar, scanning for the familiar head of firey hair.

Mercy

 

[Mercy]

Razmir Tezhyn

And in truth Razmir didn't need to scan for long, because when Mercy came, the crowd parted as if she was a prophet splitting an ocean apart by sheer hand gesture.

They couldn't help it. If a woman that was as large and tall as a mountain began to walk, sheer gravity did the work, you either stepped aside or were trampled because Mercy didn't circle around anyone. That was her philosophy for walking, so one might not be surprised to have seen that artwork crafted across most of her doings in the Galaxy.

From breaking a siege that had been inspired to bring down an annoying Vigo, to patting the head of an ambitious Vigo in the middle of his own operation because Mercy thought he looked like a pretty boy that needed head pats.

Mercy pushed forward like the tide and without a word she plopped into the seat next to Razmir, her beefy arm settling on the back of it, near his own head. The eldritch arm, of course. That always twitched, shifted, the slick metal-like liquid over the surface seemingly alive. "Tezhyn, cozy place you got here." Mercy purred softly as she gestured for a drink to be poured her way.

"And I got a special invitation for it too... what is that big pretty head of yours cooking up?"

They both knew what had happened with that enforcer, so it had surprised Mercy to find the invitation on the screen of her assistant, Aylin Dara .

 

[Razmir Tezhyn]

Razmir watched Mercy enter. She controlled the crowd through sheer physicality alone. Few here knew of her status within Black Sun. The way they all shyed away from her came down to presence. And he was loath to admit, she had perfected presence.

The server came over to pour Mercy's drink. Her eyes lingered a moment longer than they should have. Razmir gave her a glance, and she finally retreated with a light blush.

Razmir, outwardly, made no indication of the vexation her demeanour created. The arm by the back of his head was an unsubtle reminder of her direct methods of problem solving.

He hadn’t forgotten her ruffling his hair during the warehouse ambush either.

“Credits and power are perpetually on my mind,” Razmir smiled, relaxing into the cushioned booth.

“I appreciate you coming all the way out here. I was beginning to think we weren’t on speaking terms any longer, following the warehouse ambush.”

Mercy

 

[Mercy]

Razmir Tezhyn

"Hmm... not a bad thing to have on your mind, I suppose." Mercy drawled in return, she understood the drive, even if she didn't share it that much. But that all came down to methods.

One did not need credits if you took what you wanted. And power was just the same, you didn't wait for someone's permission, you grasped for it and violently dragged it to yourself.

Then you fought until you kept it.

"Mm, why ever not, darling?" And he'd feel the tendrils of her eldritch arm... slowly reaching out and stroking along his shoulder. Not quite a ruffling of his head. Not public. It was an indignity she invited him to suffer in private. "Did something happen in the warehouse that would make us no longer on speaking terms?"

Her tone sweet and innocent.

As if he hadn't tried to kill her by bio-weapon.

And as if she hadn't publicly ripped the attacker's head off and dropped it in his lap as a souvenir.

"You will find, Razzy, that I don't have a very long memory for such things. If I have an issue, I solve it immediately, if I do not make a permanent solution it means I have already mostly forgotten about it." She sipped from her glass and smirked his way. "How about you? Do you have a... long memory for things of that nature?"

A veritable: speak now or forever hold your peace.