Noah Corek
Cocked, Locked and a Smoking Barrel
Noah almost snorted at Val as she spoke to the Iridonian. It appeared she was going for a routine as old as interrogation itself, the old good cop, bad cop routine. It was a routine he’d pulled many times before with her and they had it almost down to a science at this point.
Val was the attractive, soft spoken and understanding Jedi Master while Noah was the hard-nosed, harsh toned and abrasive Mandalorian mercenary. While he hated going along with the charade that was a Mandalorian stereotype he went with it because despite his misgiving it often turned out to be rather effective in getting what they needed.
It was for this reason he kept the Torgrutan woman pinned to the wall while Val worked the obvious weaker link, throwing a withering glare at the Iridonian every now and then to reinforce it. When the words Val spoke reached the Togrutan she growled and glared at the Iridonian. “Lucien don’t tell that schutta a fething thing.”
At the outburst Noah let the woman go and swiftly brought the butt of his rifle down on the back of her head, this causing her to slump against the wall and slide down it clearly unconscious from the hit. “Now you’ll shut your fething mouth.”
Slinging his rifle Noah turned towards Val and the Iridonian. “So…Lucien is it? You really should listen to my friend here. She’s all nice and cuddly in her question, me on the other hand…” As if to emphasize his point he drew his knife and gently twirled it between his fingers.
The Iridonian swallowed thickly before opening his mouth, quickly closing it to look at his now unconscious companion and opened it again. “Ulric Prescott…we were hired by Ulric Prescott.” A few things would happen after those words left the Iridonians mouth.
First, the hardy mental shields Noah kept up dropped, something Val would be able to feel. Second, a white hot lance of anger flashed from his mind. Third, Noah grabbed the Iridonian and hauled him up against the wall by his collar. “You’re a lying piece of poodoo…”