The atmosphere on the upper levels of Nar Shaddaa had changed, the rampant debauchery of it all had taken a hit and order seemed to be on the cards. If one were to take a trip down to the poorer sectors of the moon then they'd find that change was not present there but that was a task nigh-impossible. However, our story does not begin down in the filth-encrusted depths, we start at the top where the local crime lords were suddenly rather difficult to locate and the usual scum stepped with a touch more caution than they usually did.
Except for one.
Nature's accident Steph freakin' Zenima stomped through the wary streets of the recently conquered moon, her sledgehammer grating across the floor as she dragged it in caveman fashion. She had been sober for fourteen hours. There had been crackdowns, spice is evil, spice is killing the people, they were trying to kill the flow.
This was not appreciated.
Truth be told if the woman just went to the lower levels to get that fix then this problem would have been solved but this was supposed to be Nar Shaddaa, you were supposed to be able to get spice anywhere you bloody well pleased! Vendors were supposed to pour out of the very grates promising ecstasy in power, pill or liquid. This Nar Shaddaa was wrong, it was dirty.
A robbery was on the cards, it was just a matter of finding the right mark.
So it was a pity that her victim had been well-meaning. Understandable really, the woman looked under-fed, unwashed and unaware of her surroundings. He had assumed her to be a slave, one who escaped in the wake of the chaos that the Jedi had caused. The sledgehammer had been her protector. He could have helped her.
Steph Zenima took one look at him and gave into a different kind of craving.
For a woman that looked so weary she was swift, once second her hammer was being hauled across the floor as if it was Thor's, the next it was swooshing upwards through the air at a frightening speed. He was looking forward to a new Nar Shaddaa, he only wanted to help her, he was so unprepared for the attack that he bit through his own tongue as the sledge kissed his chin in a devastating uppercut.
He lay on his back gargling, probably for help.
The sledgehammer ended it quickly as it came down upon his head, painting her weapon in brand new crimson. As if a murder hadn't even taken place, the pint-sized woman crouched down and started rifling through his pockets. Was there any spice to be found?
“Bugger.”
Except for one.
Nature's accident Steph freakin' Zenima stomped through the wary streets of the recently conquered moon, her sledgehammer grating across the floor as she dragged it in caveman fashion. She had been sober for fourteen hours. There had been crackdowns, spice is evil, spice is killing the people, they were trying to kill the flow.
This was not appreciated.
Truth be told if the woman just went to the lower levels to get that fix then this problem would have been solved but this was supposed to be Nar Shaddaa, you were supposed to be able to get spice anywhere you bloody well pleased! Vendors were supposed to pour out of the very grates promising ecstasy in power, pill or liquid. This Nar Shaddaa was wrong, it was dirty.
A robbery was on the cards, it was just a matter of finding the right mark.
So it was a pity that her victim had been well-meaning. Understandable really, the woman looked under-fed, unwashed and unaware of her surroundings. He had assumed her to be a slave, one who escaped in the wake of the chaos that the Jedi had caused. The sledgehammer had been her protector. He could have helped her.
Steph Zenima took one look at him and gave into a different kind of craving.
For a woman that looked so weary she was swift, once second her hammer was being hauled across the floor as if it was Thor's, the next it was swooshing upwards through the air at a frightening speed. He was looking forward to a new Nar Shaddaa, he only wanted to help her, he was so unprepared for the attack that he bit through his own tongue as the sledge kissed his chin in a devastating uppercut.
He lay on his back gargling, probably for help.
The sledgehammer ended it quickly as it came down upon his head, painting her weapon in brand new crimson. As if a murder hadn't even taken place, the pint-sized woman crouched down and started rifling through his pockets. Was there any spice to be found?
“Bugger.”