Hemmer and Anvel

[Blackthorne]

Subterrel - "Hemmer" Port Town
[member="Nealon Zalman"] [member="Marcus Itera"]

Despite the fact that Subterrel had seen a Morossian incursion to free the mining slaves of the planet nearly ten years ago, with the dissolution of the Crusade the place had reverted right back into old habits. Newer, smarter, portlier Mine Chiefs implemented with arguably better equipment and defenses meant that economy had this place under its death grips once more. The Galactic Alliance had yet to make a stance against these sorts of things; they were a little distracted by the rising threat of the Empire on their borders to pay much attention to an otherwise forgettable speck on the galactic map.

Someone else was watching, however. Minding the flow of resources, contemplating the viability of a hostile takeover versus a simple run-and-gun. The Harrowbane sat in orbit over the planet, engines idling while its Captain awaited orders planet-side. Hemmer was a small and densely packed port and trade town full of grit and oil. There was nothing here of need for the normal person and enough petty crime to keep civilians at bay. Blackthorne found herself and her crew ears deep in a weapons shop with plenty of questionably legal paraphernalia to bide her time with.

 

[Nealon Zalman]

A few weeks ago Nealon would've easily said that this was the worst day of his life. Now it was just another pretty bad day in a long series of bad days. It was hard to say what annoyed him more: That he had spend 2 days to earn 37 credits by performing cheap magic tricks at a Kathol spaceport, or that the pilot which he gave 30 of these credits had promised him to take him to Coruscant, only to dump him here instead. Wherever here was. With his last seven credits he had brought the cheapest bottle of booze that he had been able to find, and was now in the process of getting wasted on that bottle.

From the outside he was probably a rather odd sight. His skin and body alone still showed small hints that he had been rich not to long ago, but his clothes were what fully gave it away. The jacket alone had been worth more than some starships, before it became all dirty and ragged from living on the streets of some backwater world with little to no money. The bottle in his hand created a strong contrast, a translucent liquid that reeked strong enough to inform anyone around him about its content.

Well back to square one. From his pockets he reached for a deck of cards, laying 3 of them out on the ground before him. He had managed to scam people out of their money before, so he would probably be able to do it again. Taking another swig from the bottle he stood up, asking every person walking past him something along the lines of:

"Hey mate, interested in a little game?"

[member="Blackthorne"] [member="Marcus Itera"]

 

[Blackthorne]

Say what you will about Pirates and decency - the two very seldom could be spoken in the same sentence except in the case to say that they were hardly related subjects. The group left the shop with several more things on their figures than what had actually been part of the exchange of credits. A wildling, two Rattataki Gladiators, a Dathomiri, and a massive Whiphid wended through the crowds, passing by a bedraggled man with a nearly-empty bottle and an offer for a game.

Blackthorne was not a gambler, but a crook, and stepped past with hardly even a glance. One of the Rattataki, however, could hardly pass up a good throw of dice, so to speak, and paused with a look of intrigue.

"Right then," said the tattooed man, grabbing after his warrior companion to get his attention, "what's this game of yours?"

Sherra, the Whiphid, reached a clawed hand forward to tap Blackthorne on the shoulder, motioning with a nod of her head back to where their party had been waylaid.

[member="Nealon Zalman"]

 

[Nealon Zalman]

A sly grin danced over the young man's face when his first victims came to him to give him their credits. Quickly Nealon flipped the three cards in front of him, showing the symbols openly to the two tattooed pirates. Before explaining the game he placed his last four credits besides the cards.

"It's very easy actually. You see the card in the middle is the queen, I will shuffle the cards, and if you guess the queen right you win."

It was very easy in concept, but there was a lot more skill required if you had to win, no matter what. He began to shuffle the cards up and down, up and down, sometimes quickly and sometimes slow, showing that he had clearly done this more than a few times. But this was where the real trick came into play. In a quick, barely if at all noticeable move a card fell out from his right sleeve into the palm of his hand, and a second later the queen was replaced with another card, identical to one of the others laid out in front of him, while the queen was gone into his left sleeve.

Normally this game was far easier if you had someone in the crowd to help you out, but in his current situation he needed to make a few adjustments. Instead of trying to keep people in the game for as long as possible, he rather let them fail from thr start, as with any additional round there was a higher risk that someone noticed that he cheated them out of their money.

[member="Blackthorne"]

 

[Marcus Itera]

Another day, another dollar.

Quite unfortunately, Marcus had spent this particular day in a vain attempt to disregard females and acquire currency. Not only did Subterrel lack an exquisite bunch of fine humanoid females, but it seemed that every other client he'd tried to follow-up on ended up not really desiring his services in one way or another. It was always the same excuse, whether it be his price being too high or wanting a little more finesse and precision in their operations as opposed to his galavanting with grenade launchers and explosives.

They're just missing out, the mercenary pouted.

And so, he'd bided his time by traipsing through the crowds of the mining cities. Soot and dust for days.

"It's gross here."

Marcus snorted. "You act like you haven't seen worse."

"I have, but this is still gross." The AI scrunched up her nose, reeling back from the black-faced miners that had just finished shift work. "I keep forgetting that organics still do this sort of work. I figured droids would've gobbled up the market."

He was half a second away from explaining the importance of organics to his synthetic companion when the flash of cards caught his eye. Magic tricks. Here, on Subterrel? At least someone was trying to lighten the dark mood that seemed to perpetuate this unforgiving environment.

As nonchalantly as possible, he walked over, jamming his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket before popping a cigarra between his teeth.

((OOC: Apologies for the late response.))

[member="Nealon Zalman"], [member="Blackthorne"]

 

[Blackthorne]

"Tas, these things are banthashet-" said the second Rattataki, waving dismissively at [member="Nealon Zalman"], "-he's a street cheat, you'll never win."

"I like those odds," responded the first, tossing in a handful of credits after cracking his knuckles.
"Idiot."
"What's this?" Blackthorne arrived, shouldering her way through the small crowd that had formed, acidic gaze sweeping over the soiled face of the magician with impunity, "The feth, Tas? Card tricks?" She had her own flaws but gambling wasn't one of them.

"We haven't found Anvel yet, just give me five minutes," Itaska, or Tas as he was called, turned to watch the card shuffle over a puff of smoke from his cig.

Mmm. A contained growl rumbled within the woman's chest as she turned to brush past [member="Marcus Itera"], "Stay with him, Kiin."

"Aye, Captain."

 

[Nealon Zalman]

Again Nealon began to shuffle the cards, replacing the new card with the queen again, before flipping the cards open for the new player to see. His grin had grown since the pirate threw in his bet. He missed the times where he would've ignored the this small amount of credits even if someone placed it right in front of him. But well these times were over now.

"Eyes on the queen. Good luck."

He began to shuffle the cards a third time, as quick as he was able to and again he replaced the queen with the card in his sleeve. The whole cheat was so quick and subtle that it was barley noticeable, but a very observant eye could catch it if looking very, very close at his hands. To his luck very few people that were intrigued by this kind of game had the brains to catch him.

"So tell me, where is the queen? And no, Naboo doesn't counts as an answer."

He chuckled lightly over his own joke, trying to play of the scam that was going on. In the rare case that he was caught he simply talked his way out most of the time. Some sob story of being to poor to pay the food for his family, that kind of thing. Worked surprisingly well, considering how cold hearted the galaxy could be.

[member="Blackthorne"] [member="Marcus Itera"]

 

[Marcus Itera]

The street magician here stunk. It wasn't an actual stink, but something just gave Marcus this gut wrenching feeling of something bad about to happen. Perhaps he was just a petty thief, perhaps he was genuinely attempting to show some tricks and entertain. Whatever it was, it had Marcus caught in a dumbfounded daze. Another long drag of the cigarra and he drew closer, peering at the constantly shuffling cards with mechanical eyes. The augmented reality overlay flashed something of a warning upon the final shuffle but the mercenary dismissed it with the clicking of his tongue against his molars.

"He's cheating."

Marcus snorted. Oh well. Wasn't his cash that he'd just given to the performer - so he'd merely sit and watch to see how the rest of this little charade would play out. The Rattataki and his friends didn't seem all too bright. Maybe the young man could get away with it all.

As the burning embers of his cigarra neared closer and closer to his lips, something brushed against him.

It wasn't hard, just surprising. Surprising enough to the point of him losing his grip on the lit cigarra the second it came away from his lips, promptly dropping it on whatever had crashed into him.

Right onto the woman with venomous eyes.

Great.

[member="Nealon Zalman"], [member="Blackthorne"]

 

[Blackthorne]

Kiin pinched at the bridge of his nose as he watched his fellow Rattataki get bested by the trick, "You're a bonafide ignoramous."
"A wot?" Tas threw a hairy glance over at Kiin.
"An absolute idiot."
"I got this," Itaska said, stooping to check out his choices and ponder his selection. The man's thought process was a bit like watching cheese boil.

~~~

Whatever it was, she didn't feel it at first. The tickle over her collar bone dismissed simply as hair falling into place. Blackthorne pushed her way past Marcus and out of the small crowd to join Sherra, giving pause as she smelled something burning. Not an odd scent to come across here on Subterrel, but certainly closer and more pungent than the ore factories off in the distance. It grew stronger, the acrid and yet subtly aromatic scent burning into her nose as easily as it began burning through the leather of her brocade.

Smoke.

She stopped, brow furrowed as the plumes coiled up around her face.

"What...smoke-" green eyes grew wide as she suddenly realized the source of the smoke was her cleavage, "...hot...it's hot-"

~~~

"That one," Itaska said finally, pointing to the middle card. He seemed very certain of this choice.

[member="Marcus Itera"] [member="Nealon Zalman"]

 

[Nealon Zalman]

With a grin the young man flipped the card open, which was unsurprisingly not the queen which rested silently in one of his sleeves. The grin getting wider and wider as his hand reached for the credits piled up besides him, before looking at the man he had just cheated out of his money.

"Sorry mate, looks like these are mine now. But tell you what."

Again he shuffled the cards, every time a bit faster and with a bit more grace. Normally that would've been his cue to get the hell out of there, but he simply couldn't pass up on a contender that seemingly had credits and a rather dim mind. After the cards had been switched again he flipped the queen open, looking up to the pirate while moving all the credits he had earned besides the cards.

"Here is a chance to double what you lost, because you look like a decent person. I go all in."

That was somewhat risky, but if his luck wouldn't run out he would soon be able to get of this backwater world and somehow find his back to Nar Shaddaa. If he had to scam a pirate for that, well. Could you really steal stolen money?

[member="Blackthorne"] [member="Marcus Itera"]

 

[Marcus Itera]

Mechanical eyes traced the trajectory of the cigarra, as if it was descending from heavens above. Time slowed, every muscle in his body grew rigid once it neared the end of its journey: right onto the chest of the woman pushing past him as if she owned the place. He half contemplated just bailing that very moment; she'd seen his face and would know exactly who he was, so it was best to depart before she realized that there was a flaming piece of tabac between her...

Miranda didn't seem too pleased at all. Her arms crossed, that stern look on her face she always got when a women was involved with anything.

"Fix it," she commanded.

Frak.

There was no way in hell that was possible. It had barely been seconds since he'd dropped it, and she still hadn't noticed.

He knew he was precise. Deft fingers were a requirement in his trade.

Marcus turned to match her stride as smoothly as possible, angling his thumb and index finger towards her chest. Doing his best to look away, he kept his head forward and eyes cut towards his precision art. Maybe she wouldn't even notice and he could leave, maybe he could just carry about with his business. Once his two fingers had nimbly found themselves clamped down onto the dying cigarra, he felt his heart jump with joy.

Maybe life wasn't that cruel after all.

[member="Nealon Zalman"], [member="Blackthorne"]

 

[Blackthorne]

"Please stop," Kiin deadpanned down at Itaska.

"Double er nuthin," Tas replied, big fists curling around the last handful of credits in his pocket, "I'm in."

"You can't fething be serious..."

Tas pondered his next choice very carefully.


~~~

It all happened so impossibly, inhumanly fast.

First: smoking cleavage.
Second: hand in cleavage.
Third: realize that this is not your own hand, nor one you invited into said cleavage.
Fourth: buldge eyes in furious surprise.
Fifth: shove connected arm up, pull offending hand out, hand over hand, grab hand, twist hand, pivot, swivel, twist joint, throw man to ground in arm lock.

Dahl plastered the man with a dubious stare, "You...you look like the sort of man I'd let under my shirt after a good drink, but I haven't had a drop yet today and the timing is just...well, wrong."

Somewhere in the distance she could hear her zabrak crewmember calling after her. Captain ... Captain!

"I'll be taking this as reparation for damages," the woman flashed Marcus a half grin glinting with fangs before confiscating his cigarra and pressing it into her lips. She patted his hand and then released it, making to step away to join the others.


~~~~


"That one," Tas pointed to the card on the far left.

[member="Marcus Itera"] [member="Nealon Zalman"]

 

[Marcus Itera]

Five steps was one too many for Marcus to end up on the ground, grunting as another hand came to nurse his arm. Too many pivots, too much pain. It was fast, fast enough that Marcus had barely processed what was happening to activate his neural augmentations and retaliate. But it was far too late for that to happen. He was already on the ground with those venomous eyes peering down on him, that stolen cigarra smugly popped between her lips.

It wasn't his fault it had fallen. He wasn't the one who traipsed about, bumping into whoever he pleased.

"Hold up," the mercenary growled, heaving himself off the ground with surprising difficulty.

He was half a second away from saying something he'd regret, especially with the woman moving to rejoin her companions, when another thought came to mind.

"Care for a drink, then?"

[member="Blackthorne"]

 

[Blackthorne]

A red-skinned man bearing the telltale skull spikes and black facial tattoos of the Zabraki found the woman in the crowd, leaning in to quickly whisper something in her ear. Blackthorne paused to listen, brow lifting and eyes widening as she bit into the cigarra with a growing smirk.

"We've found Anvel," he said, his own mouth splitting into a grin, "he's mostly alone and completely unaware."

"You're sure?"

"Hold up."

"I'm positive."

"Care for a drink, then?"

Ihmoen, as he was known, looked over the woman's shoulder with a leering stare, "Who's that?"

Dahl took a pull on the cigarra and pinched it from her lips between her fingers, grimacing at the bitter taste. Definitely not as smooth as a sten. The woman turned an arched brow at the man over her shoulder, ashing the cigarra, "You asking me on a date, Cinders?" a sharp, casual sneer pulled at her lips - the same kind of look one would expect to see on a cat getting ready to pounce. Those green eyes looked the man over, head to toe and back again. Wasn't hard to spot someone that knew how to kill when you grew up surrounded by all manner of beasts and monsters.

"I've got a better idea," her free hand lifted and motioned for the man to follow while her associate lead the way through the crowd.

 

[Marcus Itera]

He sure hoped his rogue-ish charm would work. Miranda had claimed it never did, not even for her, but he liked to prove her wrong any chance he got. If only he had a little gel to slick his hair back with, and if only he hadn't just dropped his grubby paws right between her chest, maybe the whole thing would've worked out smoothly.

But no. Now he was nursing a sore arm and eyeing down a viper of a woman and her burly compatriots.

Cinders? Is that supposed to be me?

Then she offered a "better idea." Either it involved her unsightly looking gang mugging him and leaving his body to decay in an alleyway, or it actually was a genuine offer.

Marcus grimaced and feigned a glance at his wrist-chrono. He shrugged.

"A'ight," he wasn't doing anything better today.

[member="Blackthorne"]

 

[Blackthorne]

A trail of smoke followed the woman as she in turn followed the zabrak through the crowd. Where they ended up was a cantina - might've been mistaken as high-end for the area if it weren't for the soot stains on the facade. Ihmoen strode in, kicking a group of shovel-handed miner clones out of a booth with a jerk of his hand. They grumbled as they left, eyeing the trio.

Dahl surveyed the cantina before sliding into the booth seat and taking another drag of the cig.

"He came in here about ten minutes ago," Ihmoen told her as he slid into the bench across from her, "went into a back room. Private party access. Went in alone."

"That doesn't mean he's in there alone," replied Dahl, glancing up at [member="Marcus Itera"] through a plume of smoke. A nod to the empty seat beside her on the bench indicated he aught to sit. "Let me see his file."

Ihmoen passed a datapad across the table to her, upon it the image of a dark-skinned Kaminoan presented itself. She snorted and toggled through the file, green eyes quickly skimming over the info, "Seven guards," she said after a beat, "at least one Commander."

"Nnneh," the zabrak looked skeptical, "I'm thinking three. No Commander. Not in here. --oh hey Sherra, have a seat sweetheart. Saved it just for you." Ihmoen patted the bench beside him as the burly figure of a female whiphid quietly lumbered over. Sherra sniffed indignantly but took a seat anyways, hairy knees buckling into Marcus' under the table.

"Feel like making some extra cred today, Cinders?" Dahl leaned to show the datapad to Marcus and tapped a particularly sharp looking nail on the screen, "How many blokes would you wager are holding a gun for this lamp post?"

 

[Marcus Itera]

While both his voice and posture were nonchalant in nature, Marcus fought the urge to reach into his pants pocket to finger off the safety on his hold-out. It was a habit, really. When tension thicker Wroshyr tree and that feeling of dread that made your hair stand on end arose, his gut turned to butterflies and breathing quickened. Transformed into one of the most inhuman human soldiers the galaxy had ever seen, he was more than confident he could knock a few heads together.

But he didn't want to do that. Today, he was just handling some errands and meeting up with old friends, though this little viper puffing his cigarra offered something much more appealing.

"Don't do anything stupid," Miranda reminded in his earpiece, "I'd rather not have to worry about you."

Mentally sighing, Marcus resigned to following the woman and her band into the cantina. The mercenary slid into the booth next to the woman, catching a strong whiff of secondhand smoke.

"Hmm," Marcus sniffed, peering at the datapad with lips pursed in mock professionalism. "Half a dozen. Zero if you can pay in advance."

[member="Blackthorne"]

 

[Blackthorne]

There came a derisive snort from the woman as she took a long drag on the cig, "I invited you to join the fun, Cinders," a viridescent glance flanked his offer, "not hog it."

"Half a dozen then. No Commander," Ihmoen took the datapad back and stowed it in his coat.

"Oh there's one here," she mashed the butt of the cigarra into a tray, "this coat rack is too important not to have one."

A door opened in the back and a scruffy man about the same size as [member="Marcus Itera"] stepped out. His trench was covered in grime and soot and he looked about two weeks overdue for a shave and a legitimate meal. With a cursory glance of the venue, seedy eyes lingering over their table, he shuffled forward with a limp and out the entrance.

"Ok," Dahl glanced to Ihmoen and Sherra, the former giving her a nod, before looking to Marcus and pressing into his shoulder, "time to move."

 

[Marcus Itera]

He guessed this was it.

If there were ever any perfect day to die, this might've been it. A blaster bolt in the back wasn't his ideal way of going out, but it was tragic enough for a few ballads in his name - or at least he hoped so should this band of rogues deem him too costly or detrimental to their plans. Even all the cybernetics and technology in the galaxy couldn't save him from a good ol' fashioned clobbering at the hands of six pirates.

"Aight then, let's roll," he acknowledged.

"Let's hope it's just half a dozen and no officer. Otherwise we're gonna have some trouble." She seemed worried. "Did you even bring anything down there with you?"

Replying to her and seemingly talking to himself didn't seem so wise at the moment, so Marcus made a soft pat against his hip. The outline of a little blaster pistol.

[member="Blackthorne"]