Hard Luck Frank
Prince of Suck
[member="Ahtemis"]
The thing most people notice about me first, apart from my striking good looks, is that I'm crass. I'm a crasshole. I do people's crass work for them. In this case "them" was some Johnny flatfoots, feet, whatever, on some planet that had taken issue with some crime boss. Now normally me and the law don't exactly get along but when they're the ones offering more credits than I make in a lifetime, well, I get real law abiding real quick.
I took a transport from Jarnad station to Nar Shadda, stowed away on a cargo hauler, got jettisoned from the airlock in a space suit (which was nice of them to sell me), picked up by some patrol officers, spent 15 days in jail, amd then bought a space on another transport for dirt cheap but I had to ride with the eopies they were transporting. Overall, the trip sucked. But it eventually got me where I needed to go. A bar. Yeah, I could have went to a bar literally anywhere else but this one was reportedly run by "The Family", and that meant someone here someplace, somehow, another some word, sent money to "The Donna".
I sat at a table in the back. Smoke from things I preferred not to think about hung in the air thicker than a Gamorean's thighs and smelled about as good. The dull roar of the over packed bar was drowning out the surprisingly decent live band. The lady singing was pouring out a song that dripped suduction like a fat guy drips sweat in a sauna, only not as gross. I had half a mind to try my hand at getting some of that suduction into my life but the whole putting in effort to not suck at talking to a pretty woman sounded about as fun as getting tossed out an airlock, and from recent experience I was confident that it sucked. So...I ordered a sandwhich instead.
The sandwhich tasted like last week's leftovers had been tucked into a hutts armpit to marinate and then heated up and sent out to me. However, I was hungry and it was cheap...so I ate it anyway. The girl/guy/person/whatever that brought the sandwhich gave me the side eye like I as if I had slapped her mother and stole her lunch money. I might have, to be honest, but I knew it hadn't been for at least a few months, so it was probably the Mandalorian armor I was wearing. Was I a Mandalorian? No. But if, karking Soda Wett could get paid bank for jobs with his stupid armor, I sure as chit could too.
Anyways, so there I was, in a bar owned by the person I was hunting, dressed like a bounty hunter (which I was), surrounded by employees of my quarry, and eating a sandwhich. But how was I gonna get to The Donna?
I stuffed down the last bite of my sandwhich, washed it down with a liter of dark beer, put on the helmet that still stunk from the last guy dying in it and stood up.
"I'M HERE TO COLLECT THE BOUNTY ON THE DONNA." I yelled over the crowd.
Was it the best, most well thought out plan? Yes, yes it was. Until, it wasn't that is.
The thing most people notice about me first, apart from my striking good looks, is that I'm crass. I'm a crasshole. I do people's crass work for them. In this case "them" was some Johnny flatfoots, feet, whatever, on some planet that had taken issue with some crime boss. Now normally me and the law don't exactly get along but when they're the ones offering more credits than I make in a lifetime, well, I get real law abiding real quick.
I took a transport from Jarnad station to Nar Shadda, stowed away on a cargo hauler, got jettisoned from the airlock in a space suit (which was nice of them to sell me), picked up by some patrol officers, spent 15 days in jail, amd then bought a space on another transport for dirt cheap but I had to ride with the eopies they were transporting. Overall, the trip sucked. But it eventually got me where I needed to go. A bar. Yeah, I could have went to a bar literally anywhere else but this one was reportedly run by "The Family", and that meant someone here someplace, somehow, another some word, sent money to "The Donna".
I sat at a table in the back. Smoke from things I preferred not to think about hung in the air thicker than a Gamorean's thighs and smelled about as good. The dull roar of the over packed bar was drowning out the surprisingly decent live band. The lady singing was pouring out a song that dripped suduction like a fat guy drips sweat in a sauna, only not as gross. I had half a mind to try my hand at getting some of that suduction into my life but the whole putting in effort to not suck at talking to a pretty woman sounded about as fun as getting tossed out an airlock, and from recent experience I was confident that it sucked. So...I ordered a sandwhich instead.
The sandwhich tasted like last week's leftovers had been tucked into a hutts armpit to marinate and then heated up and sent out to me. However, I was hungry and it was cheap...so I ate it anyway. The girl/guy/person/whatever that brought the sandwhich gave me the side eye like I as if I had slapped her mother and stole her lunch money. I might have, to be honest, but I knew it hadn't been for at least a few months, so it was probably the Mandalorian armor I was wearing. Was I a Mandalorian? No. But if, karking Soda Wett could get paid bank for jobs with his stupid armor, I sure as chit could too.
Anyways, so there I was, in a bar owned by the person I was hunting, dressed like a bounty hunter (which I was), surrounded by employees of my quarry, and eating a sandwhich. But how was I gonna get to The Donna?
I stuffed down the last bite of my sandwhich, washed it down with a liter of dark beer, put on the helmet that still stunk from the last guy dying in it and stood up.
"I'M HERE TO COLLECT THE BOUNTY ON THE DONNA." I yelled over the crowd.
Was it the best, most well thought out plan? Yes, yes it was. Until, it wasn't that is.