Private I'm the Bad Guy, Duh

[Kinley Pryse]

You've been hit by... you've been struck by...

There are easier ways to make money. Kinley Pryse just finds those methods boring.​

Ship: Canto Belle - Nar Shaddaa Docks

The neon glow of Nar Shaddaa bled through the haze of the docking bays, painting everything in bruised shades of purple, blue, and toxic green. Somewhere overhead, a freighter screamed off into the night while a dozen voices argued over fuel prices, docking fees, and debts that would probably end in blaster fire before sunrise.

Kinley Pryse walked through it all like she owned the moon.

Her coat swayed around her boots, hands shoved into her pockets, toothpick rolling lazily from one side of her mouth to the other. She didn't bother looking back. She didn't need to.

The engineer's footsteps echoed behind her. Steady. Then slower. Then silence.

Kinley's grin tugged at the corner of her mouth. There it is. The moment of doubt.

She kept walking, letting the silence stretch. Letting him wrestle with it.

Trusting Kinley Pryse wasn't something sensible people did. Sensible people crossed the street when they saw her coming. Sensible people locked their safes, checked their pockets, and counted their fingers afterward.

But sensible people also didn't usually find themselves desperate enough to be wandering the docks of Nar Shaddaa looking for miracles.

Or criminals.

Behind her, she heard the footsteps resume. Of course they did. Because desperate people always did stupid things. That was the beautiful thing about desperation. It narrowed the galaxy down to a handful of ugly choices until the worst option started looking reasonable.

If the engineer was following her through the underbelly of Nar Shaddaa, heading toward a ship captained by Kinley Pryse of all people, then things in his life were already far enough gone that trusting her probably wasn't even in the top five bad decisions he'd made that week.

"Come on then," she called over her shoulder when she reached the ship.

The ramp lowered and she headed up inside, letting it close behind him and locking in an ominous kind of way. She took a bottle down from a dusty shelf and put it on the table, then two glasses.

"So tell me about this bounty."

Corin Vale​

A Smooth Criminal

 

[Corin Vale]

It was a bad idea. It was a stupid very stupid dumb idiot bad idea.

But what other options did he have? Really?

He should have known better than to think Mauve would have had time for him. Maybe she would have eventually, but he was impatient. 'Bella' offered a solution. Though what it was she was as of yet unwilling to answer.

His body knew it instinctually and more than once tries to stop him from following her. This woman was the textbook definition of trouble and not in the romantic, attractive sort of way. She wouldn't break your heart. She'd break your legs.

Corin knew that. He knew it.

So why was he following her?

He clenched his fists and teeth and overrode his own self-preservation instincts. Trust. Trust was why he followed her. She wasn't worthy of it, but he still felt she'd right this wrong she'd done upon his life. She was the only one who really could. So he followed her. Through the city, to the docks, and up the ramp into her ship.

"Your bounty," he said as he approached, keeping his body faced towards her. He looked down at the bottle, then immediately grabbed it and poured himself a drink. He set the bottle aside and picked up the glass, downing it in one. The way he saw it? It was the least she could do to ease his woes.

"Far as I'm concerned, anyway." He muttered. "What about it? You did the crime, I got the time. They said there were millions on that ship. Guild wants it back. Says I know where to find it and offerin' 100k for the privilege of my company in one o'their fancy prisons." He blinked and looked at her. "Only way'a clearin' me is to give 'em you. An' I don' think you're that kinda gal. So, I'm curious. What exactly can you do to help me?"

Kinley Pryse

 

[Kinley Pryse]

You've been hit by... you've been struck by...

Thank mama for the cookin', daddy for the whoopin', and Kinley Pryse for the trouble that you get into.
​

Kinley watched him empty the glass without so much as a grimace. That earned the ghost of a smile. "That's the first smart thing you've done since I met you, hoss."

She leaned back against the galley counter, arms folded, looking at him like a mechanic inspecting an engine that'd somehow kept running after every part that mattered had fallen off.

"You've got the wrong idea about bounties." She tapped the edge of the empty glass with a fingernail. "A bounty isn't a curse. It's a receipt."

Her amber brown eyes met his.

"Somebody gets paid, the Guild marks the contract fulfilled, and that's the end of it. Whoever put your face on that poster gets their petty little revenge, gets to tell themselves justice was served, then they move on to the next poor bastard. Folks've got short memories when they're makin' credits."

She shrugged.

"So let's say they catch you. You spend a little while in one of their shiny cells. Maybe less if somebody's palms get greased." A crooked grin tugged at her lips. "And if, hypothetically, one day you happened to stroll out the front door without askin' permission..."

She spread her hands.

"...Corin Vale disappears."

Her tone was almost casual now.

"You shave the beard. Dye the hair. Get yourself a forged chain code, a fresh transponder, a new name. Corin dies in prison, and some nobody mechanic named..." She waved a hand. "Jace Tanner, Dalen Rusk, whatever fool name suits you, buys a little workshop on some backwater moon and spends the rest of his days complainin' about customers who don't know the difference between a fusion coil and a hydrospanner."

She grinned at him.

"You live your happy little life, and thank your stars you met me because I made that shop possible with all this unpleasantness."

Corin Vale​

A Smooth Criminal