Ins and Outs

[Laguz Vald]

The busy din of the planet's streets never failed to disappoint. It could’ve been Terminus, or Denon, or any other metropolis world. Laguz liked them enough, but they blended together into a smear of ferrocrete and people-shaped crowds after a few decades.

Now, two centuries in and going on three, the mercenary cared for crowds only so far as they could hide xem. And they hid xem damn well.

Xe slithered between the rushing bodies with a blend of eel and snake to xir movements. Just as slippery as xir inspiration, the merc ducked into a side alley between two chatting rodians and disappeared down a set of worn stairs.

As xe turned a corner, the suits and the briefcases vanished in a blink, and Laguz Vald was in the seedy part of town.

The species mixed more freely down here, in the squalor of the Underbelly. Discrimination was based only on the weight of the credit chip in your pocket, and in a way, xe almost found it endearing.

Because xir chips were on the heftier side, Laguz passed through the doorway with no trouble, even earning a winning smile from the trandoshan guard. Granted, a few teeth were missing, but the sentiment counted. Inside, the sniper was forced to adjust xir vision to the low, multi-colored light flickering in the club. Xe sought out the proper booth after that, pouring into the chair with feline ease.

“Vald,” the man opposite greeted, its face obscured by shadow.

By way of answer, the merc placed a chit on the table.

“Bearing gifts, huh?”

“You know me, Ketress. Generosity in the flesh.” Xe spread xir hands in a gesture of largess, and the man grunted.

“Uh-huh. And I frakked the Queen of Onderon. What’d you want, Vald?”

“Buy you a drink, Ket?”

Before xir contact could object, Laguz had already flagged down a passing waitress. “Two Togorian Massacres, sweetheart.”

The people of Coruscant coped with their Sithly overlords in creative ways, resorting to black humor more often than not.

“Spit it out, Slick,” Ketress spoke again once the busty human had deposited the alcohol on their table.

“Patience, old friend. Patience.” Laguz smiled over the rim of xir glass as he took a long sip, eyes fluttering closed in exaggerated delight.

“We ain’t friends, Vald. And I sure as frak ain’t got all day, so get talking.”

“Fine, fine. There’s a new hunt out on the lower channels. Mandos, of all people. They clean their own messes, so this one’s big.”

“Still the same greedy ol’ bastard, ain’tcha? Frak, Vald. You still kickin’ is a Sithdamn miracle.”

“Greed, please. You wound me, Ket. This is a matter of principle.”

“Slick... you wouldn’t know principle if it came and frakked you in the ass.” Ketress shook his head and downed half of his drink. “What’d you need me for?”

“Oh, this and that… information. I need an in, Ket.” Laguz leaned closer, xir own glass forgotten at the edge of the table.

The man glanced down at the chip between them. The metal glinted softly in the changing light. Without raising his gaze, Ketress spoke, picking his words with unusual care. “I ain’t saying nothin’ ‘till I know who you’re huntin’, Vald.”

With a scowl, Laguz looked away, surveying a stain of darker color on the wall. Probably someone’s brains that wouldn't clean.

“A Sith.”

“Frak dammit, Vald!” Ketress spluttered and knocked Laguz’s drink off the table in an angry sweep of his hand. “Are you crazy?”

The sniper reached out and picked up the chip, cradling it in the palm of xir hand. “I’m a greedy bastard, Ket.”

Ketress caught the small item as Laguz flicked it over, frowning at its inviting gleam. He drummed his fingers on the table. Growled. Fumed. Licked his lips.

Sighed.

“A Sith. I swear, Slick… if I die for this, I’mma haunt your ass until you go mad.”

Laguz grinned. “I already am, remember?”

 

[Laguz Vald]

The night is dark and full of terrors, they’d tell you growing up. Then, when you grew up to become one of the terrors, you could explain why the darkness never bothered you much.

And Laguz had eyes, at any rate, borrowed eyes and borrowed sight that made any lack of light inconsequential. It was a time of day like any other, with a job that had no fixed hours. Just an objective and a price tag, and an unspoken agreement not to tell what xe’d done to complete the contract.

People liked results almost as much as they hated the consequences. So they rather left the bloody, dirty work to those who enjoyed it, or didn’t care enough to shed any tears over it.

The Sith adored those types. They made for wonderful soldiers, torturers, spies, and yes, leaders. The merc had done a stint or two for them, but always kept a safe distance. You could never be sure when you’d land on the other side of the fence in xir line of work. It was best to have thin ties to sever when it came to that.

Besides, the horned schutta was dead anyway.

The sniper paid for xir packet of street food – fried Gizka tongues – and nearly tore the wrapper in xir hurry. The smell of stale oil and second rate meat did nothing to quell xir hunger. Laguz stuffed xir mouth with the sizzling pieces while xe negotiated a stretch of space under a flickering neon sign. It would keep the steady trickle of rain at bay for now, but more importantly, it would provide xem with the shadow xe needed to watch the entrance in peace.

Laguz gobbled down xir dinner, and made meticulous notes on the comings and goings of the guards. Patrols, shift changes, the size of their shoes; nothing escaped xir notice.

And damn, was the food good.

 

[Laguz Vald]

Later that day – morning, really – Laguz organized xir observations on a neat little holoprojection on the wall of xir room. It was a color that reminded of white in the same way sun-bleached bones are white; bits of meat and marrow still stuck to it. The merc suspected the bumps to be from several fists or boots of previous owners, and xe was unreasonably certain that there were a few teeth embedded in the plaster.

It served its purpose, however, and that’s what Laguz was paying for. No more, no less.

The eerie stillness of 5 a.m. was interrupted by a soft ding of a new message, and the merc opened the flashing icon with a quick tap.

And smiled.

Ketress had come through. He always did, when sums lump enough were involved.

Laguz added the new information to xir planning sheet, rearranging the bits and pieces well into breakfast. There was no room service in places like these, or really any kind of service. The owners knew their clientele like the back of their hand, and didn’t bother them.

Explaining staff deaths every other week would’ve become impractical, anyway.

Lunch time was nearly over when the merc finally stood up, joints creaking slightly. Xe ran xir eyes over the blueprints one last time, then shredded the whole file.

Whistling, xe slung xir coat back on and walked out, leaving a single unmarked chip on the bed.

 

[Laguz Vald]

“No.”

“Oh, come on, dude, let me in!”

“I said no, punk. Beat it.”

“Ugh. Fine!”

A lanky teenager with a face full of ripe acne brushed past xem, looking ready to burst.

Laguz winced at the mental image and quickly painted a smile on xir face. Xe turned back to the gruff bouncer obscuring the blast door behind him, and xe peeled out of the darkness looking distinctly like a she.

To her great disappointment, the thug didn’t seem moved.

“Password?”

The merc pursed her lips, tilting her head to the side. “Surely you can make an exception for me, dear.” A purr, very nearly.

“Password?”

Her eye twitched, but the smile only widened. “I won’t tell anybody,” she tried a different tactic then, drawing closer.

“Password?”

This time, the inflection in his voice did waver slightly, and not in a good way. Laguz stopped. Her face fell like the Republic before the One Sith. The coquettish grin morphed into a snarl, and she stabbed the fine tip of a manicured nail in his bulging chest.

With a wince, she retrieved the digit along with the broken nail.

“Frak off, lady,” he spoke, already looking past her at the next customer.
“Roger,” his flinty face curled into an improbable smile. “Come on in, your table’s already set.”

Laguz retreated back into the safety of the neighboring alley and began adjusting xir plan.

 

[Laguz Vald]

When the mercenary returned later that night, there was a different bouncer keeping watch at the door, and xe was grateful for it. Xir image of a busty blonde had been abandoned in a ditch on the way to the seedy joint, replaced with the hardened skin of a rodian.

Golden rings glinted on xir scaly fingers, encrusted with red and green and blue stones that’d fetch a handsome price on the black market. If they were real, anyway. A prospecting mugger would be terribly disappointed when they tried to pry them off Laguz’d dead fingers (provided they somehow managed to drop the sniper in the first place).

“You want something?”

The question pulled xem out of xir musings, and Laguz focused xir glossy black eyes on the man in front of xem.

Xe’d been unwilling to play the card earlier, but there was no telling how much longer xir target would linger on Coruscant. One Sith did so love to engage in wars and scraps of all kinds across the Galaxy. Sure, people died on the battlefield all the time, but Laguz could very well turn out to be one of them.

Clearly, that was an undesirable scenario.

So xe reached into xir coat, and he pulled a fifth ring. It was less ornate than the others, and it was actually real. Real platinum, with a hand-carved ruby sitting at the centre, shaped like a rose. It was beautiful, all things considered, and Laguz had seen xir share of overpriced jewelry and riches in xir career. Xe’d know.

“Alright, big boy. We have another entrance for your sort, you know,” the bouncer laughed stepping aside to let him in. “Next time just try one of the upper floors.”

“I’ll do that.”

The warmth and the bustle of the casino washed over him in waves, and Laguz melted into xir element. It was like coming home.

 

[Laguz Vald]

The Cream and the Crop was much like xe remembered, only ten times more exaggerated. Everything was bright, kitschy and flashy; gilded vaulted ceilings, sinfully plush ottomans, hand-carved railings, lush tapestries hanging on the walls.

A floor up, and the scenery would change completely. Now xe was plunged in darkness, with the steady thrum of a bass beat in xir throat and untold hands groping at xir body. The smell of cheap perfume and sweat were the aphrodisiac of the dancefloor, thick and heady in the air. Spilled drinks and broken glass littered the smooth tile all the way up to the next set of stairs.

Still higher, the blaring music faded, replaced by civil conversation and the clinking of wine glasses. Then the scent of bath salts and designer cologne; then expensive alcohol and silk soft enough that you could barely feel it; then a corridor, and an elevator, and a red blinking light.

Laguz leaned back on the wall after xe pressed the small button beneath it. Xe was smiling, even though xir visit here would be brief; even though xe wished xe could stay just a bit longer.

The Coruscant Rotary Club took their debauchery just as seriously as xe did, and such devotion was a rare pearl in the mud of today. The people chatting and reveling away below were mere swine, Laguz realized.

“I swear, Roger, if you're too high to use your key aga—”

“Nergal!”

The silence stretched out. Then, “Who the frak is this?”

“Nergal, dear. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten me already? You looked so delightful in your pink shawl.”

More silence.

“Use your damn name next time, Vald,” the voice grunted, and the red light blinked green.
“Come on up. We’ll talk.”

 

[Laguz Vald]

“I’m going to assume you want something, Vald,” Nergal spoke as he moved from the door.

Laguz didn’t reply immediately, eyes flickering about the place in undisguised curiosity. A jaccuzzi was bubbling in front of a wide stretch of glass, offering a magnificent view of the Coruscanti skyline. Further to the left was a bar that would put most establishments to shame. It was brimming with labels that would turn any collector green on the spot, and that was just the stuff above the counter. Some of the bottles stocked below were worth more than half of the Underbelly combined.

“You gonna stand there staring, or you gonna join me?”

Finally, the merc followed the enforcer to the other end of the room. There was a neat little corner just around the bend, with some tastefully arranged sofas and a coffee table. It was there where Nergal had deposited their drinks; a pair of tumblers with healthy dashes of amber inside, no ice.

“Two things,” xe spoke after the first sip. “A new batch of D-grade, and…”

“...and?”

“Mmm.” Laguz tipped xir glass again, searching for words.

“It’s late, Vald. You’re good business, but you’re also on the edge, if you know what I mean.”

When the sniper looked up, Nergal’s eyes were darker than usual, and hard.

“Yeah… Look. Nothing I do here will come back to you. I work clean, you know that.”

“I do. That’s why you’re up here sipping Corellian brandy instead of down there,” he gestured through the floor, “eating Coruscanti dirt.”

“Thanks, Miss Tillia.”

“Oh, shut it, Vald. Who’s the target?” His tone was sharp, but the grim expression had disappeared. For now.

“A sf,” Laguz mumbled into xir drink, studying the Griacco piece behind Nergal. Xe’d stolen that, some five years ago. Roger had bought it at a staggering price; xe couldn’t believe xir luck back then.

“What was that?”

“A Sith.” Xe looked back at the enforcer. There was no more space for smiles or pleasantries in their conversation. There was barely enough space for a knife, and a thin-bladed one at that.

“A Sith. You’ve got a quad on you, Vald. Right under their noses? That’s your strategy?”

Laguz shrugged.

“So it’s true, what they say. That you’re frakking barking.” Nergal stood abruptly and began to pace in tight circles. Laguz noted with a frown that the rug was already worn where his boots were biting in.

“And what do you want from me? From us?”

It wasn’t exactly public, but it wasn’t hidden either; it just wasn’t talked about. Anyone with half a brain and a criminal background would know that CRC and the Sith had an agreement. The CRC would’ve been toast long ago otherwise.

Still, the CRC were a criminals. Damn good ones, at that.

“You’re a businessman, aren’t you, Nergal?”

His brow furrowed. “...yes? Don’t change the top—”

“You’re wary, and frak, I’d be suspicious if you weren’t. But you know I'm not the messy type. You said it yourself. So.” Laguz cleared xir throat.

“Let’s make a transaction, Nergal.”

And he stood, and slipped out of his coat like silk, or maybe flowing water. And he smiled.

 

[Laguz Vald]

Abstinence had never made sense to Laguz. From a very young age, xe’d been an indulging creature, quick to consume any experience that presented itself. A new skin, a new life, a new shape; xe sought them all out and tried them on for size.

Two centuries of hedonism had done little to temper this hard rhythm of xir. So xe really had no right to be surprised when xe woke up sprawled in silken sheets, half-draped over the sure strength of a well built man. With a deep breath, Laguz willed xir eyes closed again. Maybe then, the room in all its exorbitant glory would disappear.

It didn’t, of course, and the merc was left to disentangle xemself from the sinful warmth.

Xe slipped from the bed with a soft thud, xir steps muffled by the thick rug. Xir first thought was to collect xir clothing and sneak out while Nergal was still asleep, but a strip of light spilling from the right caught xir attention.

They’d left the door to the bathroom ajar last night, and Laguz couldn’t help but grab one last shower. The floor-to-ceiling wall of showerheads was probably a luxury xe wouldn’t have for another decade, and frak, the temperature was just so right.

Luck clearly favored the wicked that day, because by the time the merc finally slunk away, the enforcer was still snoring peacefully.

The accomplishment of a job well done kept xem warm all the way down. (That, and the fuzzy feeling from the shower.) Not only had xe returned with xir stash of D-grade replenished, but also with a few vital pieces of the puzzle.

A list of select CRC customers that also happened to protect the Council chambers, to be precise.

 

[Laguz Vald]

It wasn’t a particularly long list.

But Laguz had always appreciated quality over quantity, so xe didn’t give a chit about that. It probably said some very good things about the Council guards that the list was so short. Alas, Laguz didn’t give a chit about that either.

Instead, xe spent the next three days dissecting the lives behind the five names xe’d been given. Three males, two females. A zabrak, two epicanthix, and two humans. (This likely said some less flattering things about the Council guards. Again though, Laguz didn’t… well, you get the point.) All five of them used to serve in the infantry branch of the military before arriving to their current post through various promotions. Two of them were also accomplished Blackguards, and one had gotten a front-line commendation.

Only one was married, and another was going through a messy divorce. A third one had children out of wedlock (two), and all but one were without any other immediate family. The remaining grandma was dying of some chronic illness and thus soon to be out of the picture as well. One of them had a dog.

As it turned out, the Council guards led remarkably boring lives. Sure, Laguz’s point of reference was a bit far out there, but xe’d expected more. Better reasons for the alarming pattern of substance abuse that emerged when the merc had analyzed their records.

In the end, the process of elimination, observation, and Laguz’s own expertise distilled the choice to one.

Irr Quey.

 

[Laguz Vald]

The Epicanthix with a dog and a massive divorce litigation bill was, as far as Laguz was concerned, blissfully ordinary. Blissful because normal was easy to imitate, and xe didn’t have time to learn a complex pattern.

So mediocre, right then, was heaven.

Irr Quey walked in front of xem with the sort of swagger you so often see in half-cocked military men; mean-spirited and ready to punch if they even smelled an insult. The GUIDE said his was a warrior species. Laguz believed it. He shoved past people like he owned the street, and snarled threats at anybody who so much as looked at him.

Like clockwork, he deviated from his patrol route, moving off into a side alley. Here, the Blackguard became the antithesis of his job; he slumped his shoulders and hunched his back, staring resolutely down at the sewer water draining down the street.

A passerby rammed into him with a shoulder, knocking Quey into a nearby wall.

He dusted off his overcoat and stared after the retreating figure as he fingered the handle of his combat knife. With a stiff upper lip, he twisted around and hurried forward, his need for a fix outweighing the need for retribution.

Laguz followed at a safe distance and borrowed a new skin every so often from the colorful diversity of lower Coruscant inhabitants.

Even though the guard chose a different route every day, the shifter soon found he had a regular provider. The small CFFC shop at the corner of XIth and Thrawn’s dinged its bell, and Quey disappeared inside.

Five minutes later - like always - he stepped out again, looking like a changed man. Gone were the dark bags beneath his eyes, and the 5 o’clock shadow seemed stylish instead of unkempt. He ran a hand through his chestnut hair as he glanced about, then down at the datalogger on his wrist.

Then, to Laguz’s great surprise, he marched off the way he came. Passing xem by, the Epicanthix melted into the lunchtime crowds. The shifter slipped after him, but the bodies pressing in from all directions impeded xir pursuit. By the time xe’d elbowed xir way to the other side, Quey was nowhere to be seen.

Probably halfway to the palace by now.

Laguz scowled at the floor and started for xir lofty temporary lodging, head full of plans and ideas. As xe turned a corner, something sharp and cold kissed the skin of xir throat.

“If you want money, take it,” xe spoke, voice strained as xe lifted xir chin away from the blade.

“Cut the crap. I saw you follow me from Ogden’s, little man. Who are you?” the pressure increased. “What do you want?”

Laguz cursed xir negligence. In xir excitement, xe’d forgotten to borrow a new face for nearly ten minutes, and Quey spotted him.

Xe licked xir lips and squirmed, trying to buy some time as xir mind worked in overdrive.

“I’m a PI,” xe blurted.

“What?”

“A PI. Your wife hired me. To take pictures, find evidence, that sort of thing. You know how it is.”

“Yeah. I know how it is.” His grip loosened, and Laguz could breathe again.

“Tell the queen she can say goodbye to the house. That you couldn’t find anything because there’s nothing to find. That her ex is as clean as a priest on Sunday. Tell her that, or you bleed out like a pig in that ditch.” He forced xir gaze to a gutter packed with trash and rotting food. “What will it be, little man?”

“She’ll get the message.”

“I knew you were smart. Now get the frak out of my sight.” The knife disappeared, and then Laguz flew forward. Xir face connected with the floor and xe could only listen as the heavy boots marched down the alley.

The merc picked xemself off the ground and straightened the ruffled collar of xir coat, ignoring the warmth trickling over xir lips and chin. Xe ran a curious finger along the shallow gash on xir neck, then brought the holopad on xir arm to life.

A small red dot blinked back at xem, halfway to the palace.

 

[Laguz Vald]

It was two days later, and evening, when Laguz met Irr Quey again. Irr Quey didn’t meet xem, though. Perks of being a shapeshifter.

The bell rang softly as xe pressed the button, echoing through a house far too big for one man.

No wonder he’s fixing.

“Yes?” The gruff voice pulled Laguz out of xir musings, and xe quickly painted a smile on xir face. Her face, to be perfectly precise.

The guard had already shed his uniform, and it was clear he’d replaced the wife with workout. By the looks of it, Laguz had interrupted him right in the middle of it.

“Good evening. Flower delivery for you, sir?”

She helpfully stuck the bouquet of plants in his face, seizing the opportunity to check his belt and boots for any weapons.

“From who?” Quey scowled and pushed the flowers away. His stare was hard as he met her gaze, but the merc maintained her façade without batting an eye.

“A miss… Loren Quey?” she pretended to read from an empty card in her breast pocket. He flinched at the name, and his lips actually curled in distaste.
“Are you alright, sir?” It took everything she had to keep a grin from her face.

“I’m fine. Just…,” he waved inside, and something shifted in his expression. “Put them in a vase or something.”

Laguz had barely stepped through the door when Quey spoke again.

“I don’t get it. The queen fraks Hollis behind my back, on my own frakking bed. She walks out on me saying it’s my own frakking fault. She sues my ass for what, being her frakking wallet for ten years?! And now she sends me what… frakking flowers!”

He finally ran out of breath and just stood panting in the kitchen, white-knuckled and red-faced.

“Women, right?”

Irr looked up and immediately recoiled. His hand shot for the knife on the counter, but Laguz was faster. The shifter was upon the guard before he made it halfway to the blade, and after a short scuffle, xe pinned down on the smooth metal.

“Blood’ll wash well off this, you know,” xe purred in his ear, grunting as the man bucked against xem.

“Get your frakking hands off me, bastard!”

“Not until we’ve had our little chat, Quey. You have something I want. I will have it when we’re done. It's up to you how painful it has to be.” Xir voice grew serious as xe began tying up the guard with another set of hands.
“Now, personally? I’d rather do this clean and quick. Your call.”

“You’re not a PI.”

Laguz just smiled.

“Who’re you working for?”

“Myself, Quey. I fly solo. Not that it makes a difference to you. Let’s go.” Xe hauled him on his feet and dragged him to the living room, where xe shoved him face-first onto a sofa.
“It is a nice house, by the way. I’m totally with Loren on this one.”

“What are you?! What do you want?!” Irr screamed, teeth bared and eyes wide open. He’d managed to flip himself over, and was now flopping on the couch like a fish in its death throes.

“Patience,” Laguz tutted as xe pulled a set of tools out of the bouquet’s wraps. Xe laid them out on the table with painful attention to detail, like a surgeon before a complicated procedure.

And Irr Quey, who was a Blackguard and a Sith soldier, started squirming even more frantically. Ignorance truly is bliss.

“Ain’t so fun on the other side of the scalpel, is it?” Laguz asked without looking up; a third eye on xir forehead made the motion unnecessary.

“Why are you doing this?” he tried again, pushing himself closer to the edge of the ottoman with snake-like undulations.

“At the risk of sounding cliché… it’s just business, Quey. Nothing personal.”
“Now. I’m going to ask you a few questions, and you’re going to answer them. If you cooperate, I could be persuaded into knocking the queen off for you.”

The unspoken ‘if you don’t’ sat between them on the coffee table, catching his gaze with a sharp glint.

He tried to speak, but the words ground to a halt in his parched throat. He nodded instead.

“I knew you were smart.”

~~~​

At 5 a.m. (again), Laguz stepped out of the house that nobody would own now, nor later. Murder scene property wasn’t awfully popular on the market.

Still, it would be some days until the relevant authorities realized something was amiss. Neighborhood watch had been extinct in the individualistic ecosystem of Coruscant’s urban sprawl for millennia. The cops were corrupt, or they just didn’t care.

And then there was the fact that the dead man was walking cheerfully down the street, looking better than he had in ages. His luscious brown locks framed a grinning, angular face, and the chocolate eyes twinkled with impish delight.

There were many ways of disposing bodies. After a century or so, Laguz was acquainted with nearly all of the standard procedures. Intimately familiar, even.

So, naturally, xe embraced every opportunity to get creative. Had to keep xir skills sharp, after all.

Suffice to say Laguz wouldn’t be sampling the street barbecue for a few days.

 

[Laguz Vald]

The Council palace was surprisingly quiet. His steps echoed across the somber halls, disturbing the rest of the wicked. The grim statues of Sith Lords past looked down on him as he passed, and their empty gazes seemed to burn into his back even after he rounded a bend. The whole building was filled with heroes and ghosts, clawing at the rotting remains of their faded glory.

He stared, finally, into the hooded face of the towering Dark Lord, and found it lacking. The massive sculpture stood well over twenty feet tall, casting a long shadow across the length of the central chamber. It had been carved of some pitch-black rock that seemed to absorb every ray of light that dared come near. They were probably going for a menacing result, but it only made the stonework impossible to appreciate. Talk about design flaws.

How anyone got anything done in this place was beyond him. The air was stuffy with the smell of old robes and a hint of blood, adding further to the oppressive atmosphere. The color scheme was a highly limited red-black combination, with the occasional gray highlight that had snuck past under the radar.

The guard frowned, glad for the standard issue helmet sitting snugly on his head. He was safe from prying eyes that way and with all the proper identification to boot, Laguz Vald was Irr Quey.

He thumbed the grip of his blaster and observed the proceedings as the big players filed into the room. One by one, they settled into their chairs in complete silence.

Now to watch and wait.