Life's a Beach

[Runi Verin]

The deck plates of the Boracyk gave an ominous judder as the tramp freighter reverted to real space, the hyperdrive letting out a sputtered moan as it was finally allowed to spool down. A sea of light shimmered around the vessel, cast by distant stars and trapped in the swirls of the nebula that filled the viewport as far as the eye could see. It had been a while since she’d been this far out. Kark, she’d been with Jacaro the last time she’d seen the fabled Tanquila Beach nebula. That wasn’t its real name, of course, but it was the only one people seemed to remember. Only one that seemed to matter.

“Settle down, boo, we ain’t there yet.” She called to her tweedling astromech, an overly excitable little droid that looked every inch the bucket that its full name, Buyca, suggested. It was her only companion on this little venture. A rare novelty in recent weeks, with the Mandalorian being hard pressed to remember a time when there wasn’t a client or passenger, some less welcome than others, dotted around her hold. Though she would vehemently deny it to the grave, she almost missed the company they’d provided. Boo, for all of his charm and enthusiasm, wasn’t what you would call an engaging conversationalist.

With far more grace than its unsightly frame hinted to, the Boracyk had little trouble slipping through the outer layers of the nebula, the viewport automatically darkening to adjust for the sheer levels of light bombarding the hull. Navigating the first section of the nebula was more an art than a science, relying on gut instinct as opposed to instrument readings, the latter often distorted by the sensor ghosts created by the cloud and space debris. Veterans of the sector had very little trouble flying blind out here, but the prospect was more than a little daunting for your average first timers. Fortunately, Runi was anything but average. She had a few tricks up her sleeve, letting the force guide her towards the faint beacon of life that lurked near the heart of the inter-stellar cloud.

<<\ Unidentified vessel, this is Tanquilla Beach traffic control. />> A voice crackled across her comms, letting her know that she was drawing close to her destination. Seemed their sensors had little problems with picking out incoming ships. An impressive feat; but then Tanquilla was famed for its outlaw techs. <<\ Please identify yourself and state your business. />>

<<\ This the light freighter Boracyk out of Kol Atorn, />> She chimed in response, hitting her ship's transponder into the broadcast position. <<\ Captained by Runi Verin. I’m here for trade, repairs and little downtime. Don’t rightfully mind which order I see to them in. />>

<<\ Confirmed. We’ve assigned you a berth in docking bay Senth-Nine and notified the docking official and security team to expect you. Transmitting you the flight path and protocols now. />>

<<\ ‘firm on that. Boracyk out. />>

A security team expecting her, huh? This journey was sounding better and better by the minute.

 

[Runi Verin]

Runi rolled her eyes as the security officer swept her for what had to be the fourth time in as many minutes, the hand-held scanner causing her skin to crawl at every wave of his hand. She remembered them being a little touchy about security, but this was bordering on the downright ridiculous and paranoid. The second sign she’d seen so far that Rook, the tight fisted administrator that ran the station, must have been going senile in his dotage. The first being the exorbitant price they’d tried to charge her as a docking fee. No wonder that fat chevin didn’t want people wandering around the station tooled for war.

The security guard glanced at the read out in his palm, his companion muttering something in a gutter patoi that Runi neither understood nor cared to, instead opting to fix the pair with a flat, hard stare. “You try and make another pass with that wand, pateesa, and the next scan you’ll be receiving will be of your colon, tayli'bac?”

Unsurprisingly, the guard opted to wave her past. He obviously wasn’t getting paid enough to deal with an irate mechanic. Which begged the question of where the funds were going. It certainly wasn’t to the docking bay facilities if Senth-Nine was anything to go by. These docks used to sing with life and foot traffic. Now they were grim, spartan affairs that reminded her a little too much of a Givin funeral. What bothered her the most, however, was the fact no one seemed willing to meet her eye.

She adjusted her long coat as she headed towards the turbolifts, wishing for a moment she’d had the foresight to wear her beskar'gam beneath it, missing the comforting weight and protection it provided. She would just have to make do with the heavy blaster and beskad the guards had seen fit to leave her with, apparently concerning themselves more with the threat of grenades and siege weaponry than small arms. That suited her just fine. She wasn’t here to occupy the place after all.

“I’m looking for a man named Rashiz.” She stated the attendant as she stepped into the lift, tossing the kid a credit to smooth over the transaction. “Owns a shop on the lower side last I heard.”

The lanky boy, probably only a handful of summers younger than herself, didn’t seem too enthused, but pocketed the chip all the same. The lift started heading down a few beats later. “Old man Rashiz? I know him. Everyone does around these parts. Don’t know about any shop, though. These days he runs the Black Wire cantina on level six. Big joint, can’t miss it.” There was a pause before the predictable question arose. “What do you want with him, anyway?”

“I’m here to collect on a favour.”

 

[Runi Verin]

In contrast to the docks, level six at least tried to maintain the illusion that life was still carrying on as normal down here. The roughshod streets still ebbed and flowed with the odd crowd or two, sluggishly moving like basking sharks beneath the garish glow of the neon and florescent that stretched clear across the cavern. Hawkers occasionally filtered through, yelling out their various wares and promises of no better deals, chased along by the store owners they tried to steal business from. All in all it appeared to be your average hollowed-out-asteroid-street scene.

Yet Runi couldn’t shake the sense of unease that was settling deeper and deeper between her shoulder blades with every footstep. The air was practically alive with an unspoken tension, as if everyone was walking on krayt eggs, waiting with baited breath for the shell to finally crack beneath their feet. Her mouth twisted into a faint frown as she scanned the crowds. How long had things been this way? This wasn’t living. Kark, this was barely existing. Tanquilla Beach was supposed to be the smuggling heart of the Kathol sector. Instead it felt far too much like an open planned prison camp.

A surge of relief flooded through her as a sign for The Black Wire came into view, subdued slightly by the fact the bar itself obscured behind a particularly thick knot of people. Scoundrels and traders, mostly. Mixed with one too many of those gutter-speak security guards to make her feel completely at ease. She brushed the lip of her long coat back as she pushed her way through the throng, tucking it behind the butt of her heavy blaster to allow quick access. The relief in her veins fast fading, replaced in kind by the coppery tang of blood and the peculiar scent of scorched o-zone that she had long come to associate with extensive plasma discharges.

Sure enough, a partially charred body was waiting for her at the other side of the mob, wounds still slightly smoking as if to dispel any doubt what had happened here. Judging from the placement, the number of scorch marks and the positively chargrilled scent the body was giving off… Someone had really wanted this guy dead and wasn’t afraid to make reinforce that fact. They weren’t too worried about making a statement, either. No two ways about it, brazenly dumping a body like this was a challenge. To who or what, Runi hadn’t the slightest, but she just hoped she wasn’t around when things really kicked off.

Besides, though the face might have been half burned off by a glancing bolt, this definitely wasn’t Rashiz. Not unless the man had found a way to de-age himself a good fifty or so years and had had a controversial species-reassignment to become a weequay. Failing those two impossibilities, she had very little interest in the body beyond the fact it was blocking her way, something she quickly remedied by stepping over the smouldering corpse and slipping into the bar.

 

[Runi Verin]

In contrast to the pervasive neon glow of the streets, the Black Wire was a much more relaxed and sedate when it came to its lighting. In fact, it seemed like it had come to the decision that lights were optional and to be used sparingly, making it live up the Black portion of its name. The interior seemed to be something out of an old holofilm, centred on dark woods and rustic decorations, the kind that would be more at home on some remote frontier stop than in a space station cantina. All it was missing was some animal mounted on the wall to complete the image.

A hunched, giant of a figure sat at the bar, nursing a drink in one hand and a blaster in the other. There were a few more grey hairs and few more pounds to his frame than she remembered, but Rashiz was still unmistakable – even in this gloom. The hand with the blaster seemed to notice her first, the weapon training itself on her before Rashiz even looked her way, the whine of the powercell charging up a shot making the Mandalorian wish not for the first time she’d worn her beskar’gam.

“Jacaro always said you were quick with a blaster, old man. Better hope that’s true if you ‘tend to keep pointing it at me.”

The giant blinked a set of bleary blue eyes, clearly well into his cups by the length of time it took him to focus on her, let alone recognise who she was. Even then she was willing to bet it was the mention of Jacaro that triggered his memory. She was a slip of a girl the last they’d met, still green around the edges and not nearly as civilised. Barely worth dust, let alone a recollection or two.

“Runi?” The distance between them shrunk immeasurably as he launched himself from the bar, bounding across the bar room with more energy and grace than she would have accredited. “It is! Little Ru-Ru Verin!”

As temperamental as she was, there were few things that could darken her expression quicker than that particular nickname. Jacaro had coined it first. Him and his damnable love of pet names. Despite her protests, or perhaps because of them, he’d then spread it far and wide, almost going out of his way to ensure all his associates, past and present, knew of its accursed existence. Now, even a decade later, it had a terrible habit of cropping up like a bad credit.

“Come now,” He chided softly as he wrapped an arm around her shoulders against her protests, guiding her towards the bar. “Is this the face you pull at the man who taught you how to hotwire your very first starship? Ahh, what a career you could have had. One of the fastest ‘jackers I ever trained.”

“One of the? You must be going senile; I am THE fastest.” She corrected as she copped a stool, resting her elbows on the lip of the bar as Rashiz moved to secure them a drink. There were a few more grey hairs here and there, a few more added pounds around the waist, but he hadn’t really changed one little bit. Nice to know at least one thing around here hadn’t. “Never thought I’d see you sell the shop, though. Half figured they’d bury you in it.”

Now it was Rashiz’ turn to scowl. In contrast, it looked completely out of place on his face, an almost unnatural break to his otherwise overly jolly façade. He bustled around behind the counter for a few minutes, toying with the glasses and bottles a little longer than was strictly necessary before grunting out his response. “Still own it. What remains, at any rate. They burned me out a few months back when I spoke against how things are being run.”

She arched a brow at that.

“Figured things were bad around here, but Rook never struck me as the salt and burn type.”

“Rook? Cheeka, you’ve been gone far too long. The Rook has been dead almost three year now. We’ve been through two administrators since then. Each worse than the last, but still better than what we’ve got now. No, the Rook might have been hard, but he was fair. He knew business. This new crew… This new crew is like rabid akk dog. Just as sooner bite the hand that feeds it.”

A new outfit rolling in on a Shadowport was nothing new. When you had an operation of this magnitude running outside of the realms of law and civilisation, sooner or later you’d have some two-bit mercenary crew or pirate band sniffing around for a larger slice of the pie. She never thought it would happen to Tanquilla, however. This place was practically an institution.

“This new crew, I hear of them before?”

“Hear? Ha! You’ve already met them.” He smiled widely, though it was a wholly mirthless expression. The kind that sent Runi’s gut a-twisting. “On your way in, yes? The Bloodtooth sought to use a common thug to send me a message for not paying up. I send them one back.”

“Rashiz…”

“Is a good time for you to return, Ru-Ru. I was thinking I would have to handle this all by myself.”

 

[Arage Bao]

There was music on the scene.

Its melody rising and falling like smoke and ashes in the wind. It was tired, it was slow and melancholic, it felt like the song was measuring itself and found it wanting of the desire to live on, and yet it did. Stubbornly clinging onto life and hammering the next tune into anyone willing to just… rest and listen for a moment or two.

“Grog’s gone, Rash.” A man stepped out of the side room. Tall, half a beard and hair slicked back to keep it away from those eyes - silver, molten dishes resting… waiting and constantly roaming around. There was a wildness in those eyes, creeping shadows at the edges that made you wonder, but then you blinked and the shadows faded away.

It left you thinking and left you with that wonder.

Valard noticed the girl later, only after he settled down at the corner of the bar and pushed at his glass with something of distaste. A man who needed a drink, wanted it, but disliked that very notion of need inside himself.

Eventually he did notice. The shadows returned, he studied and judged, and then exchanged a look with Rash.

Only silence came from him, though, this girl was not known to him. And he had never been a social man.

[member="Runi Verin"]

 

[Runi Verin]

There was an empty silence. A pregnant pause filled with unexpressed possibilities, the myriad of emotions swirling through Runi Verin failing to bridge the chiasm that parted the realm of thought from that of the spoken word. And what was there to say?

She was a child of broken streets; a discarded scion from a legacy which sprang forth untold carnage and conquest. Violence coursed through her veins just as surely as her mix breed blood. No matter how hard she tried to deny it, how many stars and sectors she sought to put behind her, there was no denying that simple, irrefutable fact. Sooner or later, it always caught up to her once more.

Even out here, on the edges of the known galaxy.

“Rashiz,” The name sounded hard to her ears now. Detached. As if the warmth it had carried even a handful of heart beats earlier had been leached from each syllable. The glass tumbler groaned in quiet protest as she tightened her hand and steeled herself. “I’m not he---”

“I know why you’re here.” He interrupted; voice soft almost to the point of impossibility. She knew his gaze, if she had had the courage to meet it, would have been the same. Neither hurt nor disappointed. A simple understanding that would have somehow been infinitely worse. “You’re here for what I owe Jacaro. What I owe you.”

“The fireg---“

The words died on her lips almost as quickly as they had been birthed, her attention whipping sharply towards the sound of an intruder, fingers seeking the heavy blaster at her side before Rashiz intervened.

“What, infamous Steeleye cannot see we are having a moment here?” The giant boomed in response, the darkness that had been straining his broad features temporary dispelled by the bone-vibrating chuckle that resounded across the bar. “Ha! No matter. Come, sit, meet my other guest. This is Runi Verin, the dau---”

A sharp look caused him to preform quick rephrase.

“--- She is a former student of mine. Runi Verin, this is [member="Arlen Greaves"]. He’s a… Gentleman of Fortune, yes?”

“So a pirate.” It was his turn to be on the receiving end of a hard look. Ships and cargo had been repurposed under her hand, sure enough, but very rarely had that same hand been stained with blood in the process. A claim the man before her likely couldn’t make in kind. “You sure you shot the right ge'hutuun, Rashiz?”