Lords of War

[Zark San Tekka]

The Queen of Air and Darkness​

The Wheel // Mid Rim​

---

The star yacht's lower level compartment undulated in time to rhythmic pulsations that loosely passed for modern music. A thick mist enveloped the wandering night club, a rolling haze of hookah cocktails that permeated its internal atmosphere. This place was packed each and every night, tonight was no different. Revelers imbibed alcohol of all kinds to excess, not to mention open use of spice, dreamdust and deathsticks. It was not the kind of place one expected hundreds of thousands in credits to be changing hands, but if the yacht's ownership had their way tonight they would be closing a very lucrative business deal indeed.

Hissing in frustration with the local fodder around him, Hakar kept his eyes peeled for his quarry. Dressed as he was in fine attire, the Exchange fixer resembled any other low level Trandoshan club bouncer, but his assignment was one of a far more particular nature. Scanning back and forth from the yacht's second level balcony, he remained vigilant for any sign of that tell tale Mandalorian armor. Te Veman would be here soon, someone empowered to negotiate directly on their behalf anyway. It was his job to locate them upon arrival and escort them directly to his employer's private offices on the top level.

Ifan ben-Mezd, better known if he was known at all by a number of aliases including the Charlatan and the Prince, was a powerful figure in the galactic underworld. Not as terrifying as some perhaps, but over the years he had grown a reputation as one of the Exchange's chief facilitators, carving out a niche for himself running crooked casinos on Point Nadir and then aggressively expanding his operations to Nar Shaddaa, Kwenn Station, Spice Terminus, and of course the Wheel.

For some time Hakar's patron had been eyeing tensions throughout Mandalorian space with a mounting interest, drawn through the nature of his work to points of misery across the known galaxy. So far the Crown Court was doing healthy business in narcotics production and distribution, transportation and cargo running, even the flesh business, but this would be their first major foray into arms. As soon as Ifan had lined up enough merchandise, he had reached out to make contact with none other than [member="Koda Fett"] himself.

If Mandalore is hellbent on setting itself aflame once more, as the Prince had put it to Hakar, We might as well get rich selling matches.

 

[Koda Fett]

THE WHEEL​

THE QUEEN OF AIR AND DARKNESS​

​

Mandalore; Fire; Ash.

It may prove discomforting to some that such terms fit together as if they were pieces of a puzzle; wayward in their driftings, bound to interlock and cause an event nothing shy of cataclysmic. It, once again, may prove discomforting that it was a rather frequent occurrence. It seemed that every reign began with the flickering of flames and ended with crumbling ash. Conflict was apart of the Mandalorian Culture, for it was all they had known. And none other than Koda Fett had the very thing encoded into his DNA. His purpose was to inflict pain, to destroy, to kill, and to serve. Perhaps he broke free of such chains but he never strayed too far from his purpose. Fett only serves himself, and Te Veman answers to his call.

The Bounty Hunter, still prevalent within the 'game', arrived by himself. A solitary creature, no doubt. His T-Visor shifted back and forth time and again throughout the Star Yacht in an attempt to identify those that he must. Eventually, of course, he came across Hakar. A typical Trandoshan, no? Beyond the attire, that is. Fett knew those lizards to wear things more... reliable for a hunt.

Te Veman still sought war, still sought conflict, flames and ash. They wouldn't rest, they wouldn't tire, not until Mandalore fell under their banner as the remnants of an Empire crumbled-- becoming one with the soil beneath their dying bodies. Yet, even still, Fett was self-serving. Everyone had their reasons, and not all were justifiably righteous.

"Prince." Fett greeted with the dry uttering of a singular word. Yet, still, he furthered. "The Exchange isn't in the business of arms dealing, last I heard." It'd certainly been true, no? But business ventures into the unknown were often profitable for one reason or another.

[member="The Prince"]

 

[Zark San Tekka]

Hakar silently led [member="Koda Fett"] above into sections of the yacht marked for authorized personnel only, before motioning for him to pause while an imaging scanner swept across their bodies and access was finally granted to the private offices beyond. The wailing dirge of a nalargon reached out to clash with undulant melodies below until office doors slid shut behind them, sound proofed walls cutting out all the Queen of Air and Darkness' tacky ambiance. Ifan was just arriving at the crescendo of the piece when his guests arrived, and after he finished he paused only to do another line of dreamdust before drifting over to his desk.

"Prince."

Just the sound of that word was enough to make his lips splay up into a cheshire smile. His eyes seemed to shine and glimmer as they searchingly regarded the Fett from under heavy lids, taking on an eerily luminescent quality in such dim lighting as this. They were surrounded by void, occasionally interspersed with docking traffic inbound and outbound from the Wheel's various private luxury berths. He did not seem remotely phased by Koda's brusque questions concerning the Exchange's affairs or the audaciousness it had taken to show up in person and alone.

"I believe you will find that my organization is the business of a great many things, Mister Fett," there was a softness in his voice that was uncharacteristic for the Prince's line of work, and yet a precision to his words as if each one was being chosen with extraordinarily delicate care, "Mandalorian beskarsmiths are among the finest weapon manufacturers in the galaxy, until recently it was not deemed pertinent for you to know of our competing interests. Yet I sense there are those among your people seeking more than the usual stockpiles, no? And so..."

He snapped his fingers, and the tabac leaf cigarra he had just rolled by hand sprang alight in his mouth.

"Now you are aware of my services."

 

[Koda Fett]

The Bounty Hunter remained so very still. He wasn't often very emotive, and it seemed as if now wasn't an exception to such a rule. It had been something of a habit he formed throughout his experiences. You never told anyone more than they needed, and you never let a singular sign of weakness shine. It might've made one seem more guarded, yes, and perhaps that was a sign of weakness, but the overly emotive seemed to try too hard. Least he believed that was the case, and Koda had been more than wrong in the past; a smart man, but not even they were right all the time.

"Hmph." He snorted, his head instinctively rising upwards with the softest and briefest of flinches before returning to it's previous position. There was a hint of amusement trickled within such a meaningless noise. Fett stood with an arm down by his side, and the other maintained a thumb beneath the carbine strap that lazily drape itself over his shoulder. He, seemingly, never parted with the weapon. It was as if it were his child. It wasn't likely that Fett was fit for a family, and so this was the closest he was bound to get.

Perhaps in a previous life; one, now, lost to time.

"Is the Exchange capable of supplying in such high demand?" His brow raised beneath that helmet of his, and his tone of voice was reflective of it. "I don't expect to be caught short of munitions."

[member="The Prince"]

 

[Zark San Tekka]

"It's a buyer's market, Mister Fett," he flashed another dazzling smile, remaining subdued despite the Mandalorian resistance fighter's brusque attitude, "Fallen superpowers are a chit a dozen these days, manufacturing worlds from the deep core to the edge of the disk are churning out guns like holopads. Galactic war tends to bring out the worst in people like that. Although I suppose given your people's philosophies you might disagree."

In many ways Ifan ben-Mezd was the polar opposite of [member="Koda Fett"], where the son of Mandalore standing before him elected to hide behind an expressionless mask, the Prince changed moods like they were clothes. Every meeting was carefully calculated performance arc, the layers ran so deep that not even his most trusted employees could say for sure that they knew the real man behind the curtain as it were. Tonight he projected an air of modest amusement and conciliation, his studies of Fett's people had led him to the conclusion that a Mandalorian's pride was not to be taken lightly. There was a predominant need for control of any given situation.

"I understand your predicament," taking a few long drags of his cigarra, he produced a sabacc card in between his fingers with textbook sleight of hand, "You want enough munitions for an army, and here I am for all you know just a low level skin and sin man, claiming scout's honor I got the right connections. And given the nature of our business, I can't exactly provide you an asset manifest or references to prove my people are the real deal."

Ifan vanished the card just as skillfully, before continuing, "Tell you what I'll do. We'll make a pact, you and I. You give my people a wish list, and the first shipments we'll settle payment on delivery. Can I take a Mandalorian at his word, Mister Fett, that you'll see us properly compensated should we deliver?"

 

[Koda Fett]

A Mandalorian may have been someone that could never stoop so low to deal with the awfully charismatic and manipulative individuals of the Galactic Underworld, but, a Bounty Hunter-- such as Fett --had known this world before his supposed homeworld. They had never been anything more than a series of facades rebounding off of one another until the truthful identity of said individual fades into obscurity. Fett certainly had the capacity to be someone he was not, but honesty in a dishonest trade had proved fruitful. Koda had never pretended to be someone he wasn't in an attempt to secure a job, to complete job, or otherwise. He had, at all times, been cruel and unrelenting in his exchanges and efforts. It made him the best in his particular profession.

"Yes." Fett simply replied. His callous eyes, beneath the visor, continued to bear down upon Ifan. He hadn't been one that found solace in the company of a dealer of half-truths and ambiguous natures. The Mandalorian, truthfully, preferred bluntness in the best of times. The Prince didn't seem to be that type, and it brought about some semblance of irritation. "If you don't deliver the least of your concerns will be payment."

[member="The Prince"]

 

[Zark San Tekka]

Ifan's lips slowly cracked into a playful grin at the bluntness of Fett's threatening statement. He supposed it was not a reaction Koda was used to getting when he made such violent promises. To hold no fear of a legendary hunter like [member="Koda Fett"] was the mark of either a madman or a fool, but it was not that the Prince did not believe his latest business associate wasn't capable or willing to follow through. On the contrary, he knew all too well that the other man meant what he said and was fully capable of doing just that, but he also knew it was a threat he wouldn't have bothered with if this wasn't on the level.

He had been fairly confident it was a legitimate opportunity, but when the greatest weapon manufacturers in the galaxy came to you hat in hand looking for sources from which to buy, it was not unwise to wonder if the interested parties weren't trying to get to their competition. This wasn't that, the two of them now were in bed together, although from the dangerous glint of the Mandalorian's visor he resolved not to use anything resembling that sort of terminology in front of his partner. Clapping his hands together and rubbing them together with excitement, he activated one of the servant droids he employed while entertaining private meetings via a console on his desk.

"A drink, then!" ben-Mezd announced, directing the automaton to bring over a selection of fine liqueur from his office's wet bar, "To seal our arrangement. Come, Mister Fett, I insist. I will absolve you of your social obligations to stay down below any longer than necessary, if you will only indulge me in this one sacred tradition."

His words were in part a playful mockery of the ritual obsessed Mandalorian culture, but their merit was true enough. It had gotten to the point where in his organization, when a deal went down and no one got even a little drunk, that was cause in itself for suspicion. Perhaps its origins lied in their ancient pasts, where it was not until a foreign guest broke bread with their hosts that they could be assured of sanctuary.

 

[Koda Fett]

He merely stood there. Fett remained as still as he had before, entirely unmoving and unflinching as if he were nothing more than a set of armour posed in such a way and left on display. The Bounty Hunter didn't often indulge himself in alcohol, finding it to be too altering and impairing of one's state to function. It may have spoken of his paranoia, really-- fortunate of his helmet's capabilities, otherwise ushered into an existence that entailed constant peering over one's shoulders, unaware of who may be lurking with a killer's intent. Fett couldn't list all the names of people that wanted him dead, or at least would be glad to see him wiped from existence. The Mandalorian never considered anyone a true 'enemy', but it couldn't be said the same for those in which he wronged.

It, then, made sense as to why Fett offered a dismissive wave and a lazier one at that. He spoke during the brief action, saying, "Your word will do." It often wouldn't when it came to most, but Koda made it clear as to what were to happen if Ifan were to not honour his end of the agreement. He were to return and appear as he is now, but those weapons laying dormant across his figure were to venting heat, explosives freshly erupted, and more.

[member="The Prince"]