Private Make You Vile

[Athsheva Rin]

Tagging: Tryk Zhot

Nar Shaddaa was an abysmal, ungodly place. Everywhere Athsheva looked, durasteel and duracrete laid as far as her eyes could see. Down here, in the lower levels, even the light of the moon could not reach; she had to rely on the flickering fluorescents as she moved about the abandoned morgue. Seasonal flooding had left an inch-thick layer of putrid black water over the morgue's tiled floor, another sign of the wretched filth that seemed to define this place.

Still, her visit to the ecumenopolis had not been entirely without value. One of the spoils was currently strapped to an autopsy table in the center of the room. Her dark eyes passed over her sleeping test subject once more: a Mythrol, male, in his fledgling stage. Athsheva had stumbled across his hiding spot nearby and had laid in wait for his return. It wasn't difficult to determine that the Mythrol was some kind of outlaw; his little den had been filled to the brim with unmarked credits, electronics and other valuables. When the Mythrol returned home, he was drunk; it had been so easy to wrestle him to the ground, to press her shaping hand to his neck and pump him full of sedatives until he struggled no longer.

Athsheva's ears twitched in delight as she noticed the Mythrol beginning to stir. Good. It would be easier to document his reactions if he was awake for the process. The man's eyes fluttered as he blearily attempted to rise, only to meet the resistance of the improvised bonds that held him in place. His eyes widened, and he lurched with all of his strength as he cursed quietly to himself. The bonds held.

"You can stop that," Athsheva told him simply as she approached the table, her heels sloshing in the water. The Mythrol craned his neck to look at her, his expression a churning mixture of fear and anger.

"Wait! Wait. D-Did Chako put you up to this?" Her subject stammered. "Because whatever that Hutt's paying you, I'll double it."

Athsheva didn't immediately respond as she looked him over. A pleased smile tugged at her tattooed cheeks. She gently traced the line of his gills, noting the fine, soft texture.

"T-Triple it!" The Mythrol shouted, his voice cracking.

"I do not know who Chako is," the Yuuzhan Vong told him. "And I do not care."

The Mythrol's screams echoed through the morgue as Athsheva began the long, painstaking process of taking samples from him.

 

[Tryk Zhot]

​

Pento Jovis.

A Mythrol Male.

Worth 5,000 credits to someone.

Tryk did not know who. Tryk did not know why.

Part of the benefit of dealing with the Bounty Hunter's Guild was that everyone was shielded during the transaction. One person bought a service, but did not know who would fulfill the request. The service provider fulfilled the request, while never knowing who had contracted for the service. Only the go-between- the Guild- knew both parties. And they could be trusted to keep it all under their collective hats.

Business depended on it.

For this job, Tryk had been smart... or he thought so.

He'd bumped into his mark in a public place. Planted a tracker.

No need to make a fuss. Just follow the mark to wherever they made their bed. Stun them. Clamp on an antigrav belt, and take them away.

That had been the plan.

Except the mark hadn't gone to a nice apartment. They'd come here, for some reason. An abandoned morgue.

Probably running some Dust-making operation from inside.

No problem. Tryk could improvise.

Up into the ventilation system. Probably made by Ugnaughts with a mind towards being able to crawl through them for maintenance reasons. Ugnaughts were Jawa-sized. Simple as sand.

Except Tryk was a bit bigger than the average Jawa. And consequently, he was bigger than the average Ugnaught. And he was wearing his robes, his armor, his weapons, and carrying the antigrav belt to help transport the mark.

With all that bulk, his form filled the entirety of the ventilation shaft. He pushed along- barely- and collected mounds of particulate grime and dead insects in front of him as he went. It was disgusting. Not any more disgusting than many places Tryk had been- even in his own clan's Sand-Crawler on Tattooine.

But still. Disgusting.

The only respite came from the fact that his body was completely covered, and he had a filtered vocoder mask on his face. Nothing was touching his fur.

Finally, Tryk came to the vent opening leading to the room where his mark was positioned.

Tryk crawled to the edge of the vent, peering in to see what Pento was up to.

Well... Pento wasn't up to anything. Except begging for his life, apparently. Someone else had got here, first!

As Tryk was seething in indignation about that, the vent system decided it had been overburdened for long enough. Support rods busted loose from their anchors. The vent split in two. The assembly yawned open, and seemed to vomit forth the diminutive Jawa in full regalia. Somehow, Tryk managed to do a little flip and land on his feet, landing with a splash.

Standing there, shrouded in a cloud of dust and unidentifiable bits, he looked a little like a figure in a holovid.

"He Mine," Tryk said boldly, his vocoder mask deepening and modulating his voice to make it seem like it was coming from a much larger, more imposing figure than the little Jawa who now stood in the middle of the chamber.

Only now, from his current vantage, was Tryk able to see the full form of the person who had snagged his bounty.

A woman, he was pretty sure. But what species, he could only guess. Perhaps she was hard to identify because she had been brutally disfigured, someone having cut off her nose.

​

Athsheva Rin

 

[Athsheva Rin]

Tagging: Tryk Zhot

It was difficult to hear much else over the Mythrol's agonized pleading as Athsheva set to work on surgically removing his gills. This was the crown jewel, in her eyes-- if she could find a way to graft them to her neck, it would eliminate the need for her gnullith. Her shaping hand moved in a flurry of careful snips and cuts, keeping the structure of the gills intact even as she severed them from the rest of his body.

Overhead, a vent groaned. Her ear twitched, and her fingers stopped their incessant movement. An intruder?

A moment later, the cause became completely evident as the ductwork completely fell apart, depositing its contents into the murky water of the room. A child had snuck inside. How annoying.

One dark eyebrow rose as the silhouette became clearer. A deep, droidlike voice-- one that made her skin crawl from its obvious fakeness-- emanated from the being that was clearly some sort of... man. Some sort of little man-thing.

"He Mine."

At the sound of someone else's voice, the Mythrol craned his head to the side, trying to see who his unlikely savior was. "Oh! Oh, thank the gods, a bounty hunter. Please! Take me back to Chako, I'll do anything he wants, I swear," he babbled, twisting in his straps. "Anything! I promise! Just get me away from this b--"

Athsheva rolled her eyes before sharply reaching behind her, pinching the Mythrol's ragged gills. The pain was enough to get her victim to pass out. An unfortunate necessity; listening to his voice any further would have given her an unwanted migraine. Besides, she needed to focus on her new arrival. Most of the sentient infidels in this galaxy weren't so... small. She wondered what his brain looked like.

"Is that right?" the Yuuzhan Vong asked, folding her hands behind her back. Hidden from view, her amphistaff slithered out of her sleeve, head nestled against her palm. "Then, by all means, little man-thing, come and get him."

 

[Tryk Zhot]

​

Tryk eyed the woman suspiciously.

It was rare for someone to be so agreeable. Especially the sort of someone who would... cut pieces off of other people...?

Grim.

But not exactly he worst thing he'd ever seen.

No... the worst horrors of his life rested upon the sands of Tattoine.

He made his way somewhat cautiously towards the table where the mark lay, reaching for the grav-belt he'd brought for this occasion. His little booted feet splashed through the sickening waters of the morgue as he went forward.

He couldn't ever hope to move a bounty like Pento Jovis without help. Not at his size and strength. But the galaxy was filled with clever solutions to difficult problems. In this case, once Tryk slapped the grav belt on his target, he'd begin to float just like a repulsor vehicle. Then he could be moved with as gentle a force as the touch of a finger.

As he uncoiled the belt from around his body, his yellow eyes kept drifting to the woman, just in case she was less agreeable than she seemed...

"Tryk give you cred," he promised, "since you be good." It was important to throw a few cred chips at people who did what you wanted, to encourage more of the same.

Not that 'good' could possibly describe anything happening here.




Athsheva Rin

 

[Athsheva Rin]

Tagging: Tryk Zhot

Athsheva watched the interloper silently and passively, allowing him to close the distance between them. She could smell some kind of strange scent rolling off of him; whether it was his species' natural musk, or a bizarre attempt at a fragrant perfume, she couldn't say. What a fascinating creature. Was this one of the desert dwellers she had heard about on Tatooine? Her visit to the planet had been brief and uneventful, but she had overhead the locals discussing two different varieties: the Tusken and the Jawa. Based on the conversation, it seemed that the Jawa was the shorter and less dangerous of the two.

"Of course," the Yuuzhan Vong replied amicably, even as her grip tightened on her amphistaff behind her. "After all, there is no reason we cannot be civilized over a mere misunderstanding, yes?"

She had no intentions of being civilized-- or, at least, not by infidel standards of civilization.

When the Jawa became momentarily occupied with some sort of belt, Athsheva saw her opportunity. In the blink of an eye, her hand shot outwards; the amphistaff in her hand lashed out, aiming to wrap its serpentine body around of the alien's arms. If successful, she would quickly reel him in towards her, intent on subduing him before he could break free.

 

[Tryk Zhot]

​

The move was not entirely unexpected.

But the woman was fast. Very, very fast.

It was at times like this that Tryk was grateful for the cloak and robes he wore everywhere he went. They served not only to conceal his identity and his weapons, but also as a loose second skin in moments of violence.

He was properly enveloped by the strange weapon, and pulled towards the woman. But he was fast, too, and began to wriggle and discard his second-skin before the strange tendril could solidify its hold on his body. Consequently, he slipped free and rolled back like a rodent acrobat, standing up again and taking a gunfighter's pose.

Athsheva consequently saw more of the Jawa's body than most residents on Tattooine ever would. A dark, furry thing with a definite musk- currently resembling spicy prunes. It seemed likely that Jawas were descended from some variety of rat. Perhaps something that had once crept on their desert world at night, when the light was not so harsh. The vocoder mask he wore included reflective lenses that bounced so much light back at the outside world that they seemed to glow, even in the dim surrounds.

A makeshift armor covered his body, apparently made of various pieces of junk or scrap. Yet despite its haphazard nature, it seemed to function well enough. Some thought had gone into piecing it together and making it all serve a purpose. There were even useful technical features apparent, the longer one looked.

"Tryk no Prey," he said indignantly, his vocoder mask making his voice deep and much more intimidating than the Jawa's natural, high-pitched voice.

"Tryk Hunter."

An Ion pistol was harnessed at one side of his body. An Ion rifle at the other. Typically, such weapons were used against droids. But sufficiently powerful models could stun... or even electrocute a target to death. Whether these were sufficiently powerful was anyone's guess.

"You no want fight Tryk. Tryk rather not kill.

But Tryk kill before.

Tryk kill again."



Athsheva Rin

 

[Athsheva Rin]

Tagging: Tryk Zhot

Her amphistaff hissed and coiled as it found purchase on the loose, flowing robe of the bounty hunter; when Athsheva tugged on his sleeve, attempting to pull Tryk in, the filthy brown cloth suddenly separated from her prey. All she had in her hand now was a bundle of burlap that she carelessly tossed aside, allowing it to hit the filthy water at her feet.

Her dark eyes appraised her opponent curiously. In some ways, he was like a Chadra-fan, with his rodent-like features and notable scent. Although Athsheva did not have an eye for machines or metal, it appeared as if his armor was haphazard, perhaps scrounged or scavenged. The little optics in his mask twinkled like stars in the dim fluorescent lighting.

And, of course, he was armed.

The weapons were strange, with wide barrels, distinct from the usual blasters or slugthrowers that infidels preferred. Athsheva's muscles tensed as she prepared for him to fire... but no. No, the little man-thing had something to say. Something about being a hunter. The Yuuzhan Vong couldn't help it; she laughed at him, both at the absurdity of being threatened by such a small creature... and the realization that he was holding ion weaponry.

"I am a hunter, too, my little man-thing," she teased. The Yuuzhan Vong gestured at the unconscious Mythrol on the table. "And I will have my trophies from this quarry, or from you. Take your pick. You are free to take him in once I am finished."

She nodded to the weapons at his side. "Or you can use your ion weapons while we both stand in the same pool of water. Are you that stupid?"

 

[Tryk Zhot]

Tryk peered at the woman suspiciously. She was a hunter, too? That weapon sure fit the profession. And some clients did ask you to cut off little pieces of a mark.

"You Guild?"

There were guild rules that might allow them to settle this peaceably.

"My contract say need alive," he stressed.

Was there more than one contract on this man? Tryk hadn't seen it, but he hadn't checked back since initially taking the job.

Then she mentioned that they were both standing in water, so his ion weapons were ill advised.

"People think Jawas dumb," he observed, "is good for Jawas."

Then he shook his head, "Not good for them."

He nodded at her, "We share. We split bounty, yes?"

He wasn't greedy enough to risk deadly combat when there was another option. This woman seemed pretty good with that... weapon. He didn't want to find himself cut up into pieces if she did that sort of thing for fun and not just when she was paid to.

Half of this payday would still pay for his fuel, his ship maintenance, and his food.

He could risk his life for more, but that seemed like a bad bet for a thin reward, considering the penalty for losing.



Athsheva Rin

 

[Athsheva Rin]

Tagging: Tryk Zhot

The question of whether or not she was in the guild elicited a low, amused chuckle from the Yuuzhan Vong. Equally as amusing was his suggestion that they share the bounty-- as if infidel credits would ever be something that she would require! Clearly, he was unfamiliar with her kind. That was an advantage she could leverage in this situation.

"I will make you a deal, Jawa," Athsheva crooned, now that she had confirmed his species, "You can have the entirety of the bounty. All of it. I simply want some pieces from this man. He might be a little worse for wear... and he may not live for long... but he will still be very much alive when you take him in."

She gestured to the ion blasters at his side. "But you have to put those down, so I can work safely. I cannot trust that you will not get... what is the term? Trigger happy."

 

[Tryk Zhot]

Tryk's gaze shifted to the mark.

Should he let her continue to carve him up, trusting that he wouldn't expire?

He had a cryo pod on his ship... but he wasn't sure he get the mark there fast enough after she did... whatever mutilations she was involved in.

And he certainly wasn't going to disarm himself.

It was looking increasingly unlikely that this tall, nose-less woman would accept a reasonable compromise. But he decided to try once more. Combat was never certain. She might be a two-hundred-year-old special forces veteran for all he knew.

And anyway... even someone with minimal training could get lucky.

The only sure way to win, was not to fight.

"Tryk not dumb, and Tryk not trust you."

Blunt, rude, accurate. But he had a proposal.

"You want pieces of body? Hire Tryk.

Tryk get you another man. Same species. You have whole body of other man.

Cut him, eat him, whatever lady want.

Tryk need this man.

Take deal. Hire Tryk. Is good offer.

Or we fight.

Tryk not creepy like you, Lady. But Tryk fight good.

You no want fight Tryk."



Athsheva Rin

 

[Athsheva Rin]

Tagging: Tryk Zhot

Perhaps the furry little man-thing was smarter than she gave him credit for. Had she been in his position, she would have refused to lay down her weapons, too. Athsheva listened quietly to his offer, mildly amused and curious, as she casually leaned against the examination table. In truth, she had expected him to simply give up negotiating. The fact that he was still trying was... intriguing.

His insult was ignored. All infidels thought she was creepy.

"Hm... I suppose I could be convinced to trade this subject for another," she acquiesced, folding her hands and bringing her fingers to her full lips thoughtfully.

"Unfortunately, there is one problem with your proposal. I have no money with which to pay you." Athsheva shrugged, bringing her ponytail over her shoulder to play with it lightly. "Unless you accept alternate forms of payment, that means we are right back where we started."

 

[Tryk Zhot]

Alternative payment?

Tryk thought about that for a moment. At first, he wondered if she was offering herself as payment, in some kind of lurid orgiastic display of wild sexual abandon. But then he dismissed that notion.

No... she meant trade, surely.

Well, Jawas knew trade.

"Tryk take exchange," he said. "You have tech? Tryk like your grab-stick. Tryk can use distance grabber thing."

Already, he was reviewing in his mind instances where he'd seen the mark's species around before, so that he could find someone to trade to this woman. Then she could make all the sick mutilations she wanted, and he could have his mark.

Bounty Hunting used to be less complicated, Tryk thought.


Athsheva Rin

 

[Athsheva Rin]

Tagging: Tryk Zhot

She wrinkled her non-existent nose at the term "tech," doubly so at the reference to her amphistaff as a "grab-stick." Pearls before Chazrach, Athsheva thought, rolling her eyes.

"No. My amphistaff is not for offering, and I do not have tech," she spat. Her mind wandered as she debated the possibilities, until...

As the idea struck her, a little smile pulled at the corners of Athsheva's lips. She carefully tugged at the collar of her Oozhith-- she didn't want this little man-thing to think she was about to bare herself to him, that was not the kind of trade she had in mind-- before reaching inside, removing a small blue crystal that glowed with an otherworldly light.

"This is kyber. The heart of a Jeedai's weapon. Would that be suitable payment?" She had heard that Jawas prized trade above all things; certainly, this little man would be able to see the value.

 

[Tryk Zhot]

​

Tryk leaned closer to peer at the blue, glowing gem.

Yes... Kyber. Quite valuable.

That was a good trade.

Seeing the crystal also made him glad he hadn't had to fight this woman. There was the possibility she had claimed this crystal directly from a Jedi, and that meant she was quite a formidable opponent, indeed.

"Tryk Accept," he said, and then crouched and reached to take his now sopping-wet and foul-smelling cloak from where it had been discarded on the floor. He shrugged it back on, not seeming to care much about the gross nature of the soiled garment.

In fact, he was cringing inside, but he didn't want to leave it here. Nor did he want her to see any weakness in him.

"Tryk be back. No kill man.

Tryk be Quick."

This time, he did not use the ventilation shaft. There was no need for a clandestine exit. He headed for one of the doors.


Athsheva Rin

 

[Athsheva Rin]

Tagging: Tryk Zhot

His acceptance was met with a pleased, smug smile. Whatever value the Kyber had to the little man-thing, it certainly wasn't as valuable to her. She had picked up several of the crystals on an interesting trip to Ilum with the intent to experiment on them; most of her experimentation had proven fruitless so far, and so parting with the glowing mineral was of little concern to her.

"Very well, Tryk," she said, her tongue clicking on the last consonant of his name. She waved goodbye to the little Jawa as she leaned against the table. "Do not dawdle. I find myself getting bored already."

 

[Tryk Zhot]

​

It was nearly forty minutes later when Tryk returned.

He tugged a figure with him, suspended by the grav belt he'd brought for the transport of his mark. The figure was a hybrid. The offspring of a Mythrol and a human, and not a pure-bred Mythrol.

He was wearing a blast vest which had a scorch on it- perhaps evidence of an ion-bolt impact. The figure had bruises across his face as well. Clearly, there had been some kind of scuffle. Though... Tryk did not appear to be capable of the kind of force needed to beat someone into submission.

The man was unconscious, but alive. And Tryk had checked, just in case it was important: This guy had the same sort of gills the strange woman had seemed so morbidly curious about, behind his ears.

Tryk just hoped she would still be here, and that his mark was still alive...


Athsheva Rin

 

[Athsheva Rin]

Tagging: Tryk Zhot

True to her word, Athsheva had left the original Mythrol untouched. She had been forced to once again subdue the subject when he had started to wake up, but other than that, he was still in near-mint condition. As the little man-thing finally returned with his quarry in tow, the Yuuzhan Vong stepped forward to examine her new prize.

"Hm... It is not a purebreed," she pointed out, shooting a disapproving glare at the little Jawa. He either couldn't see or didn't care about that particular detail, but hybrid species could often have vestigial or depreciated biology from either one of the parent species. One delicate, long-fingered hand reached out to fold the subject's ear back, and she made a light grunt when she saw the gills.

They were small. But they would do.

"... Very well," Athsheva sighed, hands going to her hips as she turned to the little Jawa. She had to lean down to look him in his shining eyes as she once again reached into her collar, removing the glittering blue Kyber shard and holding it out to him. "You have performed satisfactorily. Here is your reward, little man-thing."

 

[Tryk Zhot]

Tryk stiffened slightly as she drew near.

If there would be some betrayal, this would surely be the moment for it.

But... no.

She produced the gem, just as she'd promised. He didn't sigh in relief. Not outwardly, at any rate.

Inside, he was greatly relieved not to have to fight someone who had potentially bested Jedi in battle.

"Tryk big for Jawa," he said in weak protest of her 'little man thing' remark.

Then he tucked the gem away and nodded.

"Good trade," he said. "Tryk on hyperchannel 8675309. You call if need more work. Leave message. Say you call for Jenny. Is code word."

He quickly scuttled to unstrap his current victim and strap the grav belt to his mark, instead. This job had actually become more profitable than when he'd started it. The big creepy lady had improved his fortunes, despite initial appearances.

"Tryk have gun. Tryk Travel," he said, completing his requisite salesmanship.

Then he was off with his prize. He felt some sympathy for the poor random he'd concussed, stunned, and brought in. But better him than Tryk.

Barring any further interruptions or twists, he'd have thousands of credits in his account before nightfall tomorrow...


Athsheva Rin

 

[Athsheva Rin]

Tagging: Tryk Zhot

"Tryk big for Jawa."

"Yes, I am sure you are, Tryk," Athsheva cooed. Her tone of voice suggested that she wasn't being entirely genuine.

She was out a Kyber crystal from this whole affair, but she had managed to avoid what could have been a costly fight. All in all, an acceptable loss. The little man-thing had actually been quite clever and resourceful, when it came down to it. And quick. Her ear twitched as she made a mental note of his number; although she hated using infidel technology, perhaps she would make an exception if the need ever arose again.

"Until we meet again, little man-thing," she called out as he left. Then, she turned back to her prize.

It was time to see if those gills were in her size.