Star Wars Roleplay: Chaos

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Public Market of Sand | Jakku


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Market of Sand
Jakku
Tags: Open

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Rayne Runner | Trash Mobile Home
"Fine... then I'll ensure that it's a nothingness you'll never get to see."

The Sith threw his remaining arm forward, plunging his fist into Jasper Kai'el's gut. It pierced the skin and went through, causing the Jedi Master to violently cough up blood. Jasper wavered, but then stilled his resolve. He stood taller, clasping the Sith's head with both of his hands.

"Then I'll see you in hell."

Crack.

Rayne shot up from her bed, gasping and grasping at her neck. Her heart-rate had spiked, a cold chill making her spine shiver and her Lekku twitch with agitation. An overwhelming sense of dread came over her... then it passed. It was the sensation of ships passing in the night, as though she had missed something significant that she would never come to know. To have such a vivid dream of her head being twisted was not what she had expected when she had gone to sleep that night...

The young woman rolled out of bed and into her kitchen, quickly preparing herself a cup of hot cocoa. A chill had settled across the Southern hemisphere of Jakku as the desert planet shifted into it's winter season, not that one would be able to tell. It was still warm, though notably less oppressive than was typical of the world. Rayne took her mug to the cockpit of the Rayne Runner, giving her bobble-head a flick as she sat down and took a sip of the warm liquid, a sigh escaping her chest. She didn't set the walker into motion for a moment, simply sitting there trying her best to shake off what she had seen. Seeing something so life-like from the perspective she had was haunting enough, but that voice.... the voice that had come from where she was standing was terrifying. It was laced with a primal sort of hatred and rage that triggered every fear response she had.

The voice of death itself, almost.

And then it was gone, fleeting and strange in its intrusiveness to her sleeping mind. There was truly no time to dwell on what had occurred. Rayne needed to get a few credits back in her pockets, fuel was going to be a necessity soon. She'd need to keep her walker moving and her belly full.

So it was back to the trade caravan. Transports of all sorts walked across the sands of Jakku, joining up in a stream that grew wider and wider. They had come from across the wastes and even the stars, looking to sell their salvage to any who were interested. Rayne, having spent much of her teen and adult life as a scrapper, had been here many times. Sometimes she was successful. Other times...

The art of bartering was trial and error. Regardless, she had a decent collection of salvaged goods that she could sell in order to get by for a little longer, at least until she had a really good haul... Eventually.


This is a thread for scrapper-type characters to bring their junk to sell, as well as for travelers to come and buy said junk. No PVP on terms of principle for the style of thread this is, and please leave a list of the things your scrapper is selling. Canon items and custom items are both welcome.

Rayne's Wares:

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




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You should have bargained, Jabba. That's the last mistake you'll ever make

The sun of Jakku beat down relentlessly, turning the sand into molten glass beneath her boots. This was the winnter season? She scoffed and wondered how anybody lived in this place. Kinley Pryse was just another heat-sick drifter among the wrecks. Her current ship, a sleek, illegal beauty torn from her by fate and a poorly-timed double-cross, sat dead in the dust. Her Boss, never known for patience or forgiveness, had made his demands clear: finish the job, or vanish into one of Jakku's endless sandstorms, forgotten like the rest.

She pulled her scarf tighter around her face, eyes scanning the ramshackle sprawl of tents and scrap-stalls that made up the scavenger sales. Heat sinks or at least good ones, the kind that could actually keep her retrofit drive from melting itself, were rare here. She'd need to dig, bargain, lie, maybe worse.

Everyone in this place was desperate. Kinley was just a little more dangerous than most.




A Smooth Criminal

 

The caravan began go slow, then halted all together. Tents began dropping to shelter sensitive products from the sun, large sandcrawlers opened up to allow access to the various mechanical components stored within... What had merely been a chain of random vehicles quickly sprung alive and became a lively marketplace, with torn banners and sun-bleached tents.

Rayne, in turn, set her walker down in a crouch, oppening the side door and setting it up like a booth. A lot of the scrap she carried was arranged to be visible behind her, but she also had prepared a list for people to select from. A bit more work, but leaving gear unattended in a place like this was just asking to get robbed. She made sure that the larger pieces were visible, primarily the Hyperdrive and Heat Waste Sink, the components that were most likely to net her a fair bit of credits. At least, that was the hope.

Only time would tell.


 

Tags:
Kinley Pryse Kinley Pryse
Rayne Lo'to Rayne Lo'to

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Barter was Vestra's third...maybe fourth favorite part of the job. Cracking open old tombs, picking through space debris, getting into blaster-fights with angry customers...these were all perks, obviously, and the gig wouldn't be the same without them. But making a sale meant credits, credits meant revnog and Chandrillan Brandy, credits meant bribes for Alliance Law Enforcement...

Vestra Tane fiddled with the ship controls that took up most of her vision, hummed happily to herself. Today would be a good day. Jakku was a wasteland, a backwater despite being situated snuggly in Alliance space. A perfect place, then, to offload some of her less-legal wares. The scoundrel flicked a few switches and turned a few dials on the Smiling Knife's comms panel. Wide-Frequency pulse code, blasted in a 20-klik radius around where she planned to enter atmosphere and eventually land. The message was simple, repeated a few times, in a few different pulse-code parlances:

<<Friendly. Weapons Minimal. Trade?>>

 
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