E L E C T R I C
I Do Coke
From the highest echelons of corporate management, to the bottom of the filthiest slums, there remains two constants - money talks, and there's always someone who knows someone. Power, influence, and all of the pretty baubles that the leaders of governments the galaxy over take for granted, be they Jedi, Sith, or even the average man or woman, are concentrated here, in the underworld, just waiting to be taken. There's always a link in a long chain leading from one person to another, some degree of separation that ties everyone together. Nobody knows that more than the spice runners, crime lords, and those that are indebted to them.
Especially those that work against them.

Her voice was low, hushed even, and muffled slightly by the dated ventilation that ran through the metallic ceiling that hung low over their heads. Standing near a drab, gray, steel wall was the source of the feminine voice - Sable Mur, a face among the millions of others that sometimes appeared in the occasional clothing catalog and holozine - and a bland, almost generic, man in his middle ages with a bag of sparkling red spice in a transparent baggy pinched between two large fingers.
"You've been burning through the stuff, Mur. It's two hundred credits or you start buying more, and in bulk." The man retorted, seemingly prepared for her visible disbelief with a roll of his eyes. He crossed his arms over his chest, resting them over his rather prominent gut, and grunted noncommittally as she started to work her jaw in irritation. "I don't know why it matters, you get to walk your skinny little behind into a warehouse, take some candid shots, and you make enough in one day to pay for what you've been buying all year. Either hand me the credits or no spice, unless you're willing to find some other connection to the stuff - and we both know you aren't going to find someone who isn't going to charge you more just for having a pretty face without a reference."
"At least they wouldn't be charging me twice the going rate for a gram of this garbage, and they wouldn't insist on meeting out in the open." She said. 'Even if I'd be paying an arm and a leg to keep them from getting any ideas.' Came the sound of her voice in the back of her mind, frowning as an expression of resignation set in. Even as she was about to pony up the creds for such an extortionate price her attention turned as the creak footsteps on loose metallic flooring echoed down the hall. Just as she'd complained moments prior, they were having this talk in what was essentially the open - a maintenance hall that connected two alleys in the Coruscant underground was hardly as private a place as one could find, even in the sprawling city-world.
The only question was whether she'd be paying two people to keep quiet or dealing with something else entirely.
