Nerfburger in Paradise

[Dekkan Fray]

Half Past Close
Not Exactly Paradise

Most successful food franchises hosted a never close policy. They were manned throughout the planet's entire rotation, and always catered to whomever or whatever trekked across the threshold. It was a way to keep business going, and foot traffic at a premium. They also tended to cut corners, and go with processed and re-hydrated packs of less than edible food caked in spices. Dekkan didn't see the need to compete with those chains, as he'd never even considered the idea of expanding his reach beyond his own little scrap of nowhere. He'd planted himself here for all intents and purposes - and he had no illusions of leaving it behind or trying to break out into a chain. It was likely he could open a few more with the right loans, but that was another mess entirely, and he preferred the more humble approach. Asking him, his only reasoning was and ever would be that 'folk had to eat.' It was a simple notion, possibly hoping for a more simple lifestyle. However, things were hardly ever simple.

The last patrons had exited a bit ago, the blazing neon sign against transparisteel windows had been shut off, and only the running operation lights remained. Two waitresses; one a Zabrak, and the other a Chalactan just blew their boss a friendly kiss before heading out into the night time air of Old Patch to catch a transport to the Capital. The cook, well Dekkan really never saw the Weequay every exit the kitchen out the front. He took the back door as both entrance and exit. Dekkan often wondered why exactly he did that, but their conversations rarely swayed into the territory of personal. The guy had a horrible temperament, but was a whiz as a short order cook. That left the man of the hour, a human, whose home was just a dozen feet above his head carrying a crate of used glassware from the back kitchen and towards the front counter where it landed with a slight thud. A clean towel slung over his shoulder, and used to dry up any remaining moisture from the sanitizer where they had been cleaned.

Caspian eyes flicked to the holo feed resting in the corner of the diner, as the late night report scrolled across in various shades of holographic blue. The ticker at the bottom indicating that financial woes were still apparent in the Galactic Republic, as the threat of the Sith waging war on planet after planet was taking it's collective toll. The Protectorate wasn't doing as well either, but Dekkan rarely paid much attention to anything that didn't directly affect his business. The general broadcast was just a repeat from prime-time where a fresh faced blonde had been dosing out some recent journalistic endeavors in the area. Again, not something he really got into, but now and again he'd catch a tid-bit of news, especially when it was on the lips and mandibles of his customers. Rumors spread fast, and bad ones held all the parsec records. The announcement of some new reports in the mid rim had somehow caught Dekkan's attention while he absently cleaned the glassware from the crate - that is until something took his mind off of that.

Spoiler

https://youtu.be/wjBevX4NKgk

"Mute." Fray said, the broadcast silencing itself; and Dekkan turning his gaze to the window near the door catching a flash of light that had accompanied the sound, a brilliant red streak before it was night again. Hands stilled on the current glass while his brows narrowed and his eyes focused on what he could see. There wasn't much, and while the door itself wasn't locked, the diner from the outside wasn't the easiest target to deduce activity was still within. Besides, he hadn't finished stocking for tonight, so the motion sensor at the door was still off. Dekkan didn't worry a great deal about break-ins, mostly because it was the last and poorest choice some sorry soul would make in their lifetime if he ever caught them.

​

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[member="Geneviève Lasedri"]

​

 

[Geneviève Lasedri]

"Give me my gun, dammit!" the woman in white barked, curling behind the hull of the armored emissary speeder following the scream of blaster fire that had just put the Prime Minister's escort convoy at rest. She tugged the pull-cords that ran to the miniature shield generator embedded in her coat and continued cursing. "The frak. I thought this was supposed to be a quiet route. How has this not been secured already?"

No one obliged the raven-haired female's demands for her firearm, her bodyguards keeping her safety first and foremost. Handing a gun to the Republic's leader during an assassin's assault could only be a bad idea. They had yet to locate the precise position of the sniper (or pair of them, as that had not been determined with multiple shots fired), and giving the politician a gun to shoot back with could only lead to irrational behavior. Yes, Prime Minister Lasedri had been militarily engaged in her past and certainly knew how to handle battlefield situations, but it only took one shot to snuff out the life of even the most influential puppeteers of this turbulent galaxy. Exposing oneself to fire a gun was still exposing oneself to be fired upon.

"Evacuate the PM!" went the call, a pair of Senatorial Guards and a handful of service agents forming a protective ring around their leader and essentially forcing her off the street, no matter how much she might kick and scream. They got it. She was brave. And while that was a great story and fodder for image-building propaganda to be employed at a later time, it also allowed for too much risk. Some people need to be kept alive more than others, as it was justified. Geneviève did not sit for that. So they made her.

What crowds had been loitering on this lane had scattered, dashing away from the crimescene as people and creatures of all types usually do when their lives are potentially threatened. A pair of young ladies had just exited the closest structure to the street before they too had screamed and sprinted off, and one of the bodyguards had been able to smash through the door they had emerged from so that they could hide Lasedri in there until the situation at hand was taken care of. "Get me my gun!" she continued to insist after being ushered safely into the building and away from the windows. Another shot was fired, and one of her escorts bent over and moaned, hands grasping at his thigh as he crumpled to the sidewalk.

Half the guards took position at the doorway while two of the others remained next to the Prime Minister, attending to the downed agent after dragging him in. Gen grabbed his blaster pistol before they could stop her and held it daringly, muzzle pointed at the ceiling--safely, for now. "Like heck was Abregado-Rae important enough for this," she muttered before noting the ruddy spectator nearby. She immediately switched her posture to train the pistol on the man, not able to be one hundred percent certain of his part--or ignorance--in this mess. "Any weapons you got, put 'em down right now--or I will light your ass." Mouth like a sailor's, just as it had always been. She had become more formal and more feminine in presentation over the years, but there were still many things about her personality that did not change.

 

[Dekkan Fray]

Despite the rather extensive efforts of the militant former PMC that the Protectorate had branched out from, and even the direct involvement of [member="HK-36"], the dubbed 'baron' of Abregado-rae, crime was never too far off the mark for a planet known for it's smuggling havens. Most of it was illegal trade and transport, and while that could certainly peg you for a carbonite ice nap, it was rarely the sort of place in which brazen and poorly executed assassinations were attempted. There was however always a distinct possibility that given the rabble of Old Path - you might just get a show or two if you stuck around long enough. That was the trouble with the Do or Dine, it wasn't going anywhere, and Dekkan didn't have any plans to change that. He saw everything that wandered around his spot of nowhere, and not all of it was the most amicable of situations. This was a notion he'd gotten used to however, and with the burden of history the man carried on his somewhat slumped shoulders, it wasn't as unfamiliar as he would have liked it to be.

Just a couple of years ago he'd had to withstand a horde of possessed citizens and guards from an overnight ambush of something that had been dubbed the Dark Harvest. Holding himself and others in the diner for protection against that, and trying to weather the storm into the local authorities could scramble assistance had not been his idea of a quiet night. It had however allowed Dekkan a little more insight into the troubles the Galaxy still offered. The addition of some sensors, holo-cams and sturdier entrances and exits had come out of that. At the time he was just thankful he had come out of it, with the rag-tag misfits that had wandered in seeking shelter from that karking mess. This place was never meant to be a stronghold to weather a siege - but it had done the job more than once, and Dekkan was more than a little bit proud and overprotective of one of the few things in the verse that he could call his own with any sense of accomplishment. Suffice to say that he didn't enjoy when the brawn over brain security detail rammed through the front door to get their client into safe passage - mostly evidenced by the look of sincere annoyance written on his somewhat wrinkled face.

As clear as it was that these in his diner were the defenders, being pinned down by the unknown - that wasn't excusing the clearly marked closed sign hanging on the inside of the now damaged door. Hospitality and manners were for paying customers, and as of yet they hadn't thrown a credit his way or even an apology for the current predicament, though he didn't really blame them. Security detail were not hired for their personalities, but for the efficiency in keeping their client secure. Right now he was sure they were doing a bang-up job. As the woman begging for a piece was finally liberated enough to get her hands on one - Dekkan began to recognize the tone to the voice - not necessarily the anger or fear laced within her words, but the actual tone and pitch seemed familiar. His doubts were removed completely when she turned and trained the barrel on him in an attempt to take control over a situation where she had none. A quick raise of both eyebrows was really all Dekkan cared to afford that comment, wiping away the pause in his movements and continuing to the tedious banal task of wiping off the residue of water clinging to glassware in the crate.

"I don't normally post the prices on the menu, but you do plan to pay for that?" He asked as if the situation itself was as commonplace as any other activity. Dekkan didn't appear to be overly concerned with either the blaster, the woman holding it or her biting words. "Wasn't even locked actually." A lower whisper was offered as if he had been more offended that they didn't try the door before rancor-rushing the plasteel and barreling in without sufficient cause. Sure her life was in danger, but that wasn't at all uncommon he figured for such an important figure. It had taken a minute, but the realization of an interview he'd seen not just two days ago had pegged the woman in his diner as the Prime Minister of the Republic. Surely she'd be a little more careful with trekking around in Protectorate territory without the safety of her Havok Squad. Not that the two factions weren't cozy enough, but this was still a world built on crime. "Awful lot of ruckus outside - should probably call the Iron Knights - they might want to see to that." Dekkan gave a suggestion without actually moving to the comm panel that was to his right at the wall. HK's personal legion of encorcement on Abregado-Rae would come soon enough he figured, but there might be a few bodies more to clean up by that point. A mug was lifted though from behind the counter and placed on a flimsi placement.

"Stimcaf?" He asked, holding up a pot in her direction.

[member="Geneviève Lasedri"]

 

[Geneviève Lasedri]

Shots popped off outdoors, Republic personnel and some local street cops firing blindly and vainly in the general direction of the unseen assailant. An infrared targeting monitor was eventually set up to get a read on any warm bodies or weaponry to take out, but by the time this occurred, the attacker was likely gone and maneuvering to either a new roost or a safehouse.

The next step for the protection forces would be for them to call in air support and make detection sweeps whilst establishing a perimeter that would permit safe travel to the nearest spaceport. It was standard protocol--because it worked--but it was one that took time to correctly achieve. The Prime Minister would be pinned down in this 'Do or Dine' for a fair amount of time. Which was why a new squad barged into the restaurant with blaster rifles engaged against their shoulders, barrels aimed straight at the owner of this place upon entry. When the leader of a nation is pointing a gun at someone, odds are good that their armed forces will do the same. "No. Stand down," Lasedri ordered, dropping her own firing hand as she was convinced the cook had no ill intent. "He's already been cleared. I jumped. Not him." As if that were not obvious considering the guy was just standing there, scrubbing away at some dishes.

Still, the squad had to follow safety procedures, and most of them spread throughout the restaurant's confines to check for any possible opposition hiding in the nooks and crannies. "Apologies--it's just protocol. Rest assured, the Republic will reimburse you for any damages incurred while I'm here."

The Iron Knights rung a bell for some reason. She had never been to Abregado-Rae until this week, but the name incited blurry memories hailing back to her abolitionist days. Apparently an ancient sort of hunter-killer droid had taken part in the recovery of her nearly-dead body from a slaver ship after her first run-in with a Sith. Something about that registered with the term for the planetary law enforcement's rather unique corps of peacekeepers. That was confirmation enough for her to assume the man knew what he was talking about. And enough to make her feel slightly relaxed in his presence after the close shave of only minutes prior. "Probably stimmed enough as it is," Gen replied. "Though I'll oblige. Thank you."

She slowly moved over to the counter and nodded at the proprietor of the diner. "Your place, Mister...?"

[member="Dekkan Fray"]

 

[Dekkan Fray]

Protocol. He'd heard enough of that word to last a few lifetimes, both in the sense of his position as a former Republic soldier, and the various other governmental bodies that liked to dictate policy as if their citizens were subjects, and were contractually obligated to ignore circumstance. Consequently a slight yet dismissive grimace furrowed his brow, while pale blue eyes shifted to address the movement of the security squad making their way unbidden through his diner. Dekkan wasn't a man that was on edge too much, but there were things about this diner, of little monetary value, that were significant to him. Damages were one thing, and credits could take care of that, but he was keeping his mind alert for anyone that would attempt a trek upstairs. The diner was fairly standard, but his living quarters, humble as they may be, were off limits - something he'd intend to get across if they even found the panel to lower the staircase. Though without missing a beat, the pot of half full stimcaf was released from the induction burner and leveled with a steady hand and a practiced motion to pour the hot black liquid into the offered mug.

"What's a government for if not to get in a man's way?" The rhetoric cheap shot leveled out with the tell tale signs of a knowing smirk framed the more wrinkled visage. Dekkan was in his middle aged years, and despite some graying of his hair, and more distinguished features, he was still in rather good shape. Old habits died hard, and his own regiment of hard work, and eating right had never really gone away. The state of his liver however was up to question thanks to the amount of booze he had poured over for several years of his earlier life. He didn't drink nearly as much now, but at one time the man had been a complete lush. "We don't often get high Republic brass on world, especially not this world." Dekkan mentioned having set the pot down, and going back to the duty of cleaning the freshly sanitized glassware from the crate atop the counter. "I'm sure you can see why it's not a normal occurrence." He wagered given that the woman had already had an assassination attempt on her life, which begged the question - why was she risking traveling outside the relative safety of the Republic border to venture onto a smuggler's planet?

"Name's Dekkan." He said in afterthought, not willing to give out his last name just yet. Twenty years would erase a lot of memories, and cast a long and sordid shadow on affairs of the past, but holo-records still existed. There were still flimsi files dating back thousands of years, even before the Battle of Yavin - and his last name was likely not the best move when trying to make sure the security detail didn't peg him as a hostile. Still she hadn't even given up her own - but that was hardly necessary. He'd heard the voice, seen the holo-feed, and knew rather quickly exactly who was seated infront of him. Dekkan held no love for the Republic, but the ire that had once burned in his very bones no longer was present, and wouldn't have been for her, or likely anyone still running the show. His demons were long gone, at least in the physical sense. He'd carry the memory of them to the grave, but that was his burden to bear. "So, typical day?" Despite who he was talking to, apparently he didn't change his manner or form, the Dekkan she saw was the same one everyone else did - save for maybe a few in the Galaxy who actually knew what the man had gone through.

[member="Geneviève Lasedri"]

 

[Geneviève Lasedri]

What was government good for? There were some days when the Republic's leader felt like she was the boss of the galaxy, dispensing justice and pulling whatever strings needed tautening on the political marionette. Other times, the Senate and the general bureaucracy of Republic upon planetary upon provincial upon city law and circumstances obstructed any feeling of control and authority whatsoever. Sometimes Lasedri felt entirely like the passenger of a starcraft with autopilot permanently engaged and refusing to divert course from imminent disaster. And yet it still survived, one way or another. Government mutates and breeds its discontent offspring. But it never dies. "Indeed..." Gen half-agreed, accepting the mug and holding it about level with her chest, anticipating the drink but allowing it sufficient time to cool down to a manageable temperature. "Can't survive with it; can't survive without.

"You could say this is a 'goodwill tour'," she continued. The aroma from the caf was surprisingly enticing. It had been a long time since she had stepped foot inside one of these establishments, and there was a sense of delight in the end of that streak. As sickeningly arrogant as she could sometimes prove to be, Geneviève had always appreciated a simpler way. "Though who is providing the goodwill is debatable. We've made ourselves at home here, and obviously someone out there thinks I shouldn't make a habit of visiting the neighbors." Gen conceded to her anticipation and brought the cup to her lips, taking the briefest of sips. It nearly scorched her tongue, but the flavor was most certainly there. Give it a few more minutes, and it would be like a birthday treat.

"Not quite a typical day, no. But it's not entirely unusual, either." She practically stared down her host as the alarms continued outdoors and the comm pieces buzzed in the ears of her nearby staff--still trying to mend their wounded comrade and quieten his moans. This Dekkan had not even flinched with all the activity. And while there were certainly some 'normals' who had the strength to keep their head in this situations, they were not too common all the same. The cook had a posture and demeanor--even a type of speech--that indicated a more formal, disciplined history mixed with a hint of apathy. "How 'bout you, Mister Dekkan? You're a military man." Gen, of course, was making an educated guess. But she had always been fairly good at those when it involved fellow warriors.

The 'Chandrilan Raven' stepped forth and offered a simper and a hand, placing her mug on the nearby countertop. "May I help?"

[member="Dekkan Fray"]

 

[Dekkan Fray]

Dekkan remembered a time, back years before Lasedri had ever stepped foot into the political arena when the Republic was lost in their own delusional righteousness. It wasn't much different than it had ever been, and certainly nowhere near the shambles of the failing faction it was now. However Dekkan's memory of that time was also tainted with betrayal, tyranny, corruption...and blood. He held no love for the Republic, but he didn't despise it - at least not anymore. By now he'd reference the word 'friction' to describe his interactions with the senate and core worlds, but it was so much more than that. She didn't need to know that - and her guards really didn't need to know that. He'd likely have a tough time not being arrested on suspicion alone if they knew about his sordid past. Thankfully, of all things Dekkan had - a Pazaak face was one of them.

"Can't fault them for the political statement. Always thought plasma made a better impression than oration - but I'm a realist." Dekkan offered a shrug, caring not if the guards heard his open cander, simply because he didn't shrink away from speaking his mind, even when it might not be the best thing to say. "For what it's worth though - I always liked the underdog a lot better than the Military Industrial Complex." Sure, the Republic still had a navy, and a fairly sizable army, but they were quickly losing ground hand over fist to the menace that was the One Sith. So much to the point now that their odds of even surviving this were coming to a middle, and that made Dekkan have a bit more respect for the woman sitting across from him. "That obvious?" He asked in slight rhetoric to her inquiry of his connection with the service.

Truth be told, Dekkan had been in the military - fighting right alongside the Republic forces decades prior, to the current mess of a situation within the core worlds as they fell one by one. There was also a time when he would have looked upon the sacking of Coruscant with a smile - and yet he was neither glad of it's current state of affairs, or truly that interested. The Sith had not come for Abregado-Rae, and though he suspected at some point they would attempt to take the planet in their show of force, he still wasn't exactly in the most caring of moods. A life he'd put behind him - more like shoved into a dusty old closet and bolted shut with force. Memories haunted him, and likely would the rest of his breathing days - but he'd given it up all the same. As long as this diner held together and he kept getting clientele willing to pay for a meal, Dekkan didn't much care who was in authority over the planet, that is until they got in his way.

"Sure, that'll pay for the caf, but you're still gonna owe me for the door." A slight smirk touched the diner owner's face as he placed a rag in her palm and shifted the crate for her to have a better angle. "Left that life a long time ago, food's better here - and I like being the one in charge." His reference to the military was vague enough, and he certainly aimed to keep it that way - for both their sakes.

[member="Geneviève Lasedri"]