Private On A Need To Know Basis

[Darth Strosius]

The Outer Rim held no shortage of scum and villainy, of rumors and mysteries, of adventurers and criminals.

Amidst the various planets that housed criminal underbellies in their own right lay stations hidden away from common patrol routes but just close enough to the hyperlanes to allow for ease of access to passersby. Kazo Station was one such rest stop, a mining colony turned criminal den where smugglers and pirates alike could go to spend their ill-gotten gains without fear of authorities coming down on them. It was a safe haven for scum of all kinds. Little did they know how easily their sanctum could be infiltrated.

With the Sith Order now back on the galactic stage the need to keep tabs on rumors and leaks about the return of the Sith, having spies set up all across the Outer Rim was integral for that. And as such whenever one of those spies caught wind of some pirate gang blabbing and blathering on about some supposedly ancient Sith relic that they had recently found and sold off, the Sith were alerted accordingly.

Alisteri was not one to hesitate when asked to go pirate hunting.

The masked Sith sat outside of the little club that had once been the colony's bar, watching as the crowds of vagabonds and smugglers walked by and chatted to one another. Some were cutting deals, others were just slurring drunk promises and remarks, but none of them were the targets. No, the pirate gang in question was still enjoying their night in the club and Alisteri had been one of the two Sith dispatched to get the information about the relic out of them.

For the moment though he was just waiting and watching. Watching for his prey, and waiting for ally to appear.


Drane T'keen

 

[Drane T'keen]

Music IC

Spoiler

​

Music...from inside that club...
It’s faint if sitting outside of it.
Of this type of club, it is suited.
Deep beats, hums, also drums.

From the void, two Sith.
Two Knights—so joined.
On these station streets.
Knight Drane is crossing.

His partner sees him approaching.
A man in a crowd of loud sheep.
Within the herd, can’t be seen.
Yet a Sith senses Drane T’keen.

…In the wind…conversations…
…In his head…Drane listens…
…”Can we…just be…friends?”...
…”I don't know... But I hope.”...

A conversation between two.
Might keep listening, yet rude.
Besides, Drane has no time to.
On a mission, he must yet move.

Finally he appears as one man sits.
Drane stands by, hands on his hips.
Drane is dressed in his black coat.
Pants, boots; his skin’s grey though.

He had come here to do just as was bidden.
Pirates, he believes, are such crude villains.
They are unrefined swine without elegance.
So Drane T’keen, well, he may yet slay them.

“They’re inside then?”
Drane asks the guy.
Drane doesn’t necessarily look like a Sith.
Whether or not his fellow crimefighter did.

“They call themselves the Black Flags.”
Drane just then shrugs shoulders at that.
“So let’s be sure to wrap them all in black.
If it comes to it. I will settle for information.”

Whether for his accomplice this is an execution.
For Drane, he was imagining the truth of this relic.
Slaying pirates is ultimately a light workout for him.
An artifact is art for a fact, thinks the man of passion.

“Come.” Drane tilts his head after their discussion.
“First round is on me.” Whether or not Alisteri drinks.
Whatever he drinks. “What does a pirate drink? Rum?”
Drane’s grinning. Fond memories of rum and dead thugs.

They move inside the club. Purple strobe lights strum.
Black shadows cast at the flanks,—dark hues by plum.
Amid them, ears tune in, drums like hearts that thrum.
Bells ring round a deep sea of dancers within rhythm.

On the walls, Drane notices giant viewscreens.
Of gleaming speeders, purple black, on streets.
Whether racing, each one driving, dark windows.
Work all day, play at night, in streetlamp shadows.

Bars on the flanks of the club.
Of Black Fags, might find one.
Could be scattered on the floor.
And perhaps behind a VIP door.

“Go as one or split up?”
Drane’s arm comes up.
Finger pinches his chin.
“Whiskey? Or is it gin?”

They could start at the bar.
Or both could instead part.
To gather information on this relic.
"Our best bet is to find their captain."

Darth Strosius

 

[Darth Strosius]

Alisteri shifted as he felt the other Sith approach, moving to stand as someone stopped beside him. He was no stranger to being paired with Sith that he didn't know by now. Something about trying to increase inter-warlord cooperation or something like that. Not that he complained, any hand willing to help was gladly taken.

Unlike his temporary partner Alisteri was hardly concealing his nature as a Sith, his outfit marking him clearly as some dark scholar if not a Sith outright. The only step that he had taken in somewhat disguising himself was to leave his pauldrons which were emblazoned with a Sith sigil behind before he had set foot on the station. He didn't often try to hide who he was anymore, not seeing much point in it. If he could be seen then he meant to be seen.

"Indeed. They haven't left yet, not through the main entrance at least." He had been keeping tabs on the doors for awhile. "The Black Flags hm? How fitting." He chose not to respond on the fate of the pirates, although he had already decided what he would do with them.

There was only one fate that awaited pirates after all.

The masked man wasted no time in following after Drane, eager to get the information that they were after. "Whatever is cheap and available, or expensive and tasteful." Which question he was answering wasn't too clear. Of course he wasn't really affected by alcohol regardless given his biology but he didn't mention that.

Thankfully slipping into the club was easy with the few credits that Alisteri had already slipped the bouncers earlier to locate the pirates. His gaze swept over the dancing bodies and the popular screens before landing on the bar at the center of the club. Finding the pirates in this mess of people and music was going to be challenging.

"Split up. We'll meet back at the bar later if we don't see one another before then. Remember, they're going to be big spenders tonight so try and keep an eye out for anyone with more credits than they appear to have." He doubted that they would be grouped together, they wouldn't know that they were being hunted just yet. With any luck they'd be too inebriated or distracted to realize that fact until it was too late. "I'll see if I can find my way into the VIP area."

Drane T'keen

 

[Drane T'keen]

Music IC [Recurring]

Spoiler

​

So far, of his counterpart, Drane had no objections. He didn’t hesitate, this other man beside the first, and all the better to not get messed with if he was instantly pinned as a Sith.

However, Drane was not one to settle for the bottom of the barrel when it came to alcohol. He would take ‘expensive and tasteful’ over ‘cheap and available’ whether at a club or a pub with pirate gangs like the aptly named Black Flags.

Knight Haxim offers to split up, then, answers the other man’s suggestion. Knight T’keen, he’s the one, and with his companion they move as two. Splitting, separating, he nods his head in place of bowing it or saluting like an idiot.

“Big spenders. I’ll remember.”
Drane rubs his hands, grey black, charcoal skin amid a black jacket trimmed in gold.
“I’ll start at the bar.”

He moves along, that warrior of the red sun, walking through the throngs.
Amazing, that maze of them, waving arms and hips, shaking, vibrating.
Dancers, he can smell their sweat, glistening in the rhythm of the music.
Drane T’keen, taken in by them, by her face, lit in black purple lighting.

On the dance floor, no doors, just a sea of bodies, swaying and pulsating.
On another occasion, Drane may look back at a grave and maybe he made it.
At the bar, he finds a stool, gives the floor his back, the bartender’s head nodding.
“What’ll ya have?” Drane keeps cool, picks a poison, here for pleasure, not business.
“Bloody Bandit.” Too much? Maybe, but what’s a Sith if one can’t even have a bit of fun?

The bartender nods again, moves along then, comes back with a glass and hand and offers it to the man, that patron, Drane, who takes it and nods back and promptly touches the rim to his lips for a sniff, it's sweet like cherries, takes a sip but it turns into a long chug before the Sith can drink no more, not one sip in a single sitting whose setting he came to mingle in.

“Whew!”
The Sith wipes his lips, the Black Swordsman, and he might just clean the club’s floor of a few pirates too and more of them. For now, he blends in, as a guy speaks at his right.

“Tastes like juice.” He giggles. “Can sneak up on ya, too.”
Drane turns to him, smiling. “Yes, I reckon. Quite like death.”
“I guess.” The man shrugs, thick beard, a Human. “Or my ship.”

Darth Strosius