[PbP] At The Edge

[The Overseer]

Place: Nar Shadda - Lower Slums - Endalata Estate
Time: 09:56 (Evening)


...Weeks it had been. Weeks of waiting till the time had come to show up at the Endalata house, where a 'Most Lucrative Job Offer' was being offered to 'Those Daring Enough to Take on Anyone For the Right Amount'...

...or something like that.

The details got muddled between each retelling. Handlers, Fences, Thugs and Enforcers alike got some of the details mixed up. Maybe it was on purpose, maybe it was just how information was generally handled-one thing for certain though-Lady Endalata was looking for some hired hands to do a job, for some good money.

Anyone who had spent some time in the Lower Slums over the last few galactic standard months would have at least heard of her name. Having risen from a lowly courtesan to a lower mob boss, certainly wasn't ignorable. Her methods were what made her so famous to those searching for such information: She liked to take out her competition, and absorb their assets over pleasant negotiations.

Still, she was a small fry in the big bowl, doesn't mean she couldn't pay out good.


It was at least an hour before the actual offer time was up, but outside the estate...it was for lack of a better word, a mad house. Thugs, Enforcers, Duelists, Scoundrels of all walks, Mercenaries-any and all vocations you could think of, could be seen waiting to get their chance at getting paid the big bucks for a supposedly up and coming boss. Atop of that, it seems some enterprising merchants had setup shop outside just to vendor to this bunch, especially drinks of the alcoholic sort.

As for the Estate itself, it was unbelievably well kept for its location. Everything was polished. And the doors to the inside were gold and red. Guess she liked to have some flair.

Spoiler: Tags, Related RP and OOC Links

Tags:
[member="Razelle Breuner"] [member="Djark Slove"] [member="Fable Merrill"] [member="Damion Zenora "][member="La'kuus Quelin"]


OOC section:
http://starwarsrp.net/topic/74794-ooc-pbp-at-the-edge/

Related RP: WARNING - Do not read if you want to go in completely blind OOCly, as there is some spoilers. Also my writing is atrocious.

http://starwarsrp.net/topic/74371-an-inn-in-an-in/page-6

 

[Fable Merrill]

Fable didn't normally go for mercenary work. She got enough fighting in on her normal job and, truth be told, got enough of it off of the clock, too. Even now, standing around outside the gates, Fable was preparing for something to happen. Some drunk would decide she looked a little bit too much like an ex, or she'd get pulled into a brawl over something stupid. It always seemed to happen, and if something could happen, it would happen to her. And when it happened, it would interrupt her breakfast - some fried sort of bird nuggets. Fable wasn't the brightest woman in the Galaxy, but basic pattern recognition wasn't beyond her in the least.

Speaking of 'leasts', at least Razelle was here, too! That was a plus, no doubt about it. If there was anyone she'd trust having her back besides her mom, it was Razelle Breuner. Razelle had been trying to find lucrative work and make contacts or something, and although Fable really didn't think of the woman as being indebted to her or anything like that, she was more than happy to support her attempts to do what she so clearly loved to do.

Popping another glob of greasy poultry delight into her mouth, the sometimes-shockboxer cast a less worried eye around the throngs of ne'erdowells all around them. Why was she so worried? They were all here to try and get a lucrative job - especially Razelle. Getting into some sort of dogpile brawl would ruin those chances, and everyone likely knew that. No sense worrying about what wasn't likely going to happen, better to just enjoy the moment. Fable turned her head towards Razelle - who was likely drowning in sensory deluge right now - and offered a helpful smile. "You know, these are really good." Fable chirped, hoping to distract her fellow clone with a bit of pointless chatter until something happened. "Maybe I should get one of those frying things for the Pilgrim. What do you think?"

It was easy to love greasy food when your metabolism was a deliberately cultivated and masterfully manipulated machine designed to power a living engine of destruction, not that Fable knew or cared what Rave had done in making her past 'cloned me from somebody specific'.

 

[Damion Zenora]

It had been a while since Damion last visited Nar Shaddaa. In some aspects, it was an enjoyable homecoming. The streets had the same sour scent that they did when last he was there, which was quite recognizable since Damion had walked them a thousand times over. Even a few of the street-side thugs were recognizable to him. Every time he passed one of them, he would always make sure that they weren't following him. He was glad that he put on a coat that actually had a hood this time. He didn't want to repeat a previous mistake.

All of the galaxy's criminals and trash seem to stop by Nar Shaddaa every now and then. Some even stop by "for good". Damion wouldn't have come back here if it weren't for a particular high paying job offer that he heard about. This job was going to be the break through he needed. It was his possible opportunity to finally get rich. That would finally make his point to his family that he didn't need them and could do it all on his own. It also meant... you know, cha-ching.

Damion approached the estate only to witness a large bundle of big timers and wannabes. There were even vendors set up selling various products, including alcohol. Lucky bastards must be making a fortune with a crowd of this size. The hardest part of trying to get a job was the waiting, especially in a place like this. Damion had to be well aware of his surroundings to make sure no one approached him without his knowing.

Damion sighed, "Might as well fit in..." He went up to one of the vendors and bought a drink he was most familiar with and started sipping on it every now and then as he walked around memorizing the faces of some of the big time individuals.

Spoiler: Tags

[member="The Overseer"] [member="Fable Merrill"]

 

[La'kuus Quelin]

Huh. Money for a job. Sounds good.

La'kuus walked into this place not knowing what it was, except it had something to do with cash. That's all she needed to know. With every job came pay, and every job she walked out with the same thing. Pay and experience. This should be no different. With a deeply bored expression, La'kuus' eyes slowly roamed the building's face, then to the crowd.

She found herself suddenly one of the more quiet people of them. Suddenly with a boost of brave stupidity, she went around from pocket to pocket to hear what kind of weapon's people had. She didn't exactly like her current one, but that's what happens when you buy from mass marketing. So far, she wasn't having luck. No one had a weapon that suited her taste.

Disappointed and more bored than earlier, La'kuus waited outside the main area the both catch her breath and get away from the loud mouths.

 

[Davin Jusik]

People. An annoying, soul blustering, paranoia creating mass of cretins like himself. Fellows of the death for profit business. Well, pain more accurately. Not everyone there was a mercenary or hitman. Unlike other members of his over glorified profession Djark, the former burglar turned indentured soldier had absolutely no delusions about his work. He was a killer. He was a murderer. Putting a flag of a corrupt government before him did nothing to change the very nature of his job.

Not that it mattered terribly to the man, he only got a twisted enjoyment of informing other death dealers of their faults when their own deluded people raised them up in nationalistic "glory."

O' joy to those that end wretched life.

He glanced about at the others gathered as he smoked a cigarette quietly.

[member="The Overseer"]@La'kuus Quelin[member="Damion Zenora "][member="Fable Merrill"]