Red Hutt Moon

[Armand Temi]

Most of the time Rabozz the Hutt enjoyed conducting his business in his sprawling Undercity home, but tonight he and his entire entourage would be at the Golden Nautolan Casino.

Formerly owned by the Red Raven crime syndicate, though the current owners were a mystery, ones that plagued Rabozz as he prided himself on knowing everyone, his stubby, wrinkled index finger on the throbbing pulse of nefarious activity throughout the Smuggler’s Moon.

The Hutt had rented an entire upper floor and established his base of operations for that night near a poolside lounge on the rooftop of the casino where the glittering, neon view of the crowded city scape could be appreciated by all. Especially by those who could not easily leave the side of Rabozz like Rausvas.

While she wasn’t his slave, the Sith pureblood was a mere lackey, and the Hutt was her lifeline to credits which she needed to remain on the planet. Otherwise she’d have to go back to Ziost, back to the caste system of her community, back to her job as an archivist. I did love my job, she thought, but the galaxy holds more excitement than a dusty, Sith library bathed in the lowest lighting imaginable.

Dressed in a slinky white dress which offset her red skin, causing it to become more vibrant than it already was, Rausvas would serve in whatever capacity Rabozz needed her, likely running drinks out to his revolving door of cretins and “business” associates. She stood to the side next to a female Woostoid and a green Twi’lek dancer, of which there was no shortage. She held no illusions that her boss kept her around for anything but her exotic crimson skin.

[member="Noviac Caligo"]

 

[Noviac Caligo]

Nar Shadaa had been an amazing hellhole already; murder, mayhem - Noviac would be lying if he said he wasn't impressed. He wasn't necessarily comfortable, or enjoying his time anymore, but he could certainly respect the sheer chaos in of itself that rumbled through the streets on a seemingly daily occurrence. But, now, it was his time to step into the spotlight; he'd been here for about a few weeks, hiding out from some very particularly nasty people on his trail - all thanks to, yes, Rabozz the Hutt. How this happened wasn't a necessarily interesting tail: Nova had retired from piracy on the planet, at least temporarily, and had generously flaunted this payday in front of the obese slug - that was, after he ran into trouble with him first. That was another story altogether. But, convinced that sponsoring this rogue's stay on the crime planet would ultimately lead to a greater payday, Rabozz had hosted his presence happily, and greedily - often prodding him for the delivery of his promised "riches." Maybe he wasn't the brightest, maybe he was too trusting - but the truth was, Noviac hadn't a single credit left to his name.

And, after a few nights of adventure, he was convinced that his stay on the illustrious party planet was just about over.

So here he was, all dressed up; he looked just like another mercenary. Why was he approaching Rabozz like this, you may ask? Why not just bolt at the soonest opportunity and vanish, like he had so many times before? Well, the reason was that, it turns out, maybe the hutt wasn't so stupid: before being turned loose under his watchful, wide, and wildly-rolling eye, he confiscated a few items from the outlaw, most importantly his rifle. Now, this thing wasn't special; hell, he could easily buy one better on the next chithole he stopped off at - but he held a particular sentimentality over his equipment. Maybe the hutt sensed it. Maybe Rabozz was following some other logic with his decision. Nova didn't care, he just wanted it back; yes, he was allowed to carry a sidearm, some cheap pistol they tossed at his feet before he lumbered out the door. He was ready to use it, too; yeah, despite the small fact of being outnumbered seemingly one-hundred to one. Not just the body guards either, other lowlifes, mercenaries, and bounty hunters loved to flock to these crimelords parties, eager to earn favor; hell, if he pulled out his gun, he'd be doing them a favor.

He laughed, finding that thought pretty funny; even he was nervous in a situation like this - he needed to blow off steam somehow. Then again, it must've looked pretty awkward; he was standing directly in front of Rabozz now, all eyes on him; and there he stood, laughing like an idiot. The thought made him laugh harder and, tugging away his helmet with a soft pop, he wiped a tear from his eye with a prodding finger. "Ah," he said, "Sorry, just thought of something funny." He shook his head. "So, Rabozz, I think my stay is just about over, wouldn't you?" His eyes darted around, from the dancers - to the body guards; they lingered momentarily on a crimson-skinned woman in a white dress, lingering by the slug's side. Strange, he thought, offering her a curt nod and looking elsewhere. Is she Sith?

[member="Rausvas Sveni"]

 

[Armand Temi]

Bored and distracted, Rausvas examined her fingernails, the claws long and painted a silvery color, as she waited for something - anything to happen. But the night would likely crawl on slowly like Rabozz if he tried to move his hefty body from the dais on which he sat. She checked her chronos. Feth, it was too early in the night, so she selected a glass of champagne from one of the silver trays that floated by her courtesy of a serving droid.

One of the guests removed his helmet. This was a man that Rausvas had seen come and go throughout her stay, but he seemed a little antsy tonight. After asking Rabozz if his stay was over, he gave her a polite nod, which she returned.

Rabozz chuckled and in a deep baritone, speaking completely in Huttese, he said, “Rausvas, bring that man a drink. He’s just getting started. As for leaving. Well, we will see about that later. But for now, it’s time to celebrate!”

Despite the serving droids and the casino waitresses, all Nautolan, wearing server outfits, but their amphibious skin spray painted in gold body paint, Rabozz expected the Sith pureblood to serve drinks. With a sigh she grabbed a glass of whisky off of the same droid’s serving tray, walked over to Mr. Caligo and thrust the drink into his hand.

"Gerti xok, sis galez buti tu'iea galas wo, Pateesa.*"

Realistically, Rabozz had gotten rid of about ten humans exactly like Mr. Caligo this week alone. Rausvas had nothing else to go on, except giving him a vague warning in a language he was likely to not understand.

*Drink up, this might be your last one, Patessa

[member="Noviac Caligo"]

 

[Noviac Caligo]

He didn't respond to that, instead taking the drinking and giving it a longing stare; that, and a quick whirl, watching his reflection swirl around in the dark liquid. He didn't speak Sith - well, he may have known a bit at some point, thanks to that damn hag, but he hadn't bothered to remember much, if at all; he probably knew a few curses and obscenities. He nodded in response to her and planted it, firmly, on the tray of another passing server girl without so much as throwing her a glance. Clearly he felt pretty suave about that, nodding in approval before taking his attention elsewhere, firmly ignoring [member="Rausvas Sveni"] for the time being. He slipped his helmet back on, which sealed with his collar with a dry hiss, completed with a pop, and hummed with a life of its own; then, taking a look around, tapped his temple. It was very clear the situation he was in: outnumbered, in a difficult environment - hell, for all he knew, Rabboz was already onto him, or at least planned to cut him short and take all of the supposed credits he had to offer. Cut him short, literally, that is.

Regardless, it was clear he'd need to make the first move.

That's when the whiskey came to mind again - at least in retrospect. He may have just given up and thought to drink himself to death at that point, but he had a pretty good idea, nonetheless - he just needed to find the right angle on it ... There, on the far side of the room. A private bar, laden with all the hoops and wire and tubes and ... damn, he didn't know what else to make of it. It was just a complicated mess, all filled out with neon lights, strange liquids, and people prancing about - most of them non-humans, of course; not that it mattered much, provided they weren't immortal. He wondered if that was possible for a moment. Probably not. His bicep tensed up against his body, his hand clawing at the air, then balling into a tight, shaking fist; he was struggling momentarily, until he felt the click - a sudden dull hum seeming to emanate from him as he reached out ... and if he saw anyone looking, particularly the Sith, he'd break away into a feigned stretch of the arm.

It had already done its job, however; a small glass of whiskey shot from one side of the bar to the other like a bullet, exploding into a downpour of glass shards against the leathery forehead of a particularly unfortunate weequay drowning his sorrows, eyes on the counter. He, too, shot up like a bullet when the pain hit him, deep cuts running along his brow calling forth waves of blood which washed down his face, trickling into thick streams which poured off the contours of his face to the ground like a thick syrup. Drunkenly, he pulled his blaster and, first, slammed it down on the table, eyeing the shocked crowd until he picked his target - a rodian, casually lingering at the far end of the bar, sipping on some blue milk. Then, the barrel was pointed at him, shaking ever so slightly with expelled rage quite evident in the twisted expression on the gangster - it looked quite terrifying beneath the veil of blood. "Coo dun tru da?" he barked in huttese; he didn't seem to be taking it that well.

"How many are going to die?" asked Nova, his fierce, helmeted gaze wearing down on the Sith; it was a bit out of character - to antagonize someone. Then again, he wasn't quite sure if that's what he was doing in the first place. On some level, he recognized something within he - maybe he felt sympathy? Maybe he recognized ambition, or anger; perhaps he just wanted to spice things up a little, try something new ... give this shootout a little protagonist, so he wouldn't feel all bored and pointless when the fat slug bit the bullet. No, he figured, it was just a whim. He asked that again, adding: "How many deserve to die, do you think?"

"How many do you want to die? How many do you think want to die?"

 

[Armand Temi]

Rausvas shrugged as the man placed the whiskey glass down. If he didn’t want to get completely plastered before dying that was his choice. The Sith female planned to make sure she would not feel any pain before her death via glitterstim or some other sublime spice. In fact she had a few thick lines of ryll waiting for her in one of the VIP booths, courtesy of Lenny the Weequay who likely wanted to grope her knee as she snorted the delicacy.

She nearly turned on her heel to leave, but a crash stopped her in her tracks and Rausvas saw that her spice supplier had been hit with some kind of glass projectile. The whiskey was no longer on the serving tray.

With a half smile she turned back to the man, as it always slightly amused her when violence broke out around Rabozz, which it often did. She assumed her own thirst for conflict coursed through her veins, ingrained in her pureblood DNA though the red-skinned Sith was not trained in any weapons, nor hand to hand combat like her siblings had been.

Suddenly the man turned on her, asking her to choose who lived and who died.

“Is it up to me to decide?” she asked in Basic now so he would understand, her voice trembling slightly with the shock of being part of this man’s exit strategy.

Coming closer she leaned into his helmet where she assumed his ear would be and whispered, “All of them deserve to die.”

[member="Noviac Caligo"]

 

[Noviac Caligo]

Blasters drew in the bar - multiple groups, cliques, individuals, allies, friends, enemies; all sorts of criminal tensions unfolded like a budding flower until nearly everyone in the room had a pistol pointed at their head, while the Hutt gave a jolly ol' laugh somewhere at the far end. To be honest, as Noviac often wished: things had gone a little more dramatic than expected. Maybe words have that kind of magic. Who knew? However, the once exotic and energetic scene had devolved into a tense standoff; hell, for one reason or another a couple guys had their sights trained on him - he hadn't even done anything. He raised both hands slowly, his fingers curling - they clawed at the air for a brief second, then it all went south: boom, the weequay's gun went off, before his finger touched the trigger. Nova's fingers danced again, a shot fired from within a zabrak's holster - the bolt biting through his thigh and popping out the knee, sending him to the ground screaming. A cacophony of blaster fire shelled out like rainfall herein, sparks flying as walls crumpled into fractured cinders of smoldering rubble and lights flickering as shots bounced between them, severing the lamps which fell to the ground, shattering on impact.

"One."

Noviac, calm as anyone would be in such a situation, flung his hands down in a flat wave, the blasters of his current assailants following suit in telekinetic fashion, firing at the floor before being flung out of their hands. Spinning, Nova drew his own blaster, capping off a few shots at their heads, leaving little more than split skulls, pouring out smoke and ash like a wicked cauldron; screams echoed out, he fired a wild shot into the crowd before reaching out to the Sith, laughing all the way. "Two, three." He paused, another cry echoed out. "Four."

"Five, six, seven - well, you asked for it; better hide, unless that body count includes you."

And with that, he fired again, before shoulder-tackling some wayward bounty hunter to hit the floor with a groan. In a moment's notice, Nova was on top; he delivered a sound punch to the cheek and a elbow to the kidneys before rolling over. Blasterfire rained down on him, where the bounty hunter, dazed, laid sprawled out like a blanket; shielded with the body, he threw his own blaster at [member="Rausvas Sveni"]'s feet and hijacked that of his cover - some elongated rifle, which he propped up against his shoulder and the crook of the corpse's neck. He took a shot, tearing the head off some poor, distraught slave that wandered carelessly into his line of fire; Noviac offered only a silent pause to this - then, disturbingly enough, a shrug. She said they all deserved to die, after all. He used his feet to kick back, sliding along the floor with the body along for the ride like a shield, eating rounds and leaving a horrific streak of blood across the polished floor, where more and more bodies continued to drop. One by one. "Twenty-three, twenty-four..."

"Twenty-seven."

 

[Armand Temi]

The scene began to resemble a Holo western with guns pointed, triggers cocked, the wail of a Twi’lek dancer and then pure silence.

No, Lenny don’t you dare shoot first, thought Rausvas.

But it was too late. Lenny shot first as expected. He was a jumpy little mudcrutch always on some kind of stim or another. Rausvas, who only had a vibrodagger strapped to her crimson leg for protection, dove under one of the large round unoccupied sabacc tables. While she was highly untrained in the use of the Force, she may have been the only one in the entire casino who could tell the man was Force sensitive and was now enhancing his attack with telekinesis or a similar skill.

As he counted, she realized he planned to kill the entire populace of the Golden Nautolan, including her if she didn’t speak up.

“Don’t kill Rabozz!” she shouted, yellow eyes flicking to the blaster which skidded to where she crouched. “I still haven’t gotten my credit chit for this week.” She’d deal with the fallout later if Rabozz were to survive. Unintentionally, it now appeared that the pureblood Sith was in on the man’s kamikaze mission to get out of the casino alive.

Rausvas fumbled with the blaster. Feth, I’m no good at this. Spent too much time in the Ziost archives or in slinky dresses looking presentable for a Hutt.

“Get out of here!”’ she shouted to the man. “You’ve already cost me my job, if not my life.” Not to mention Lenny the Weequay who gave her a fraking good deal on spice.

No Rausvas didn’t have a death wish, nor would she let him toss her over his shoulder caveman style and “rescue” her from the den of sybaritism. She was determined to get a paycheck.

[member="Noviac Caligo"]

 

[Noviac Caligo]

Caligo rolled the corpse over, heaving onto his feet through a backwards roll; he fired off another shot, clipping a pirate in the elbow. He wasn't listening - sure, he heard her, but again, he wasn't listening; fine, alright, Rabozz lives. However, he wasn't about to leave a hunting party at his back; even if Lenny gave in to whatever fumbling notion that violence trumped all, he was a scapegoat - he'd killed far more members of the court than Lenny ever hoped to. Once they calmed down, they'd be looking to blame someone; here, now, in this confusion, he had a chance to end it. Thanks, Lenny. He glanced over - there was Lenny, dead, the cap of his skull gone. Rest in peace, Lenny. A strong tingle teased the back of his neck, tensing up his spine; on instinct, he rotated into a spin that brought him to a kneel - rifled raised up in both hands. The Force had saved him again, the stock of his weapon catching the neck of an vibro-axe just inches below the head, already seeping with gore. The gamorrean who swung it paused in shock, just for a moment - a moment, too long, allowing Noviac to parry, throwing it back with its own weight, causing it to topple to the floor.

"Now this is a celebration," he said, in between heavy pants - a celebration and a hell of an exercise. "The only people getting out of here are the ones who kill the rest. That's how the Galaxy works!"

A bounty hunter in a shambled assembly of scavenged mandalorian armor stepped back into him thoughtlessly, aiming at the air, and before he could react, he was disarmed by Noviac - who dodged a wayward bolt, which nailed a column a hair's worth overhead. Grabbing his wrist, he bent it back with a crack, forcing the blaster from his hand, and sent him tumbling, and screaming, over the hobbling gamorrean, who was just now rising to his feet, knocking them both to the floor. He crouched, picking up the bulky pistol, only to earn a shot - his first one during the brawl, to the shoulder, causing him to roar with pain - the first of many, as a fist collided with the nose of his helmet with a crunch and sent him spinning to the ground. A hulking figure stood overhead, one which Noviac could read very well - think who reveled in the battle, the fighting; one who enjoyed taking lives with fists alone. That sort of guy, dressed in nothing but in a disturbingly revealing, gladiatorial loincloth and a caged helmet, through which eyes, glittering with bloodlust. Yeah, his fists were caked in scraps of skin and dripping blood, knuckles bruised from pounding skulls - the last person Noviac wanted to get this close to him.

"Damn it."

[member="Rausvas Sveni"]

 

[Armand Temi]

Obviously the human had a death wish, but he did stop short at killing Rabozz. It would probably be better for both of their lives if he actually had assassinated the Hutt, but at this moment, all Rausvas could contemplate was where her next meal would come from - which just so happened to be the crab-stuffed creampuffs, which were scattered across the floor because of the disturbance. The Golden Nautolan was famous for those as well as the Karkan ribenes. I was really fething looking forward to those.

As the makeshift gladiator approached, Rausvas finally released the safety from the blaster, pointed - first at his head, but realizing he had a helmet, she unleashed a torrent of bolts at the male’s torso, then down to his loincloth - ouch that had to have hurt - and liberally peppered his thighs with particle beams. With a half-smile which displayed her pointed canines, she pointed the blaster towards a few more of Rabozz’s men and mowed them down as well. Her advantageous place under the table would only last so long, so she leapt out and raced toward the exit, finally hearing an evacuation siren which signaled danger to the rest of the casino.

“That means the rent-a-cops are comin',” hissed Rausvas. “C’mon.”

She wasn’t sure why she felt some affinity towards this man or cared whether he lived or died. But it seemed that he’d come too far now to be killed by some idiot narc or worse a security droid and as long as Rabozz didn’t suspect that she was behind this sudden anarchy, she was determined to help him survive.

[member="Noviac Caligo"]

 

[Noviac Caligo]

He watched the figure tumble to the ground, head-first, body riddled with smoldering holes that bled sparking smoke; he paused a moment, the reality of the pain in his shoulder throbbing, burning for a mere moment before slowly pulling himself to his feet, in the middle of this firefight. A blaster report resounded again, the bolt narrowly scraping past his leg and hitting the wall behind him. Thank the Force for armor. As sirens blared throughout the casino, he brandished the now-vacant bounty hunter's pistol and took a wild shot - rather than a beam of plasma energy, it projected a whistling cord that thrust through the air and anchored itself in the scalp of an unsuspecting gran; its eyes bulged, hands groping to the back of its skull before Nova overcame his shock - who'd honestly expect this, out of everything, after all - and hit the secondary trigger, letting go, allowing the hefty tool to reel itself in. Its motor screeched as it sailed across the room, whirling wildly towards the injured alien, who, caught by the force, had begun to topple, until it slammed into him, hitting its initial projectile like a hammer to a pick, and providing that fatal, gushy push into its skull, after which he collapsed without a word.

"Did you see that?" shouted Noviac with a laugh, now brandishing a stool and promptly snapped off the seat over the crown of a downed pirate, moaning for mercy on the floor. Wielding its bent spine by the legs, he threw his body behind it, and in a running tackle impaled another gangster, who wailed, sending them both crashing to the floor in a spray of blood; catching himself into a roll, he popped upright into a run, making headway towards the Sith. As much fun as he was having, for once in his chaotic existence, she was right; an all-out firefight was fun and all, but when an organized party came in, everyone was either getting shot or arrested; he wanted to experience neither, for- This thought was cut off by the sudden arrival of a balled, plated fist that caught him on the cheek and sent him sailing; his life flashed before his eyes as his helmet imploded from the sheer impact, visor shattering out as his eyes met the naked bloodbath for the first time - only sideways, then upside down. He was spinning through the air until a wall gently caught him at the expense of the air in his lungs, forcing a gasping cough from his throat once he had come to a rest on the floor.

He had no idea what the hell had hit him, nor did he intend to find out; instead, he scrambled for an overturned table, intending to collect his bearings; he didn't have a weapon now, much to his disappointment, and he was certainly seeing stars. What didn't help was the table's subsequent explosion as a security droid kicked forward, pursuing its target; it had the works: shock baton, riot shield - none of these equipped of course - they remained stuck to its back as it brandished a rifle. Maybe those were for the normal goons - but it clearly had Noviac zeroed out as a target scheduled for permanent removal from this plane of existence. It fired, he rolled, and took off towards the door, shouting all the way until it was mere meters in front of him, Rausvas not even that. Another bolt of energy hit his back, and he tumbled, again catching himself into a lop-sided, lumbering roll, followed by a few shaky steps. "Rent-a-cops, huh? Give me the blaster, we're getting out of here -" A shot was fired, hitting just above their heads in yet another shower of sparks. "And let's go, before they see you with me!"

[member="Rausvas Sveni"]

 

[Armand Temi]

Since Rausvas didn’t have even a light set of armor on her lithe frame, she wasted no time running to the exit, watching as the man began to extract himself… sprinting past the whizzing bolts, the alarm clanging and now sprinklers? Yes, sprinklers began to spray down upon the scene, water mixing with the blood on the floor causing a serving droid to slip and fall and an almost comical fashion.

If the pureblood Sith had any humor left in her for this night, she would have laughed, but she was sore and exhausted and scared out of her mind. She hated to think of how the mercenary felt as he was much worse for wear.

“Are you done with your fun here?” she hissed. “I’m going to have to explain this to Rabozz somehow.” He constantly threatened to sell her to the Sith-organization-flavor-of-the-week, and one day she feared he would make good on that promise. A Hutt always kept a promise if it inconvenienced others.

“I should have grabbed Lenny’s ryll before we left,” Rausvas muttered to herself, making no effort to hide that she would enjoy snorting a feth-ton of the opiate like drug right now. Especially now that her heart was racing in her chest. She noticed the man limping. “Even the hospitals are corrupt on this fripping hunk of rock. We should go to a safe house and get you patched up. C’mon, there’s one a couple levels down.”

Perhaps they’d get lucky and find a safe house with a built-in spice dealer too.

[member="Noviac Caligo"]

 

[Noviac Caligo]

Broken into a wild sprint, it wasn't terribly difficult for Noviac to catch up as peeled the fractured remnant of his helmet away - that which still clung to the frame, resting on his face - and discarding it to the floor. Finally, with one last frustrated heave, he popped the entirety off; wielding it by the hem, he shattered what did remain upon the face of a passerby - pirate or patron, everyone was in the Hutts' pockets at this planet, he figured. He never stopped to check, though. The entire ordeal was a mess - blood mixing with water caking the room, flowing out into the hall; sirens blared, fires were probably raging, too; hell, there was probably an earthquake and a tsunami, for all he cared. "That was an awesome rent-a-cop! It almost tore my face off," he lamented - which, on que, was followed by a few short shots from behind, which railed along the hallway, forcing him to attempt to grab her by the arm and haul her into another haul - that droid still marching after them, firing off with aforementioned stormtrooper accuracy using whatever fantastic targeting system was endowed upon it by its masters in the case of such severe emergencies like these.

"RENT-A-COP!" he repeated, marching into the new turn - one which brought them (or him, should she stay behind) into a vacant lobby, one cast in eerily red incandescence as crimson emergency lights flared amidst the roaring alarms, flickering off the domed roof. Tables and chairs were flipped over, splitting into a view which fielded a massive, glass window which overlooked the nearby Promenade, which was alight with response teams scurrying by heaven and earth to secure the chaos within the casino. It was probably seconds until they hit this floor and swarmed it, and they - well, he would be dead, if that automaton didn't get to him first; he could hear its heavy, metallic footfalls colliding with the floor - its shadow peaking past the frame of the entryway. He reached for his hip - oh, yeah, she had it. Elevators lined the walls, but the darkness of the room indicated that it would likely result in a failed attempt, back riddled with blasterholes; alternatively, jumping out the window didn't seem that safe of an option either. OR they could run out and get shot of their own accord - the you can't fire me because I quit, spit-in-the-face-of-the-reaper sort of trick. He liked that.

Instead, wherever the Sith stood, he shouted a question - either to her, or maybe just himself; it didn't matter, it seemed equally hopeless: "What the hell are we going to do, now?" A dramatic statement, one which was followed by a particular viscous expletive, which, in any other occasion, might have shocked himself with the severity. Naturally, however, he was a bit preoccupied at the moment.

[member="Rausvas Sveni"]

 

[Armand Temi]

[youtube]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2Xdov_B-cQg[/youtube]​

Something seemed a little… off with the man, but then again, Rausvas didn’t profess to know much about the peculiarities of the human species. A different sense of smell and taste, a temper as red hot as her bright skin, her own heritage had been steeped in war since human exiles “discovered” them on the bleached deserts of Korriban. Sharp incisors mixed incongruously with shapely lips, the pert nose below jaundice-hued eyes... human, yet not at all.

The stomping of an automaton's mechanical feet broke her out of her thoughts. “For someone with excellent aim you really don’t move very fast,” she huffed. Kicking off her silvery heels, Rausvas grabbed the man’s hand and yanked him along as though he was a tardy, hapless boyfriend. Her grip and pull was much stronger than her lithe body betrayed, the sinewy muscles also part of her pureblood frame.

“What’s your story anyway? What did you do to piss off Rabozz so much?” The red-skinned alien slipped down a passage that cat walked over to the other side of the Nar Shaddaa street and then punched a lift to take the pair of fugitives to one of the lower levels of the city-planet. The glow lamp in the lift flickered threatening to plunge the pair in darkness as rolling blackouts plagued this area of the city. Especially as you went down to the bottom levels.

Exiting, Rausvas pointed to the safe house, a structure that looked neither safe nor like a welcoming house, but once inside she negotiated with a couple of Sullustan thugs. “This one will treat your wounds if you have few credits to spare.”

[member="Noviac Caligo"]

 

[Noviac Caligo]

“For someone with excellent aim you really don’t move very fast,” she huffed.

"Well, for starters, movement and aiming require different muscles; it would be poor judgement to assume they had any correlation."

The situation had all begun out of necessity; not out of may different facets of necessity, either - just a pure reason. He needed to hide.

"So for a reason and -slash- or another, I found myself seeking the inner circle of Rabozz the Hutt; and I did so," he said with a jolly tone, cracking on the occasion with each step, betraying the pain laced within body. "... By pretending to be a particular bounty hunter by the name of Suro'sus; some really high-and-mighty guy who brags a lot about a bunch of heads he's made roll. A friend of a friend, of a friend. Swished my tail feathers a bit in front of the slug, maybe mentioned that I was looking for work; boom, looking at me like he looks at those half-naked twi'leks he's got swinging them lekku 'round the place. And ... maybe I got into a bit of trouble with one of the Cartel's top hounds. And maybe we hit it off in the middle of a stand-off between a couple Jedi and his goons. And maybe I got recognize, and word traveled a bit fast; and the Hutt may have been planning to kill me.

"Actually, on that note, I should've shot him; I can go do that later, actually - I don't feel fit to walk back in there right this moment," he said dryly, eyes darting between the googly-eyed freaks of nature to which she spoke. One was already stepping back to gather whatever medical supplies they had stashed, the other walked over gingerly and extended his hands - for what Nova understood as payment. Begrudgingly, he discarded his holster, that of very expensive leather (one of Rabozz's gifts, emblazoned with his crest - a fact which he neglected to mention), into his hold which he stowed away greedily. "Okay, alright; now let's get me patched up for round two. This party's just getting started."

[member="Rausvas Sveni"]

 

[Armand Temi]

As Rausvas listened, her focus was half on one of the Sullustans, the one not treating Caligo’s wounds, and half on the company she had inherited for the night. She nodded to the alien, and he shuffled to one of the back rooms, his footsteps becoming fainter, signaling a labyrinthine safe house with levels and levels.

“That sounds… complicated,” she said flashing her pointed teeth, which almost glowed against the dark of the house and her red skin.

Rausvas arched a stalked eyebrow at the mention of party. “That’s the spirit, eh loca beesga*? Music to my ears.”

Despite her innate craving for conflict as most purebloods had inside, encoded by either nature or nurture, the Hutt attendant was an anomaly. It wasn’t as if the thirst for blood was not there, coursing through her veins; it’s that she hadn’t tapped into it yet.

“Well, a little thing about Rabozz is that despite his bluster, he’s a cowardly slug. No doubt he’ll have triple the security for awhile. Besides I need my job. Unless you are prepared to hire me, I need that Hutt alive.”

Rausvas flopped down on a dirty couch with torn-up cushions as though scratched by a tusk cat. Something slithered over her red feet but then ran into a hole in the wall. “We can party here, once he brings back my ryll.”

*Crazy fool in Huttese

[member="Noviac Caligo"]

 

[Noviac Caligo]

"Well, under any normal circumstances, I would be inclined to agree; however, Rabozz still has my guns," said Noviac.

"What - hey, hold on; that isn't what I meant by party. I still need to deal with the issue at hand: Rabozz wants me dead, now more than ever. Just - no, no hiring; I need the Cartel off my back or they're going to bite me in the ass later."

The other sullustan returned, tossing the man a small medical pact, consisting of a great deal of haphazard tubing (which he suspected was a makeshift addition), bacta cartridges, needles - truly, the whole works. "The Hutt needs to get dealt with. Unless you want the lose end of your cooperation dangling in front of him like a worm on a hook - that's your choice. You can take your ryll and party with him, I'm sure he'll have something in mind; all it takes is a brief overview of the security tapes, or a debriefing from that droid; you can bet that spice addiction of yours that you'll be in the same shoes as me." Awkwardly, he began to work at his back, applying the bacta without second thought; he didn't care about disinfection at this point. He was going to get back on his feet and finish this, one way or another; once he was off Nar Shaddaa he could visit a real hospital. And then run from his bills, again.

"So here's how I see it: we either hurry up, figure out how we're both either getting off of this planet, or find a way back in there. Otherwise, we're just waiting to die."

[member="Rausvas Sveni"]

 

[Armand Temi]

For all of Rausvas’s aloofness and predatory coldness, her yellow eyes lifted to Caligo, displaying a wistful sadness and in a layer behind that, real terror, perhaps of being left alone either for the night, or just generally on Nar Shaddaa.

She shook her head slowly, sinking further into the shabby couch, allowing the Sullustan to rest his small hand upon her knee.

“I can’t go back there. I’ll find some way to make it up to Rabozz… if he lives through the night.”

He’s probably right, you know. That merc executing your boss is the best possible outcome in this situation.

But due to fear or foolishness or the attractiveness of the ryll which was now being shoved into a makeshift pipe by the spice dealer besides her, she felt rooted to the sofa as though a tractor beam held her in place.

In a low growl, born out of frustration, she hissed through gritted canines, “Just go.”

A momentary blackout cast the four of them into darkness, and all Caligo would be able to see was Rausvas’s glowing reptilian eyes, the lids becoming heavy and finally closing as she inhaled the ryll from a hookah pipe.

[member="Noviac Caligo"]