Cadmon Geller
Ashes to Ashes
Nar Shadda, Force Knows What Illicit Establishment, Force Knows What Ungodly Hour
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Sometimes, he had to take jobs he wasn't wild about, other times, he took small time work because the amoral atrocities-for-credits nature of mercenary groups in the wake of a major faction's fall had become more than he could handle. This was one of the latter. In recent times, Geller had begun to rediscover the worst weakness years of training had tried to drum out of him.
His humanity.
Cadmon had considering joining a band of ex-Stormtroopers calling themselves The Lost, the pay was good, and it was a chance to be among those who understood again. But they'd take work from anyone with the credits, even the Sith, and after Kashyyyk he had written off the idea of ever being able to come near them again, unless he was intending to kill. Potentially massacring innocents for profit was something he couldn't stomach anymore.
But pulling guard duty in a chithole like Nar Shadda for a half bit arms dealer? He could stomach that for now. Wasn't like he couldn't kill the fat Toydarian if he found some more morality buried deep inside, the idiot didn't even bother to check on what his security detail was actually doing on their shifts.
He, for one, had passed the time with a bottle and stimsticks, same as always. He was on hour three, and the Gamorean who'd been standing at the other side of the door had just left, some new guy on their way to take his place. Geller prayed they didn't talk, so many of them just talked on and on, rudely interrupting his paid brooding.
Sighing deeply, he took a drag from the stimstick, inhaling deeply before breathing out the smoke into the nighttime air, his eyes locked and the fifteen-hundreth holocast showing Coruscant in ruin, his heart sinking with each update to the colossal body count for a reason he either couldn't, or wouldn't explain.
[member="Kole Harper"]
_________________________________________________________________________________
Sometimes, he had to take jobs he wasn't wild about, other times, he took small time work because the amoral atrocities-for-credits nature of mercenary groups in the wake of a major faction's fall had become more than he could handle. This was one of the latter. In recent times, Geller had begun to rediscover the worst weakness years of training had tried to drum out of him.
His humanity.
Cadmon had considering joining a band of ex-Stormtroopers calling themselves The Lost, the pay was good, and it was a chance to be among those who understood again. But they'd take work from anyone with the credits, even the Sith, and after Kashyyyk he had written off the idea of ever being able to come near them again, unless he was intending to kill. Potentially massacring innocents for profit was something he couldn't stomach anymore.
But pulling guard duty in a chithole like Nar Shadda for a half bit arms dealer? He could stomach that for now. Wasn't like he couldn't kill the fat Toydarian if he found some more morality buried deep inside, the idiot didn't even bother to check on what his security detail was actually doing on their shifts.
He, for one, had passed the time with a bottle and stimsticks, same as always. He was on hour three, and the Gamorean who'd been standing at the other side of the door had just left, some new guy on their way to take his place. Geller prayed they didn't talk, so many of them just talked on and on, rudely interrupting his paid brooding.
Sighing deeply, he took a drag from the stimstick, inhaling deeply before breathing out the smoke into the nighttime air, his eyes locked and the fifteen-hundreth holocast showing Coruscant in ruin, his heart sinking with each update to the colossal body count for a reason he either couldn't, or wouldn't explain.
[member="Kole Harper"]