Private Rumors Spreading

[Saul Whesai]

Location: Midnight Oasis

Saul had been getting into the swing of things on the planet of Nar Shadda. It had been an adjustment getting used to his new workplace but the bartender had been kind enough to show him the ropes of making drinks for the various customers. It was nice to know what drinks might be delicious to one species and poison for another. The extra money and the company of the rest of the staff wasn't a bad thing either. Still, he wondered how long he could still his roaming before he decided it was time to move on.

It was getting close to the last call when the main bartender Dusty tapped him on the shoulder. "Sorry, Saul but can you close up tonight? Some of my old merc friends are meeting up and I wanted to join them" Saul hesitated before peer pressure made him say "Sure Dusty, I hope you have a good time." Closing itself wasn't bad as most of the customers who still had their senses knew the bar's owner and by extension, his staff weren't to be messed with and those who weren't could be pushed out the door easily enough. Still, even metal men can get sleepily and Saul was looking forward to getting to his bed. He waved back to his Drink Master as the older man left the bar, he hoped the the status quo would be the same tonight.

Itzhal Volkihar

 

[Itzhal Volkihar]

From the edge of the street, the Midnight Oasis blended seamlessly into the grimy exterior of the surrounding buildings, hidden beneath a kaleidoscope of pulsating neon lights and vibrant flickering advertisements that bloomed from every open space in an assault upon the senses. As hissing gasses from nearby pipes and machinery leaked into the air, shrouding everything in a dream-like haze that almost made up for the smell of spice and crowded masses. Only the faint glow of light from the doorway leading inside served to beckon the passerby, promising an escape from the electric barrage outside.

Stepping through the doorway, the Mandalorian emerged like a spectre, cloaked entirely in the firm embrace of Beskar that gleamed in shades of black and crimson under the dim light of the bar. His dull boots barely whispered against the cold floor, shrouded by the thrumming chaos of the outside world—carefree laughter, roaring voices and hectic brawls disappeared with the hiss of the door sealing shut.

Leaving the stranger amongst the midst of patrons, his steps louder in the silence that followed.

Click.

Around him, drinkers paused, holding still as if their movement would attract his attention.

Clack.

Another drank all the quicker, eager to finish their drink or just intent on one final drink if their luck turned sour.

Click.

With one final, deliberate step, he arrived at the polished metal bar. The slow, measured turn of his head was emphasised by the noticeable shift of his helmet, panning across the bar as it gleamed under the dim bar lights. Closer now, the infamous T-shaped visor obscured the intensity of his honed gaze as it moved from subject to subject until eventually, with a stiff conclusion, he came to a halt, "Saul Whesai?"

Tag: Saul Whesai​

 

[Saul Whesai]

The android's ears perked up as he heard the clanking metal steps of someone coming down the stair. Everyone knew what that sound meant, trouble. The Mandos didn't have a good repution and it was a coin toss whether you got one that would just take you in if you surrendered or would just tear you apart to save themselves the trouble. The armored warrior's boogeyman wasn't very good for buiness either. Given his own "difficult" history with one of their kind, he didn't blame the patrons for becoming uneasy at one showing up here. The only thing Saul could hope for is that his stay would be short.

Deathgripping the shotgun magincally locked to the bottom of the bar, Saul narrowed his eyes as the black and crimson warrior called him out by name. Ready to pull the shotgun from his resting place and to his shoulder, he said his words in a low passive aggressive tone that told the Mando he would atleast attempt to shoot his head off if this interaction went south. "Depends who's asking and what they want..." Here is to hoping this man wasn't a demon coming from the android's bloody past to haunt him.

Itzhal Volkihar

 

[Itzhal Volkihar]

"Itzhal Volkihar. I heard you're a decent starship mechanic. I also heard you're not an idiot," answered the Mandalorian as he lifted both hands away from his hips and the holsters that lingered there, a promise of violence withheld for the moment. In truth, he knew he could draw quicker than most sentients could blink. Sometimes, the gesture was more important than the silent truth. "The latter seems to be in short supply."

His helmet tilted to the side, Itzhal's focus centred on the android's uncertain posture and the weapon poorly concealed beneath the bar, which remained in a steel-like grip even as the Mandalorian continued his observation under the flickering lamp above. The dim light cast long shadows, accentuating the eerie luminescence of Saul's blue optics; their unnatural brightness a beacon in the murky atmosphere of the bar; shimmering like distant stars or a lighthouse in the mist, they caught the reflected glare from the Mandalorian's visor.

"Now, did I hear correctly, or should I be on my way?"

Tags: Saul Whesai​

 

[Saul Whesai]

So it was work the Mando wanted done then. Letting out a breath, he slowly took his hand off of his weapon and let his pulse slow down before answering. "I pretend to be decent at my profession of choice. As for the idiot part, there is always time to be that" Setting his hands on the table as the room slowly started to have some life again as the patrons calmed down around them, both of his neon blue eyes seemed to scan over his armor, trying to find any symbols or icons on it. The last thing he needed was to be servicing the ship of some bastard Neo-Crusader. Satisfied for the most part, he added, "Unless you want to give me the full specs and what you need to be repaired now, say the pad number and I'll meet you there in the morning say... 9? That agreeable to you...?"

Itzhal Volkihar

 

[Itzhal Volkihar]

Itzhal watched in silence as Saul, his face pale and gaunt with deep furrows around the eye sockets, exhaled a shaky breath that trembled with the weight of the room's tension, escaping his throat like a faulty pressure valve. The bartender's fingers, ghostly white and unhealthily thin, hovered hesitantly over the concealed blaster as if reluctant to sever their bond with the reassuring safety it provided. In the seconds that passed, Itzhal remained quiet, a silent vigil waiting for the younger man's response, whether positive or not. His T-Visor showed nothing of his thoughts as the other finally began to speak, their hands peeling away from the comfort of their weapon and into view of the Mandalorian.

Eventually, the rest of the bar calmed as patrons began to speak to each other in whispers picked up only faintly by the sensors in Itzhal's helmet, and hands drifted away from their blasters. All of which was visible from the camera displays in his HuD, though he made no allusion to his awareness of the few customers that remained focused on his presence, their gazes pointed at his back like daggers. There was only one symbol to differentiate Itzhal's armour, otherwise painted only in shades of black and crimson, from his fellow Mandalorians: a stylized icon of a snarling wolf with fangs shaped like daggers in stark white.

With careful movements that accentuated his right hand reaching for his belt rather than the grip of his pistols, Itzhal unveiled the presence of a small holo-comm. It clacked sharply against the bar table as he pulled his hand away, back towards his hip. "The details are inside."

Then, with another look around the room, the Mandalorian turned and left with only a few credits on the table and a holo-comm to remember him by.

Tags: Saul Whesai​

 

[Saul Whesai]

Filing away the wolf symbol to look up later to see what he could find on the holonet, he waited till the Mando had left to let out a sigh and slide the credits and the holo-comm into the apron he was wearing. He could tell this Mando was going to be a handful. He seemed to have less of a sense of humor than Mavo did which knowing her was saying something. As long as the armored warrior stayed out of his way though, there wouldn't be a problem.

Saul waited till he closed the bar and no one was around to open up the holo-comm and read its details. Knowing the little bit he did about Mandolarian's, this wouldn't just be a simple patch job. Otherwise, they wouldn't need to find him to fix whatever mess the starship had been left in. All he hoped was that he wouldn't have to tell Itzhal that it would be cheaper to buy a new ship than fix up his rust bucket.

Itzhal Volkihar

 

[Itzhal Volkihar]

The harsh streets of Nar Shadaa were as varied as they were dangerous; far from the neon nightmare of the entertainment districts, where credits spilt as frequently as blood on tacky street corners, Gorvax's Pit was a cramped array of docking bays located on the hundred and thirty-second floor of the infamous smuggler's moon. Chosen for what few security measures were available to those who needed to leave their vessel unattended, the main access route into the area was blocked by a sequence of security doors, accessible through a security key that changed as frequently as the patrons who used their service. The same security code that Itzhal had left on the details of his ship was valid only for an extra day.

Awaiting Saul as he checked on the chronometer, Itzhal leaned back into the comfort of his chosen chair, an old, rickety piece of metal that nonetheless had somehow worn the test of time, with dark scratches torn into the thick padding, which only seemed to add to the undeniable luxury the furniture had no right to possess. All of which was a rather handy benefit for the way it perfectly sat concealed by the firm bulk of a power converter situated on the other side of the hangar bay from his prized vessel, an IR-3F-class light frigate that lounged with pride despite the pockmarks that dotted across its hull from recent battles and centuries of repair work. None of that, though, had grounded the beautiful ship, which remained defiant despite the injuries that lurked beneath the surface due to a recent Bounty and their attempts to escape, not that it had done them much good in the end.

The aftermarket Hyperdrive had been damaged, ruined by a mixture of ion weaponry and a crash that turned boarding action, followed by shoddy workmanship from an engineer who had seen more potential in selling the ship than repairing it as initially agreed upon. The latter had been the reason for damage to the sublight engines and sensor tech, unfortunately for them, their credits would be going to repairs now rather than whatever salvage operation they'd intended.

Tags: Saul Whesai​

 

[Saul Whesai]

Carrying two giant spools of cable and with all the welding kit amongst the other gear he would need to get this job done in two duffle bags over his shoulders, Saul would walk up to the security doors right on time and set down the spools of cable to type in the security key. The android couldn't help but give a low whistle as he first saw the Light Frigate come into view. At first, he didn't know why the Mando had chose this ship to retrofit into his craft of choice. This was a lot of ship to handle, hell almost impossible for just one person to run and take care of. Maybe that's why Itzhal was outsourcing, he couldn't repair this ship all by himself and he didn't have the credits to have a proper shipyard yard look at his Lady's wounds. Well, he isn't out here to greet me so I best just get to work... Given the Mando's... posturing towards him and the rest of the bar last night, he didn't have the desire to speak to him. Thus being the only one here suited him fine. The faster he could get this job done the better and there was a lot of job to get done.

The first notice that Itzhal would have that the Android was here other than the entrance doors opening and shutting again was the sound of a plasma cutter against the ship's durasteel hull as Saul started to replace every piece of the damaged pieces of hull, welding on whatever patch material he had on hand. For the larger sections, he would have to order custom pieces but for now, it was a start. Stopping his work for a moment, he finished a music player out of one of his bags and set it up on a nearby work table, turning it on. In seconds, Gonk Rock was blaring from the player's speakers as Saul rocked out in his head, thinking he might have a good day working for this Mando after all.

Itzhal Volkihar

 

[Itzhal Volkihar]

In truth, Itzhal had anticipated little from the new hire upon first hearing them. After the disastrous misjudgement of his first hire and their ill-thought attempt to scuttle his ship, the Mandalorian had been more than prepared to dismiss the next fixer that had suggested what was, by all appearances, a kid down on their luck. It had taken a few feelers and the knowledge that any option available to him was just as bad, if not worse before he'd eventually decided to make contact. His initial encounter had felt like a roll of the dice, steeped in uncertainty and risk on a planet where credits exchanged hands frequently and the only ones who won were already in charge. The opportunity for a good old bar fight had done more to settle his nerves than anything else.

Now, though, the more than displeased mercenary found himself in the enviable position of being free to observe the other's work as he lounged on his chair at the other side of the hangar bay. His blaster was, as always, close at hand. Not that he appeared to need it, as the rather unobservant android began his work on the beautiful ship, tearing out what couldn't be fixed with patch jobs that tore into Itzhal's soul, even as he forced himself to acknowledge there was nothing technically wrong with the replacements. They weren't to the same standard of beauty as his ship, but he hadn't asked for that.

His priority was getting off this world before the stink had seeped into everything he owned, a narrow deadline considering the cesspit of a moon.

"You brought more equipment than I expected," Itzhal announced from his perch, reclined in his shadowed corner, a vigilant predator surveying the scene before him. His dark visor glimmered ominously, a slight tilt to his helm reflecting the image of Saul, who stood poised with his welding equipment tantalisingly out of reach as the first notes of music exploded into the air with all the care of an imploding gonk droid. "Kid, what is that racket?"

Tags: Saul Whesai​

 

[Saul Whesai]

Saul had just got back to the job at hand and was getting into the rhythm of his work when Mando's voice sent a chill down his spine. It was clear he looked uncomfortable, uncomfortable enough to walk out and never be found by this man again if he could help it. But the armored warrior thought he was scared, he had another thing coming as he replied as calmly as he could. "It's a big job... Your ship isn't a snubfighter and she has taken a lot of abuse. I have to check through every inch of her to make sure she is healthy. It's not something I can rush through." He tried his best to keep his blood pressure from spiking and his heart from beating out of his chest as he followed through with the patch he was currently working on before going to the radio player and turning the player off.

The Android then turned his neon blue eyes back towards Itzhal looking right into the Mando's visor as he said through gritted teeth. "And that was just my music, something to get a little shereshoy into my day. I guess it's the same for you with looking at young men from dark corners, doing whatever it was you were doing back there..." Thankful that he had kept up the Mando language studies, he turned back to work, starting on a new section of the ship's durasteel paneling as he gave one last shot across the bow. "It's funny, I thought Jenn Kryze and her merry men and women were supposed to be the good guys but I guess there always has to be a chakaaryc who ruins everything." Saul's body tensed up like a Nexu about to spring on its prey as he turned his head so the Mando could see one bright blue eye blazing as he stared him down one last time, letting out a low growl that told his employer all he needed to know about how he was feeling right now. "Now are you going to continue to act like a sexual predator and be an all-around pain in my ass or are you going to let me work...?"

Itzhal Volkihar

 

[Itzhal Volkihar]

Already tired from dealing with the scum that bloated a place like Nar Shadaa, Itzhal flexed the ligaments in his off-hand, stretching out with his pinkie and then his ring finger, slowly moving through them one by one until the long stretch of muscle and sinew across his index finger clicked into place with a satisfying clack that did little to detract from Saul's tirade that filled the air with anger and rage. Most of it, the Mandalorian ignored, the words dismissed shortly after their arrival as a workman frustrated with an overbearing client or the unpleasant realisation he'd been watched as he worked without a hint of warning. There was some merit to his frustrations, after all, and despite any preference to the contrary, Itzhal could acknowledge when he had mishandled a situation.

Some merit, however, did not mean he was free to run his mouth without consequences.

Underneath his helmet, Itzhal didn't smile; the expression stripped from the stern and harsh lines of his worn face and stretched into a piercing glare that was colder than the blizzards of Hoth. His chair creaked as he leaned further back, one arm slung over the side, further away from the holster at his hip and the temptation that lingered within.

"There are many things I can tolerate, Mr Whesai," Itzhal's voice, barely louder than a whisper, travelled across the distance between them, carried in the silent aftermath of Saul's rant. "I am not a nice man. I have killed. Sometimes because it was the only choice, but often because it was the option that saved myself or others. I am a Mercenary, and though I have standards, I have left people broken regardless. I take no satisfaction in crushing their hope, nor do I feel joy when I deliver them to whatever concept of Justice may exist in this hellhole of a Galaxy. So you may call me a 'chakaaryc', and I will not disagree."

Stretching out his shoulders, the heavy plates of beskar shifted as Itzhal's gaze stared straight through Saul's fragile frame. "However, if you dare to make accusations of my preferences, you will find there are such comparisons that I will simply not tolerate. I have hired you for a job because it was suggested you were capable and reasonable despite your youth, not because of it."

"The last man that I contracted for this repair work attempted to sell my ship, and when the situation came to a head, he decided my existence was inconvenient," Itzhal confessed, his voice heavy with the unspoken implications he left lingering in the air. "If you find my caution uncomfortable, you may take the credits you've earned today and leave. I will not make a nuisance of myself, nor will I bother you further. It is a job that I offer nothing less and nothing more. I will do my best to be as unobtrusive as possible, but I have been burned; it makes me wary. Does that answer your question, Mr Whesai?"

Tags: Saul Whesai​

 

[Saul Whesai]

Yes, he should have expected that the Mando would have been... possessive over his ship. It wasn't his caution that made him uncomfortable though, it was the fact that if he made a mistake on accident, Saul might be shot right then and there. It wouldn't be the first time something like that happened either. "If I wanted to take your ship, I wouldn't be starting with the hull. I would work the sublight thrusters, change the security codes, and blast off. Everything else I can do in orbit, keeping this bird together long enough to get a buyer on the line. But here I am working on the hull..." Relighting his welder, he started on another patch, the sparks flying as he pulled down his welding mask. "You Mandos... You act like you have been burned since the minute you were born or taken in. You look at everyone as a threat. Maybe it's even warranted by the way the galaxy looks at you. But you aren't exactly proving them wrong... There is something called being nice for the sake of being nice." Letting the conversation go, he finished what was left of the hull patches before moving on to the sublight drives, trying to salvage what parts he could and ordering the needed new parts over his communicator. The only time he left the Bay was to revive the shipments of materials from various dealers. The android hoped that Itzhal would at least appreciate he had managed to get the markups down due to his local reputation.

Saul worked late into the night, correcting the wiring issues, fixing and retuning the hyperdrive, and making a new friend out of the ship's computer. It was some of his better work if he didn't say so himself. He even cleaned up the interior, cleaning the inevitable mess that came with a live-in ship. When he was finally finished, he had been going twelve hours straight on just energy drinks and what nips of food he could get in just to finish on Itzhal's timeline. After putting the mop and bucket away, he glanced around, wondering if the micromanaging Mando was still watching him from some security room in the walls. I wouldn't put it past him...

Itzhal Volkihar

 

[Itzhal Volkihar]

The hangar bay screeched with the sharp hiss of Saul's welder, its bright blue flames dancing as they fused battered and weathered segments of the hull back into a cohesive form. Sparks danced like fireflies in the in-between as, piece by piece, the hull was stitched together, and the words that the android had spoken left to linger in the air and in Itzhal's mind. His own response cradled beneath the beat of his heart, wary and tired of the fear and anger that often followed his presence.

Once upon a time, things had been different; there had been an era when his people were defined not only by their legacy of conquerors and warlords. Long ago, he could stride confidently through the Galaxy, secure in the knowledge that for every gaze that met him with disgust or dread, another would lock onto his gleaming armour and feel a flicker of hope ignite within them. For that was what had his people strong. Not their cruelty and strength turned to grind others into the dust but through the protection of House and Clan, spreading as people saw their might and became one of the many.

That time had ended in the blaze of an entire system, lives consumed in bursts of green light and a heat that left nothing in their wake.

Lost in a haze of bittersweet memories, Itzhal found himself oblivious to the passage of time as the hours slipped away the grains of sand through his fingers, like ashes of a long-passed time. Meanwhile, Saul laboured tirelessly, his work unfolding with relentless urgency that the Mandalorian paid little heed to, his thoughts elsewhere as they tried to reach a deadline now forgotten.

Blinking slowly, Itzhal awoke from the haze, a veil stretched across his eyes, neither real nor dream-like, lost somewhere in between as he forced his tense muscles to flex. It took a moment for him to notice Saul rolling a bucket and mop across the hangar bay until he found a storage cupboard where he could store it away for another day. It took even longer for him to find the words as he looked between his ship and the young engineer. His throat felt parched, the words sealed behind more things than he could say, "Kid, I wasn't expecting you to finish things in a single day."

His gaze travelled over their face, once again settling over their eyes and the hollows of their sockets where the skin sunk inwards. Underneath his helmet, Itzhal's lips scrunched together in a displeased frown as he glanced back towards the time displayed in the corner of his helmet; the missing hours blared across mocking lights.

"I'm paying regardless of how quickly you do the job, regardless of my personal issues with trusting people alone with my ship, I'm willing to believe you'll do your best to finish this. And I ain't going to cause problems if you need time to rest. I don't like this place. It's a hellhole that should have been condemned to the pits aeons ago, but regardless of how you do things on Nar Shadaa, I'm not working people to death for a bloody ship."

Tags: Saul Whesai​

 

[Saul Whesai]

Saul felt the Mando staring at him as he put the mop back in one of the bay's storage closets built into the wall. He hated to admit it but he was starting to get comfortable with the chills running up his back. Turning back to face him, he smirked a little as he leaned against the wall, his face, hair, and coveralls covered with machine oil and various other stains. "It wasn't for you, it was for her." Taking a strip of gum out of his pocket, he tossed its contents into his mouth, chewing up a storm as he let a muffled "I don't like seeing ladies in distress for longer than I have to. It's why I work fast."

Looking over his work, he made sure didn't miss anything. The Android had made sure he had given the frigate his usual love and care but he was one man. One imperfect man... who could blow pretty good bubbles with his bubble gum. In the middle of one of those bubbles, he remarked. "That should be enough to get you to one of the GA's shipyards or wherever you were thinking about heading. Worse comes to worse, the Imps are a stone's throw away, though who knows if they will have room in their repair schedule with all the action going on over there." Letting the silence come between them once more, he thought of the only thing he could say "And yeah, Nar Shadaa is a shithole where most people are corrupt or too blaster-happy but at least it's a hell I know."

Itzhal Volkihar

 

[Itzhal Volkihar]

Ultimately, everything hinged on one undeniable truth: the job was done. Though it bore the scars of its imperfections, with numerous dents marring the surface and malignant wounds concealed beneath the protective plating, the old IR-3F stood regardless, ready to brace the void of space and the challenges it would face. Saul's task had never meant to be anything more than a temporary fix. A mistake solution, a brief respite bought for the voyage ahead—an interlude to proper services on a station equipped for the more serious damage that no patch job would ever fix.

"Be careful, kid," Itzhal said, his helmet carefully tilted away from the other man, a hollow gesture when his helmet provided a 360° view of his surroundings, but sometimes it was the thought that counted more than anything else. "People are good at adapting to situations once you give them a moment. It doesn't matter how bad things get, whether it be paradise or the pits, scraping your feet through mud and ash, or even just finding shelter in a scrapyard, we can get used to it."

"We shouldn't," he chuckled, his chest free with the sound that stung bitterly upon the air. "It's easy to grow complacent once you start getting used to it. That little voice in your head that whispers about how much easier things are, even if you know it's a shithole, there's safety in knowing the dangers you face. A lot less scary than the void and whatever lingers on the horizon, for sure, but that's part of the trick that'll chain you down. Nar Shadaa and places like this want you scared of that future because otherwise, you wouldn't be here. So, one day, when you get the chance to leave this hellhole, consider it. Properly, I mean."

Tags: Saul Whesai​

 

[Saul Whesai]

Saul just shrugged at Mando's words. He had been adapting all his life, changing roles to whatever offered the best cash at the moment."Yeah well, if you get information on an eternal meal ticket you don't have to work for, send it my way. I'll get a crew contract off this rock soon enough when my soul tells me it's time to move on.

He couldn't help but smirk as he thought that for all of his investigator skills, Itzhal still thought of him as a harmless kid, not an armed merc that could probably give him a run for his money given the right circumstances. "Unless you are going to give me a job offer yourself. Otherwise, good hunting out there." With that, Saul would pick up his tools and what was the leftover waste from the patch job, soon leaving through the same bay door he had come through this morning. Or at least what was considered morning during this moon's nearly endless darkness.

Itzhal Volkihar

 

[Itzhal Volkihar]

"Well, I can't make miracles," Itzhal grumbled softly, a trace of amusement flickering across the edge of his lips at Saul's whimsical request. He recognised it for what it was—either a playful jest or, if he were inclined to view it more pessimistically, a lighthearted dismissal of almost everything he had tried to say. At least he wasn't intending to stay permanently. He might have worried what the fumes in the air around here were doing to the population otherwise.

Itzhal let out a heavy sigh, his gaze lingering on Saul as he turned away, their relaxed strides carrying them back toward their gear and the uncertain fate that awaited them on the sprawling, chaotic surface of Nar Shadaa. The harsh lights of the hangar seemed to fade into the background as Itzhal contemplated a dozen excuses he could conjure—an enticing offer to whisk them away to safer territories or perhaps a simple repair job that would divert them from this path. All of them were a sign of pity that he knew he'd hate to be on the receiving end, even if he couldn't ignore the signs of wear hollowed into Saul's face.

None of them dared step close to the suggestion the other man had offered. Yet, deep down, Itzhal recognised the undeniable truth: he could never bring himself to hire someone for mercenary work without taking the time for a thorough assessment first. Not when any mistake was lethal, and countless fools met that fate every day. Whether it was his life or the Kid's, he wouldn't risk it. The weight of that realisation settled heavily on him, firm and solid like the press of beskar against his shoulders and chest.

"Good luck, kid," Then with a step towards the descending landing ramp, Itzhal moved on.

Tags: Saul Whesai​